“Before my time, but I know the stories,” he said. “The city’s werewolves could see and move in the blackouts, and they weren’t easily injured by falling debris and shrapnel in the bombing. They organized, became Air Raid Wardens, walked patrols, and arranged rescues of survivors buried in fallen buildings. They could smell them and guide the rescue crews to them. The city’s alpha at the time, a hoary old monster without a lick of patience, punished any wolves caught hunting or killing in the chaos.”
Ned said, “I gave the wolves who patrolled the run of my properties so they always had a safe place to go, rations that no one else had access to. I organized—”
“Give yourself a bloody medal, why don’t you,” Caleb said.
Ned pursed his lips. “I’m merely demonstrating that we can work together to protect the city because we’ve done it before.”
“This isn’t the Blitz.”
“Not yet,” Ned said.
Even I thought that might have been overstating the case, except for the voice in the back of my head that said, What if he’s not?
Caleb might have been asking himself the same question, the way he scowled.
Ned continued. “The turmoil surrounding this conference of Ms. Norville’s has convinced me that I can no longer watch events from the sidelines. Our two tribes working together must be stronger than the sum of our parts.”
The werewolf gave him a sour look. “You talk high and mighty, sir, but you’re no Churchill.”
“I knew him, you know.”
Caleb turned away, scowling dramatically.
“What do you think, Caleb?” I said.
“I’m willing to consider an alliance. But an alliance isn’t strategy. How do you expect—”
A long, strained howl echoed from a distant part of the park, then cut off abruptly. A warning.
“That was Sam,” Caleb said, listening, ear cocked. “He’s meant to be watching the east approach.”
“That sounded like trouble,” Ben said.
“Yes,” Caleb said.
We all faced different directions, scanning the edges of the open space.
“Might I suggest moving indoors?” Ned said. His town house was maybe ten blocks away.
“It’s too late for that, I think,” Caleb murmured.
The figure of a man, shirtless and barefoot, came toward us across the lawn from a distant row of trees. He was fast, powerful, running with a long, loose stride that had an animal quality to it, easy and fluid. One of Caleb’s pack—the lieutenant who’d been with him the other night. The alpha trotted out to meet him.
“They got him, they killed Sam,” he said to Caleb. “They went right for his heart, he didn’t have a chance—”
“Who is it, Michael? Who got him?” Caleb held the man’s head steady and made him look in his eyes. The wolf, Michael, was struggling, gasping for breath, his muscles tense. All his instincts were telling him to shift, but he was holding on. “Was it vampires or wolves, Michael?”
“Both, Caleb. Both!”
Chapter 15
MICHAEL LOST control, doubling over and hugging himself, groaning as his wolf fought free. Caleb knelt with him, hand on his shoulder, steadying him as he fought the last of his clothing. Bronze-gray fur rippled across Michael’s back, and his face stretched.
The instinct to Change spiked through us.
“Keep it together,” Ben murmured, for my benefit or his I couldn’t tell.
“Kitty?” Ned asked cautiously.