A Pack of His Own Duet Vol 1

By Emily Carrington

A psychic vampire, werewolves, and war with TruWolves terrorists – how can they find time for love?


Hunter’s Claim: Luis Delgado, psychic vampire, can deal with lust. That’s one of the fun parts of being a psychic vampire. What he can’t handle is falling in love with the half wolf who wants nothing to do with him.

Almost nothing. Charlie can’t resist the sex. But Charlie has become alpha of an eros pack, whom he must protect at all costs, and the TruWolves terrorist group wants to destroy everyone who supports peace between the straight and LGBT wolves. How can there be time for love?

Tracker’s Fate: Ethan is afraid his job as a tracker -- execution chief among his duties -- will keep other wolves away and cripple his soul. Jeremy wants children. He is not bisexual, though, and can’t imagine seeking out a female wolf just to have pups.

When these two are thrown into a murder mystery where the bystanders are not so innocent, can Ethan and Jeremy find their way to true love?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Changeling Press
• Release date: Oct 20, 2018

Book preview

love?

Hunter’s Claim (A Pack of His Own 1)

Emily Carrington

Luis Delgado, psychic vampire, is in lust with a half werewolf who thinks Luis is a monster. Luis can deal with lust. That’s one of the fun parts of being a psychic vampire. What he can’t handle is falling in love with the half wolf who wants nothing to do with him.

Almost nothing. Charlie craves Luis’s touch. He cajoles and teases Luis into intimate situations because he can’t resist the sex. Three things stop him from a deeper relationship: Luis eats emotions, draining defenseless humans; Charlie has become unexpected alpha of an eros pack, whom he must protect at all costs; and the TruWolves terrorist group wants to destroy everyone who supports peace between the straight and LGBT wolves.

Charlie’s desperate to guard Luis, his pack, and what seems like half the free world. How can there be time for honest and eternal love?

Chapter One

The soft light of hanging lamps with thick shades lit Charlie McLaughlin’s classroom. The air smelled faintly of the plants in the windows. To preclude distorting echoes, the concrete walls were hung with thick carpets.

Charlie settled into one of the available chairs in the circle and listened to his students find their places. Even though he could see their vague shapes, his visual impairment prevented him from making out fine details. Such as what their faces look like. He smirked inwardly.

Charlie scented nervousness from some of them, and others exuded excitement. Only two seemed calm. When his watch read ten a.m., he shuffled the papers in his lap and sat forward.

All conversation and extraneous noise stopped.

Relax, Charlie said. This is the review session for your midterm. No one’s going to be graded today. He ran his index finger over the list of names on his attendance sheet. Braille wasn’t his first choice when reading. Most of the time he listened to a computer or recording. But for attendance sheets, braille was ideal. I take it only Sherri is missing?

Yes, sir, said Malik, one of only two sylphs in this year’s freshman class.

The door opened, and Charlie inhaled, testing the air. He smiled. You’re late, Sherri. You’re lucky this session isn’t mandatory.

She was escorting me, Professor McLaughlin. It’s been a while since I’ve been here, and you’ve moved your classroom.

Charlie didn’t turn to face the intruder. Damn it. SearchLight trackers think they have permission to wear their concealment charms off duty as well as on. Those charms mitigated smell, sound, and sight. Charlie wanted to throw the sneaky bastard out of his room on general principle.

Then again, not all trackers were assholes that way. Luis Delgado wasn’t.

Charlie resisted the urge to shake his head. He thought about Luis -- and their one night of pleasure -- at inappropriate times, and someday he’d be caught by another telepath in the midst of an embarrassing daydream. You’d think being apart for almost five months would have lessened Luis’s hold on me.

The intruder, an arrogant and stupid tracker who’d somehow risen too far too fast in Charlie’s opinion, had pissed Charlie off the first time they’d met. And nothing since had changed Charlie’s first impression of the man. Can this wait until after class, Agent Pierce? My students have a midterm next week.

I’m sure you’ve prepared a more than adequate study guide. Sir. This can’t wait in any case. Agent Wilhelmina Weinberg requests your presence downtown.

