"You're willing to share? These are your hunting grounds."
"I had a deer earlier. The bison's for you. I can feel how hungry you are. It's making me miserable."
Lucas shook his head, obviously irritated with himself. "I forget sometimes how powerful your gift of empathy is. You really do feel what others are experiencing."
"Yes, I do. And right now your hunger's tying my stomach in knots." Rick tried not to sound too irritable, but it wasn't easy. "When was the last time you ate, anyway?"
"It's been a while." The wolf turned his head to gaze into the distance. He lifted his nose to better catch the scents floating up from the prairie floor on the breeze.
"Then hunt. Whatever dragged you out here can wait until you've had a good meal."
The wolf nodded, rose, and began picking his way carefully down the hill. Rick watched him until he disappeared from sight.
Rising with a sigh, he arched his back and stretched until he felt every muscle loosen. When he was fully stretched out he began the long run back to the cabin to get the guest room ready for company.
It felt good running over the familiar trails. Small animals dived for cover; birds flushed from the trees, taking to flight with startled cries. He ignored the lure of it, keeping his attention on the uneven footing of the rocky trail. The sun was disappearing behind the rocky walls of the canyon, the light painting the sky in shades of crimson and purple as he rounded the last major bend. The scuttling clouds shone with vivid orange highlights. Even from a distance the house looked inviting. Solar lamps lit the stone path, which led to the stairs of the front porch. The scent of wood smoke lingered faintly. By now the fire was mere embers, but it wouldn't take much to bring it back to life.
Rick shifted forms effortlessly, changing from a compact feline with large tufted ears to a man nearly six feet tall, with a slender build and shaggy blond hair. The stones were chilly beneath his bare feet, the breeze cold enough to bring goose bumps to his exposed flesh. He bent to retrieve the spare key from its hiding place beneath a chair made of split pine logs, then let himself inside.
He dressed in the clothes he'd left neatly folded on the coffee table. He pulled his worn blue jeans on over flannel boxer shorts and donned his favorite blue plaid flannel shirt. The clothes were comfortable and practical. There was nothing fancy about them, but there'd been nothing fancy or elegant about his life these past few decades. Quiet and simple had suited him just fine, and he wasn't sure he was ready to give that up, no matter what Lucas had to say.
Still, he was curious. He had a computer. He'd even learned how to use it. He knew the current events of the human world. But the Sazi didn't publicize their news. He couldn't help but wonder what had been going on with his friends
…
and with
her.
Don't think about it.
He moved the fireplace screen aside. Picking up the poker, he jabbed viciously at the remains of his earlier fire. A spark leaped up from the embers to land on his hand. The burn stung his flesh, but then blistered and healed in a matter of seconds.
He set the poker back in its stand, then retrieved dried wood from the holder to stack on the already glowing embers. In short order he had a fresh fire burning. He moved the grate back in place.
It would take time for Lucas to hunt; more time for him to make his way back here. Rick knew it, and yet he still caught himself pacing the floor and looking at the clock every few minutes until he wished to hell he'd just offered to cook something on the stove.
In the end he gathered up some spare clothing that
would fit the other man and settled into his favorite recliner with a good book. Eventually he even managed to doze.
It was well after midnight when he woke with a start to the click of Lucas's claws on the porch. Rick dropped his shields. He didn't feel guilty in the least about using his gift to see how the other man was feeling.
The surface emotion was fairly straightforward
— pleasure on a good hunt. But beneath that lay a level of exhaustion and worry that one meal and a few hours' rest wouldn't alleviate.
Things were bad. Rick had suspected as much. Lucas wouldn't have come if he weren't desperate. The operative questions were, what was wrong, and what did he expect Rick to do about it?
The sound of nails on stone changed to the pad of bare feet. There was a light knock on the wood of the front door.
"Come on in. I left it unlocked." Rick picked up the novel that had fallen from his lap and placed it facedown beneath the lamp on the end table. Using the lever on the side of the recliner, he moved the chair into an upright position as the older man came through the door.
