“I’ve got a situation,” I said, and tried to explain. “It turns out the army’s had a unit of werewolves operating in Afghanistan. It’s kind of a long story. They worked as a pack, but then their captain—their alpha—was killed. The unit fell apart, the soldiers lost control. The survivors were brought back home. One of them is being court-martialed on murder charges—he killed three other men in the unit. I’ve been asked to help rehabilitate the other two. I’ve met them. They’re . . . I have no idea what to do with them. I’ve never seen anything like it. Every little thing triggers a reaction from them. They’re always right on the edge of shifting. I wouldn’t be surprised if there’s some post-traumatic stress going on, and couple that with the lycanthropy—they’re a mess.”
Rick rubbed his chin as he listened, looking into a middle distance before bringing his gaze to me. “This isn’t the first time werewolves have been used as soldiers,” Rick said. “There’s a long history of it, in fact. Werewolves tend to be fierce, indestructible.”
“So how do I help them? How do I get them to be people again, and not berserker monsters?”
“The problem is not too many people worry about making werewolf soldiers human again. They’re disposable troops.”
“Excuse me? Disposable?”
“To be unleashed when needed—if you’ll forgive the pun—and shunted aside when not. It explains a lot about certain attitudes toward them, though, doesn’t it? As well as how the culture of bounty hunters got started.”
I could only stare, appalled. At the same time, it made sense. Cultivate that instinct to kill, then set it loose. Everything else was extraneous.
“But . . . but I know a werewolf in D.C., Ahmed, who takes in and helps out-of-control wolves. And there are other safe havens, wolf packs that help—”
“New werewolves, Kitty. Young wolves, cubs who don’t know what they’re doing but can be taught. These are hardened warriors.”
“Then you’re saying there’s nothing I can do.”
“If anyone could find a way, it’ll be you.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You are a very hopeful person. Those werewolves are in good hands. Or paws.”
I was glad someone thought so. I stared into my glowy martini. It’s never been done before was not the kind of advice I’d been hoping for.
Rick broke my depressed musings. “So. Have you heard from Anastasia lately?”
Anastasia. One of the baddest-assed vampires I’d ever met, the kind you didn’t want to meet in a brightly lit room, never mind a dark alley. She was a schemer, too. And not one of the bad guys. But I didn’t know I’d go so far as to say she was one of the good guys, either. She’d recently recruited me to be on the lookout for the actual bad guys, who were trying to take over the world, or something so equally awful that it didn’t make a difference. I kept saying I wanted to be left alone. Then I contradicted myself by taking on projects. Like Tyler and Walters.
“Not since Montana,” I said.
“Probably for the best.”
“Yes, probably. I expect when I do hear from her it’ll be because the world is ending.”
“I wouldn’t joke about that,” he said, and he wasn’t smiling.
I leaned forward. “Why not? You know something I don’t?”
“The end of the world is all some vampires have to look forward to.”
I hated that. Every vampire I’d ever met loved blithely throwing out these portentous proclamations of superiority and doom and they expected to have me shaking in my booties. I rolled my eyes.
“Are you one of those?”
“No. It’s not all that healthy to believe the world was put here for my entertainment.”
“Well. Kudos to you.” I raised my martini glass to him.
“Back to your soldiers. Are you planning on setting them loose anytime soon?”
It was a leading question—the full moon was coming up in a week. Were Tyler and Walters going to spend it indoors or out? I shrugged. “Depends. Do you want me to let you know if I do? Warn you?”
“That’s all right. I trust you to make the right decision.”
“Well. Miracles never cease.”