Moon goddess help me. All right. He stood. Malik, please pass out these study guides. I’ll send another professor to help you prepare. He caught up his white cane, negotiated his way between his chair and the one beside it, and strode from the room.

Once the door was closed, Agent Pierce said, We don’t have time for you to hunt down another teacher.

You’ll have to make time. My students are the future of SearchLight.

Twenty percent of them are. And most of those won’t be more than grunts.

Charlie suppressed his rage and knocked on a partially closed door three down from his classroom.

Come in.

He nudged the door open and bowed from the waist. Hi, Sue.

Charlie! Are you here for tea? Her voice changed, giving away her basilisk identity hidden behind the human mask. You have class-sss. Hell. They’re calling you out again? Don’t the bigwigs-sss understand we have midterms-sss next week?

He smiled at her commiserating frustration. Even though they set our schedule every year? Apparently not. Would you mind stepping in with my first-year European Werewolf Dialects class?

Not a problem. She cleared her throat and snarled in perfect Were-Welsh, The treat behind you looks soft. Want to split him? I’ll eat the right half, and you eat the left.

Charlie laughed. Nay, he returned in kind. Something tells me he’d taste foul. He offered her another bow. It wouldn’t do to enter or leave the den of most magical creatures without showing a sign of respect. With luck I’ll be back before midterms.

If not, you know the department will take care of your classes-sss. We always do.

I am fortunate to have you, Sue. He bowed deeply. Peace follow your trail.

And yours.

In Agent Pierce’s car ten minutes later, Charlie leaned his straight white cane against his shoulder and rested the tip on the floor between his feet.

Agent Pierce said, How do you remember how to address several dozen species?

It’s my job.

Yes, the man said, sounding exasperated, but how do you memorize what to say?

I don’t. I live their culture when I’m around them. In the case of Professor Susan Vaughn, I become a basilisk in mind and spirit, if not in body, while speaking to her.

That’s… impressive. It doesn’t quite answer how you do it. You’d make a good politician.

Charlie held his distaste in check. I’m flattered. As for how I accomplish becoming all the beings I meet, you would need to take my classes. Again.

Those who can’t do, teach. You’re a smug asshole for someone the heads of SearchLight rejected as an agent.

SearchLight often called Charlie when they encountered something that couldn’t be fixed by any of their official members. He kept this thought to himself.

The car jerked to a stop. With his limited vision, Charlie saw the bulky shape of the vehicle directly in front of them and heard the honking half a block up. Casting his telepathic sense outward, he found the general shape of a traffic jam.

Agent Pierce spoke seemingly into the air. Charlie decided the man was using a cell phone earpiece. This is Pierce. I’ll be late getting back with Agent Weinberg’s package.

Is that package me? He could find out with little difficulty by touching the human tracker’s mind. Ten to one, Pierce wouldn’t know, and not because he hadn’t been well trained in protecting himself from telepaths. Charlie’s telepathic abilities were unique.

I won’t use that ability -- or any other, including my excellent hearing -- on an ally. No matter how annoying he is.

Yes, Agent Pierce said. As soon as possible. He sighed. You may as well relax. Sir. We’re going to be stuck in traffic for at least an hour.

Charlie turned toward the passenger window and smiled. You’re stuck with me a bit longer.

* * *

August in Tampa, Florida, shouldn’t exist in a universe with sane physical laws. August in the dry heat of the Southwest made sense. The widely variable season that passed for summer in the far Northeast was to be expected. But the 100 percent humidity on top of 105-degree temperatures of Tampa were suited only for Spain and its neighbors. The countries where Luis Ramón Delgado’s family had come from.

Well, most of his family. His closest family -- mother, brother, two aunts, and half a dozen cousins -- came from Puerto Rico. They were the black sheep of the Delgado clan. His father had been the same up until the bastard had left his wife and married a proper Spanish psychic vampire.

Puerto Rico was hot and sticky like the west coast of Florida. But at least Luis’s island home possessed merciful breezes.

