Wolf In Waiting. Rebecca Flanders

head.

      He said, “Only a werewolf can hide from a werewolf—and then only with great difficulty. If these were the actions of an ordinary human, I should think someone would have heard or smelled or seen something long before now.”

      “So you’re saying it is one of us, after all.” My tone was flat, devoid of emotion. But what I felt was a slow cold rage, a roiling contempt, a furious sense of shame and betrayal that one of our own could stoop so low. The traitor had to be rooted out, destroyed like a blight on a shrub before it did any more damage. He deserved no mercy.

      “It does seem logical. Did you have another thought?” Sebastian asked.

      I hesitated, hoping that my next words wouldn’t sound as badly motivated as they felt. I said, very carefully, “When did you last speak with Michael?”

      The older man was a master at concealing his thoughts, and he betrayed neither surprise nor outrage. “Last week, I believe. He may no longer be my heir, but he is a dutiful son.” The words whose loyalty to the pack is unquestioned remained unspoken.

      But I pursued the issue, “He’s doing well, then?”

      “By some standards, I suppose. He’s working with humans, building houses for them.”

      I managed a smile. “We’ll be awarding him major industrial contracts before the year is out.”

      “Most likely,” agreed Sebastian without a flicker of humor.

      “And his wife…”

      “The human,” supplied Sebastian. Again, his distaste was carefully disguised.

      “Yes. Agatha, isn’t it?”

      “They seem to be very happy.”

      “They probably have no secrets from each other.”

      “Probably not.”

      “You might want to check,” I concluded with care and deliberation, “whether either of them has been to Montreal lately.”

      And Sebastian replied, with equal deliberation, “I think I’ll let you do that.”

      I remained silent, not daring to speculate on what this might mean.

      “There has never been a ruler who hasn’t faced at least one crisis that threatened the very survival of his people. I needn’t point out that this matter could do just that. I therefore suggest, for the sake of your regime and the future of all our kind, that you deal with this problem as quickly and efficiently as possible,” Sebastian said.

      I stood slowly. I couldn’t entirely control the leap of excitement in my pulse and I was sure my elder heard it, but I didn’t care. “Are you putting me in charge of the situation, then?”

      “You will have complete responsibility. I expect to be kept apprised of your plans, however, and to be kept current on developments.”

      “Yes, of course.” Already my mind was racing, devising schemes, formulating battle plans. “But I shall have complete freedom in dealing with the matter?”

      Sebastian made a small dismissive gesture with his hand. “I have other concerns,” he said gruffly. “I can’t be everywhere at once.”

      And then I understood the full significance of what was happening. Sebastian, pressed by the troubles in New Orleans and having recently lost his right-hand man—Michael—had turned to me to handle this most delicate and dangerous problem within the company. That had to mean something, didn’t it? This was not just a token assignment, or a test. This was the kind of responsibility that would only be given to someone Sebastian trusted, in whom he had confidence to solve the problem.

      Sebastian was relying on me. Perhaps that meant that, after all this time, the older man was coming to accept me as his heir.

      I inclined my head. “I shan’t disappoint you, sir.”

      Sebastian scowled. “For your sake, I should certainly hope not.”

      I reached for my briefcase. “I’ll leave for Montreal in the morning. Is there anything in particular I should familiarize myself with before I arrive?”

      “It’s all on your computer. If you have any questions, I’m sure Victoria will be able to answer them.”

      Already a dread I could not quite define was creeping to my stomach. “Victoria?”

      “Victoria St. Clare. She’s an account executive in the Montreal office. You’ll be working with her. Didn’t I mention it?”

      St. Clare, I thought. I should have known.

      I kept my face expressionless. “No, sir, you didn’t. In exactly what capacity will we be working together?”

      The slight arch of Sebastian’s eyebrow was almost imperceptible. “In every capacity.”

      “I understood you to say I would be in charge of this operation.”

      “And so you will be. You should look upon Victoria as…a partner.”

      I translated, Spy.

      “Surely you’ll agree with the wisdom of having a confederate in the enemy camp.”

      I nodded stiffly. “Of course. I should have thought of it myself.”

      Sebastian almost smiled. “Yes. You should have. You’ll report to her as soon as you arrive, then.”

      “Of course.”

      “Very good. That will be all for now. We expect you for supper. My wife sends her greetings.”

      I barely managed a polite reply and a gracious bow as I left the room.

      I didn’t know why I was surprised. I should have expected a trick like this from Sebastian. But if the older man expected me to be defeated or distracted by it, he was to be greatly disappointed.

      I had a job to do, and I would get it done with or without Victoria St. Clare, perhaps even in spite of her. I would prove myself worthy of the command I was about to inherit, to Sebastian St. Clare and everyone else in the clan, if it was the last thing I did.

      And that is how I, Noel Duprey, future leader of my people, ended up sitting behind the cramped metal desk of a junior executive in a corkboard-walled cubicle that wasn’t even soundproof, gaping like a schoolboy at a woman in a white fur coat. I represent the strongest, the smartest, the bravest and the most noble of all our kind. I am the standard against which all others are measured. Yet at that moment, as I turned to gaze at the female who had just entered, I was reduced to—forgive me—an almost human incoherence.

      I was quite frankly astonished. I had just spent the entire flight from Alaska studying the personnel files of everyone in the Montreal office, most especially that of Victoria St. Clare. I thought I knew everything about her, but nothing had prepared me for this.

      Victoria St. Clare—several dozen times removed from the direct line of descent, fortunately for everyone concerned—is what is known as an anthromorph. What that means, quite simply, is that through some genetic anomaly, she is condemned forever to retain her human form. She can never mate; she can never bear young; she can never know what it is to be one of us through the miracle of the Change. Of course one has to feel sorry for such a creature. I suppose it’s only natural to regard those different from oneself with a certain wariness, but Victoria St. Clare’s differences condemned her to a life of pity and scorn among her own people.

      I had known that much about her as soon as I refreshed my memory on her name. There weren’t more than a dozen or so anthromorphs among us, and I remembered her from childhood pack gatherings as the poor ugly duckling all the other children used to torment. According to her personnel records, fortune hadn’t favored her much as the years progressed, either.

      She was portrayed as a mediocre employee about whom the kindest evaluation report read, “Generally punctual.” In a business where creativity, ambition