Lucas stopped inside the doorway, looking around. As usual, he'd clothed himself in illusion. If Rick didn't know any better, he would swear the older man was wearing jeans and a flannel shirt. He watched
Lucas
take everything in, from the fire in the huge stone fireplace that dominated the living room to the bentwood rocker and handmade pine coffee and end tables. The knotty pine he'd used for the interior walls gave off a warm golden glow. Thick Navajo print area rugs were scattered over the stone floor. He'd selected the recliner and drapes to pick up the rich burgundy that appeared in the patterns of the various rugs. Black throw pillows were scattered across a charcoal gray couch.
Above the couch hung a painting, oil on canvas. It was in the Early American style, an autumn landscape of rich russets and golds. It wasn't signed, the artist unknown, but it was a brilliant work. When he'd given up everything else in his life he'd kept this one thing
—not only for its beauty, but for the sentiment attached. The painting had been Josette's gift to him when they'd gotten married.
He couldn't bear to leave it when they'd parted ways. It followed him always.
"There are clothes on the chest by the door." Rick gestured to a spot behind where Lucas stood. Illusions might be fine for appearances, but they didn't warm bare skin. "Would you like some coffee? Or would you rather just go to bed?"
Rick felt the wave of longing that passed through the other man at the mention of sleep, but as Lucas began pulling on the sweat pants and flannel shirt Rick had provided he asked for coffee instead.
"You should probably rest."
"No time." Lucas's voice held only the tiniest hint of exhaustion. "Charles will be here in a few minutes and then we can talk."
"Charles
will be here?" The shock was enough to move him forward in his seat to stare at the other man until the old wolf nodded. Rick couldn't remember the last time he'd seen the Chief Justice. But nothing good had ever come from a visit by him.
"Hell Rick, I shouldn't have taken the time to hunt before he got here, but I haven't eaten in days." Lucas ran his hands through his graying hair with a frustration that pressed against Rick's skin like dull needles. "But Charles insisted on telling you himself, and truthfully, there isn't anyone else to send."
"Fine. Make yourself comfortable." He gestured toward the recliner. "I'll fix us some coffee. When will he arrive?"
"Any minute now. Coffee would be a good thing. Thanks." Lucas took a seat, settling back into the comfortable overstuffed cushions, letting his eyes drift closed. Rick knew the other man would force himself to stay awake as long as it was necessary, but even a small catnap could be a relief. So he moved as silently as he could through the dining area and into the kitchen.
The coffeepot was old-fashioned blue graniteware. Rick filled the metal strainer with coffee grounds and clamped on the lid. It was his favorite blend, and a little
hard to come by. He'd gotten used to having chickory mixed in with his coffee back when coffee was a scarce commodity among the tea-loving Londoners, so he went to the bother of having a supply special ordered.
He filled the pot with water from the tap and dropped the strainer and its post in place before putting the lid on the pot and moving it over to the burner on the old gas stove. Giving the knob a deft twist, he listened to the whistle of the gas coming on, smelled the odd, almost sweet scent that the propane company added to it as a safety measure. He used a wooden kitchen match to light the burner, then adjusted the knob until the flames were just right.
"Coffee'll be ready in a couple minutes," he announced.
"Thanks." Lucas's answer was a little muffled. Rick could feel the sleep tugging at the other man's consciousness.
The fragrant aroma slowly began to fill the cabin. Rick took a deep breath, luxuriating in the scent before walking into the living room and taking his seat in the old bentwood rocker next to the fireplace. He'd built the rocker himself. It fit him like a well-worn glove.
"Nice place you've got here." Lucas didn't bother to open his eyes. "The windmill powers the generator?"
"And the well."
"Is that why you chose this site, the water? I understand there's not much of it out here."
He nodded, his gaze locked into the flickering flames. Lucas sounded like he was actually interested. Maybe he was, and Rick couldn't help being proud of it. The cabin wasn't large, but it was
his
— there'd been time to build it just the way he wanted. He'd needed something productive to do, something with results he could see and a product at the end. He'd been a wreck when he left Wolven, not just physically, but emotionally, too. Building this home, living out here beneath the wide skies and endless wind had been his therapy. He was whole now, and he wanted to stay whole. The old wolf might have been his friend once. Hell, he might still be. But he was here for a reason, and it wasn't to admire the damned view.
"Have you been inheriting from yourself again?" There was a hint of laughter in Lucas's voice.