Yes, he thought as he leaned against the alley wall and listened to the psychic world around him. But in Florida it rains almost every afternoon. I simply detest oppressive heat, and I would be as miserable at home as I am here.

Not that he was exactly miserable. Atrocious weather aside, Florida in general -- and her cities in particular -- gave birth to a continual supply of food. All he had to do when hungry was walk out his apartment door, turn left, wander about six blocks, and misery would surround him.

Luis moved behind a Dumpster as two teenage kids stalked past. He was hungry now, and their postures bespoke a feast of negativity and self-aggrandizement. But…

Yes. But. He was on duty. And while it might be twenty minutes or more before Ethan returned with a report on the location of the TruWolves terrorist cell, Luis must be ready in case his tracker partner arrived early. Ethan Warner wouldn’t turn him in for unauthorized feeding, but neither did Luis want to put the werewolf in that uncomfortable position unless there was no other choice.

He stepped away from the Dumpster and looked both ways in the alley for Ethan’s wolf form. Another downside to Tampa in August -- at least this August; he couldn’t say he’d particularly noticed before -- was its lack of wolf-scent-carrying wind. Just a whisper of Ethan’s location would do.

Had his tracker partner been gone too long?

As had happened during the past year or so, fears of Ethan being captured by Gary Gavin, the founder and matriarch of the TruWolves, tried to scramble Luis’s thoughts. And as he had a hundred times before, he set the fear aside, grasping at a bit of amusing contradiction to ease his troubled mind.

Gary Gavin. Gigi to some, and matriarch to me, isn’t male. Or female. Sai is a different gender. He wasn’t tempted to laugh because sai, when used by transgender werewolves, was the loose equivalent of the human term intersex. To Luis’s way of thinking, everyone had a right to declare their gender and/or sexual orientation as they saw fit. No, he was amused by the word sai itself, the transwolf term for gender neutral or my gender’s none of your fucking nevermind, because it reminded him of a Japanese word that could be loosely translated to dagger. And also because Ethan, whom Luis knew to be a Japanese werewolf, had used the comparison between the two words to teach Luis. That was Ethan’s way: show by something memorable so the lesson wouldn’t need to be retaught.

Here came another kid, maybe early twenties this time, bopping down the sidewalk like he hadn’t a care in the world. Hands in his pockets and gawking up at the nighttime sky as though he saw the stars despite Tampa’s downtown lights. Luis purposely turned away. The kid had greasy hair and tattered sneakers. And didn’t seem to give a shit. He would make the perfect victim for a quick feeding if Luis stared too long.

You got a dollar? the kid asked. His question was accompanied by the brief flicker of a streetlight on metal.

Luis considered the knife the kid held. The tip of the blade was less than a foot from Luis’s chest. What am I supposed to do when they start walking into my clutches? He smiled, lips closed. Sure. He pulled his wallet from his back pocket. With the guy’s full attention on the bit of empty leather, Luis slipped into the young man’s open mind.

You don’t want to mug me, he sent. Then he laughed. That line reminded him of a movie he’d seen recently. He followed it up. You want to go to the local employment office in the morning and rethink your career choice.

The kid nodded.

Luis tucked his wallet away and took the knife from the human’s slackened grip. Before you go, you want to feed me.

The youth nodded again.

Lean against the wall. And relax. This won’t hurt. Luis allowed the young human’s physically well-hidden determination and fear to cascade into his mind. He consumed them like meat and potatoes.

He dipped back in and found little in the way of other aggression. What brought you to this crossroads, kid? He kept the thought to himself. With a sigh, he gave back a little of the energy he’d taken in the form of calm reassurance. You’ve already done something better with your life. Go find out what it is.

The youth nodded again. Smiled. Then he turned away.

He looks like my baby cousin. Sighing, Luis pulled six folded bills out of the hidden pocket in his jeans. Hey, kid. Hold up. He pushed the hundred dollars into the young man’s hand. Go on. Hide that, and go get your future.

He meant to watch until the kid disappeared, but his ears brought him news. Apparently Ethan had taken his advice and sheltered his mind well. There was the sound of clicking nails on concrete.

His tracker partner appeared less than ten seconds later. Luis watched him hesitate at the other end of the alley. Then Ethan, in wolf form, padded to where Luis stood, and sat beside him.

You stink of magic, Luis said.

Ethan whimpered.

Luis scanned the immediate vicinity. No other humans had noticed them as of yet. I wish you could talk or communicate some other way when you’re like this. He nudged a pile of clothes out from under a fall of mostly clean newspaper. Can you change? He glanced down into Ethan’s inscrutable dark eyes. Was the werewolf laughing at him?

Luis looked away the instant Ethan started shifting to the human guise he wore most of the time. Not because he hadn’t seen his tracker partner naked before, and not out of any sense of shame or propriety, but because they didn’t need to be found out at such a delicate moment. SearchLight provided its trackers with ways to redirect human senses, but that was no excuse for carelessness.

Especially so close to a potential terrorist hive. Lair. Whatever werewolves called their sanctuaries.

The den’s empty, Ethan said from a place behind and below Luis’s left elbow. The rustle of cloth accompanied his words. I don’t think it’s been so for more than a week. Maybe only forty-eight hours.

Did the TruWolves know we were coming? That argued for a leak within SearchLight’s Tampa-based offices, a powerful precog werewolf among the terrorists, or a telepathic werewolf with strength the likes of which Luis hadn’t seen since his days in Professor Charlie McLaughlin’s classes at SearchLight Academy.

Charlie. He closed his eyes and breathed. It shouldn’t feel this fresh close to five months later, especially not when all Luis had hoped for was a single interplay of bodies.

That’s my thought also, Ethan said.

Luis’s mouth fell open. He conquered the urge to say something along the lines of Why am I still obsessing over him? and dragged his mind back to the conversation they were having. Ethan wasn’t talking about Charlie. He meant the terrorists.

Fully clothed now, Ethan stood beside him. Do you want to check it out?

Ethan’s question could have been translated into a submissive werewolf’s desire for assurance if Luis hadn’t known his fellow tracker better. Submissive Ethan might be, especially as werewolves regarded things, but he knew his abilities. No. If that’s a dead end, we need to follow other leads.

Ethan’s lips twitched. Do you want to drive, or shall I?

Luis ran his fingers through his partner’s straight black hair, giving chase when the short wolf tried to duck away. If you must demonstrate your superior ability to drive in Tampa’s rush hour --

Ethan shoved him toward the head of the alley, not playfully.

Caught off guard, Luis stumbled into the street. He nearly went over backward, such had been his partner’s unexpected strength. Ethan, what’s wrong with you? He met his tracker partner’s unreadable gaze for less than a second. Then the alley’s left brick wall disintegrated.

* * *

After seventy-five minutes of listening to Agent Pierce gripe about everything from Charlie’s teaching methods to the task of delivering him downtown, Charlie sensed the end of their journey. The Capitol Building loomed somewhere to his northwest. Here in southeast DC, he wasn’t surrounded by any of the things that made the United States great. Southeast DC was, to the casual observer and sometimes to the longtime resident, nothing but Poverty and her children, Hunger and Crime, as far as the eye could see. Charlie came here once a week with five other professors (Sue among them) and a small battalion of students to help wherever they could.

Even for magical creatures, in whose number Charlie was barely counted, the task was daunting.

Here SearchLight housed its offices. Most seemed to be crumbling edifices, their appearance maintained by fae magic. The public relations office was located here. With its intimidating head, Agent Weinberg. She was the woman unofficially known as the Brains of SearchLight. Her guards were known as SearchLight’s Claws.

Agent Pierce got out of his car. Thank you, he said to whomever opened his door for him. Charlie heard someone answer Yes, sir. Then he listened as Agent Pierce strode away even before Charlie had opened the passenger door.