"It's not uncommon for names to stay in the same family for generations." Rick answered calmly. "Isn't Charles his own multiple-great grandson at this point?"
"Yes. And because of the age of his current identity his
actual
great-great-grandson drops the greats from his title when he talks about him. You remember Raven Ramirez, right? Or wasn't he in Wolven yet when you left?"
"Nope. After my time, I guess. He related to Raphael Ramirez? Him, I've heard of. At least by reputation." A curious look passed over the other
man's face, and Rick shrugged. "Ivan stops by every decade or so. I'm not really up-to-date, but telling me about that mess
—Raphael living with one sister and sleeping with another sister, who just happened to have the head of Wolven mated to her, which drove poor Jack Simpson quite literally insane? Oh yeah, that little soap opera lasted through a whole twelve-pack."
Lucas let out a short guffaw. "Soap opera Yeah, I suppose it was. Ivan probably gave Raphael more benefit of the doubt than he deserved, for what it's worth." His mood sobered for a moment and he seemed lost in thought. "Jack's dead. In case you didn't know. The warrant finally went through."
"I saw that his helicopter went down on the news. I presumed it wasn't an accident." There wasn't anything else for Rick to say so he continued to stare at the fire. It had been a long time coming. All serial killers are eventually brought down by the council
…
no matter how powerful.
Without missing a beat, the old wolf continued, but Rick could feel the mix of emotions that pushed against his chest. Sadness, relief, anger, and a dozen more subtle ones. "Raven is Raphael's son by Charles's great-granddaughter, Star. Raven's third in command at Wolven right now. He's turned out to be a fine agent, even though he stayed human longer than most before his first change. It was pretty hard for him to face giving up a promising NFL career just because
he turned wolf. It wasn't pretty. But Raphael turned him around."
Rick felt his eyebrows raise a fraction and he flicked his gaze toward Lucas's nearly sleeping form.
NFL career?
Wow, he
did
turn late if that was a possibility. Most Sazi turn just before puberty. But there was a good chance it would mean Raven would be one of the longer lived of the current generation. Powerful Sazi lived a long time
…
a
very
long time. Keeping the secret meant that relationships sometimes got tangled. Nearly every Sazi had a will that left their wealth to the next identity they planned to use. Better that than starting over every time.
He fought down his impatience with the polite, social chitchat. It occurred to him that he'd been away from people too long. He'd forgotten how to be social. Was that a good or bad thing? Hard to say. He did know that he enjoyed the quiet, the peace of living out in the open spaces
…
at his own pace, letting his blond hair grow shaggy, and shaving only if he felt like it. Oh, he hadn't become completely uncivilized. A daily shower was a must, and his clothes were always clean and pressed. But if he got gas, he belched, and he didn't have to worry about apologizing for it. If the few knickknacks he had sitting around got dusty, nobody would be stopping by to notice.
The coffee finished percolating and the momentary silence was broken only by the crackling of the fire. The rocking chair squeaked as he rose. Stretching
until the bones of his spine popped, he shook out his arms before relaxing into a normal posture and striding to the kitchen. As he was pouring the brew into a matching pair of ceramic mugs, a quiet knock came from the door and he heard Lucas use the lever to recline his chair. His sensitive ears heard Charles greet Lucas. Seconds later he caught the scent of Charles's wife, Amber, Josette's twin sister, and their bodyguard Bruce. He remembered the old bear well from when they worked together. It would be good to see him again.
But what of Amber? Did she even know he was alive? Would she tell
Josette
or did the reclusive seer already know? Did her foresight tell her everything as it had when they were married? Would it tell her why he'd never contacted her again after walking out on her?
A flood of emotions fought inside him as he removed three more cups from the cabinet and added sugar and a carton of whipping cream from the refrigerator to the tray. He preferred
real
cream in his coffee, and remembered that Amber did, as well.
Charles was already sitting on the couch when Rick walked out of the kitchen. He looked pale and drawn. There were lines of pain at the corners of his eyes, making him look older than Rick had ever seen him.
But in the few seconds he'd been in the kitchen, Lucas had transformed. Gone was the aching weariness.
In its place was an anger just short of rage that hummed through the room and took his breath away.