It’s going to be like that, is it? Charlie rounded the car and found a woman in a dark green uniform standing there. She might be a parking attendant, but he tried not to assume when dealing with anyone connected to SearchLight. Guessing often led to outrage. He let a feather of his perceptions out and found she was young, she was human, and she was nervous. Pulling back into his own mind, he smiled. Agent Pierce must have more important things to do than show me around. He extended his hand. I’m Charlie McLaughlin.

She grasped his hand; her palm felt clammy and cool.

Too cool to be a living human. Charlie sent out his perceptions again, this time prying a little deeper. Almost at once he discovered she was an undine, a water spirit. One of the elemental fae. If she knew how to cloak her nature against cursory telepathic passes, she wasn’t a parking attendant.

He dropped to one knee and made the tranquil ocean sign, two hands meeting in front of his chest in the shape of a triangle and then flattening to a plane. Apology, lady. Fault entirely mine.

She touched his shoulder. Rise. When he stood, she continued, We had to make sure you were truly Professor Charles William McLaughlin. Walk with me.

He loved the directness of the undines. They, like all the elemental fae, had much to do to keep the natural world in harmony, particularly since the Industrial Revolution. Those who left the traditional work of their people, whether to join SearchLight or for other pursuits, tended to make the natural directness of their kind seem gregarious. It was as though they, even as immortals, felt the press of time like a physical weight dragging at their heels.

There are many steps, she said. Perhaps sighted guide would be faster.

Only if you’re good at it. Thank you, lady, but I prefer to travel under my guidance. Then I only have myself to blame for missteps.

They entered the building, and Charlie touched the first riser with the tip of his cane. He saw the stairs spiraling far above their heads. Apparently elevators were not permitted. These people would flunk a visit from the enforcers of the Americans with Disabilities Act. He began to climb, resting his free hand lightly on the thick marble railing.

To his surprise, the undine laughed. You are as autonomous as you are polite. She strode at his side. I am Agent Glissandi Muzette Chambers. We will meet again on this mission. If you accept.

I won’t have a choice, lady.

Please. Lady is the proper term of respect, but we will be working together. Call me Agent Glissandi.

The offering to use her first name wasn’t a sign of friendship but tradition. Thank you. Let me be Charlie to you.

As you wish.

Two minutes later, they were joined by five other guards. Charlie did his best to keep his curiosity to himself, but all those around him appeared to be normal humans. As if there is such a thing. I’m Exhibit A regarding lack of normalcy. Half-werewolf or not, I was never considered a true werewolf because I couldn’t shift. In that sense, he supposed he wasn’t a real werewolf. Except he harbored many of the same cravings. Nature versus nurture. I’m sure Darwin never saw this coming.

Double doors swung wide at the end of the hall they’d been traveling.

Please step inside, Agent Glissandi said. Agent Weinberg will be with you in a few minutes. She has one other matter holding her attention.

Charlie stole half a second to center himself. Then he stepped into the lioness’s den.

Chapter Two

Luis stared up at the multicolored sky. Peach, a species of pale lavender, and a washed-out blue greeted his gaze.

Skies could be pastel… But not, Luis thought, in regular stripes. Which meant he wasn’t standing in the alley with Ethan anymore. Unless he missed his guess, the slightly yielding surface under him was some sort of bed.

Ethan. Luis groaned and tried to turn his head. A spike drilled through his temple, and he stopped trying to move. Ethan? He tried to send the word, but his psychic abilities were as useless as his body.

Luis focused on his breathing in an attempt to calm himself. It took much longer than he wanted to spend, but knowing he must take the time, he allowed the exercise to run its course. He wouldn’t be any good to Ethan if he couldn’t move or think. Once his breath came at regular, slow intervals without needing his attention, Luis managed to turn his head slightly to the right.

He didn’t see Ethan, but there were more of those pastel stripes. Something about that fabric set off faint alarm bells, but he couldn’t afford to be distracted by vague worries when Ethan might be injured nearby.

The explosion caught him more than it caught me. And only because Ethan had sensed it and shoved Luis out of the way.

We were hunting the TruWolves. Specifically the TruWolves’ leader, Gigi, who had a disdain for straight wolves, half wolves, and humans. Ethan found their hideout empty. Were they following us? Worse: had a member of the TruWolves terrorist group been in the alley with Luis, and he hadn’t seen or sensed them? He’d heard rumors that Gigi was powerful enough to do such things. And while the terrorist leader’s psychic abilities might be exaggerated, Luis doubted it. Because Ethan, who never stretched a story, had spent a while as a spy in Gary Gavin’s den. And had confirmed terrifying truths afterward.

The idea that he and Ethan had been spied on frightened Luis for a moment, but it didn’t hold water. As a psychic vampire and a SearchLight-trained tracker, he was likely to feel too much from others rather than too little.

Even when we’re talking about a terrorist? He shoved that thought away. I’m scared because I can’t see Ethan. With an effort, he moved his head left. His tracker partner wasn’t there. Again Luis tried to speak or to send a thought. But nothing came out. So he turned his attention to his aching body, with which he seemed to be making some progress. He shifted his legs a little. If he could get some real strength into his body, it wouldn’t matter that he couldn’t use his psychic sense. The fact that he was aware of his limbs probably meant he wasn’t hurt too badly. Whoever had set the bomb hadn’t expected a precog as young as Ethan to sniff them out.

Luis’s blood seemed to slow in his veins, leaving his skin icy. If the research he’d done was accurate, Gary Gavin and the rest of the TruWolves organization had skills akin to high-up security and infiltration agents. To make matters worse, most of the terrorist leader’s followers were said to be as willing to die for their ideals as any World War II kamikaze or modern-day Al Qaeda.

And like Al Qaeda, the TruWolves took hostages when it suited their master plan.

Luis lurched into a sitting position, grimacing at the way the bed creaked. As a tracker, he lived his working life in near silence. Well, that secret was out now. So Luis tried his voice again. This time it worked, although he sounded raspy. Ethan? Where… where are you? For that matter, where am I?

He squinted at the objects immediately around him. A hospital bed, complete with rails like a crib, supported his weight. The striped curtains surrounded him on all sides except for the floor.

He broke out in a cold sweat. He wasn’t in any ordinary hospital for magical creatures. Someone had stuck him in a SearchLight facility for the medically insane. Hence the calming curtains as some doctors called them. Imbued with both gentle colors and soothing magic, they were meant to ease the fears of anyone they enveloped. The spells woven into their cloth also dampened psychic impressions. And if he peeked behind them, he’d find padded walls. What had happened to land him here? Dizzy almost beyond belief, Luis settled back on the bed, letting the flat hospital pillow attempt to cushion his head.

The groan of a door distracted him. Who’s there? Good psychic vampire. Use your intimidating voice.

Peace, um, Agent Delgado. There was an audible swallow. Audible to Luis, though a human wouldn’t have heard it. You’re safe.

Poor guy sounds scared out of his last nerve. Luis managed a gentler tone when he spoke again. Where’s Ethan Warner?

The door made another noise. It too sounded nervous. The owner of the voice moved closer, his footfalls clicking hollowly on the floor. He is one floor below you having his burns seen to.

Luis swore.

The person by the door went on, and now his words had picked up a distinct tremor. H-he received more injuries than you. He gulped. There is… someone here to see you. If… if you’re up to it.

Luis sighed. Maybe it was the doctor, coming to let him know he needed to prove he was in possession of his right mind before he’d be allowed to get the hell out of this room and see Ethan. Okay.

The curtains to his right stirred. Luis turned that way.

It wasn’t a doctor. Luis knew this person by image and reputation. Agent Weinberg.

Luis repressed a shiver as the fae woman made the curtain move again. If Agent Weinberg, head of the department cheerfully called Public Relations, thought Luis had a reason to be in the insanity ward of a SearchLight hospital, she’d be here to read him his rights. And how was it that she retained her magical abilities while his were curtailed?

Damn it. I can’t even remember anything between the time Ethan shoved me to the ground in that alley and waking up here.

Then he squinted as her image flickered. You’re not really here. Despite the fact that she’d rustled the curtain. Only the very powerful fae could move objects hundreds of miles away. Well, that or a very few über-telepaths, like Luis’s SearchLight Academy crush, Charlie McLaughlin.

Perceptive, Agent Delgado, she said. I am in DC, in fact. I trust you are fully in the waking world now?

What the hell had he done? Her tone was severe, and her eyes narrowed. If Luis had killed someone -- probably some defenseless human EMT who’d come to help -- he deserved to know. Agent Weinberg must have the answers he needed. Why else would she be here? Ma’am, why am I here?

Even through the psychic projection he could see and hear Agent Weinberg’s frustration. I have others to see today, Delgado.

Luis made sure not to flash his canines when he spoke. Such a dominance display would piss Weinberg off further. I know, ma’am. I respect that. But I’m owed an explanation. If I’m being charged with killing someone -- a horrible idea glowed in his mind like a far-off supernova --or setting the explosive that hurt Ethan, I deserve to know.

She scowled. You are not suspected of anything. What ‘put you here,’ as you say, was a combination of overprotectiveness, stubbornness, and stupidity. You provided the first two, and the medical agents who attempted to retrieve both you and your tracker partner provided the latter.

Luis remembered sitting in a basic medical course at SearchLight Academy and hearing a professor say, "Never approach a psychic vampire if that person is sheltering someone."

Luis felt cold all the way to his core. His people -- psychic vampires -- were capable of manipulating others’ minds to elicit the emotions that were their food. Pulling up old, terrible memories was child’s play. As was using their preternatural strength to break arms. Or necks.

Meeting Agent Weinberg’s gaze, he said, I don’t remember --

"You’re not expected to. You were semiconscious, and you were assumed to be defenseless. Those agents will not make such an idiotic mistake again. She scowled. So you’ll be let out when your injuries have healed, which shouldn’t take more than a day. Weinberg’s voice dropped to the raspy whisper of sandpaper against glass. As for the psychic shield that surrounds your room, that’s standard equipment for a mental health wing. I’m using tremendous energy just to talk to you, and I have others to see today. Now may we proceed?"

Humbled and relieved, Luis answered, Yes, ma’am. Thank you.

You and Agent Warner are being assigned to guard a delegation of twenty-five werewolves. Your task is to escort those wolves placed under your care here in Florida to Buffalo, New York, and to shield them from harm while they attend a peace summit.

What harm?

You will be given that information later. For now, all you must know is that the danger may come from the TruWolves. That group has a vested interest in preventing the peace summit.

Once, in the midst of endless paperwork, Luis had named the TruWolves terrorists certifiably wacked. His supervisor had not been pleased with the term, calling it unprofessional. Luis maintained -- silently -- that it was still accurate. How else did you describe terrorists who wanted to dominate all straight werewolves simply because they were straight?

That wasn’t the complete truth, and despite his dislike for the werewolf terrorist group, Luis refused to lie to himself. The TruWolves, all members of the LGBT community, didn’t seek control for simple reasons. In a traditional -- mostly straight -- werewolf pack, nonstraight werewolves were second-class citizens. Any group of people might feel the need to conquer their enemies given such a past. In addition, LGBT wolves had something their straight counterparts did not: psychic abilities. Ethan was one such.

So’s Charlie. Although he’s only half werewolf.

You will lead a contingent of five trackers, said Agent Weinberg, snaring Luis’s attention. Their statistics and careers will be provided for your perusal.

I’m in charge of this mission? Luis forced himself to maintain a politely neutral expression. He had led other combined tracker teams but not outside the Tampa Bay area.

Weinberg seemed to have a direct conduit into Luis’s head. She glared. Make no mistake, Delgado. You were chosen for this assignment based on two criteria and two criteria alone. Unfortunately, we lack the time to ascertain who among your team might be a better leader. You were chosen because of your comfortable relationship with Agent Warner and your past relationship with the son of the peace summit leader.

He was confused. Ma’am? Relationship with Ethan? Does she assume I know a shit ton about werewolves because my tracker partner’s a werewolf and Ethan and I have always gotten along like brothers bonded in the trenches?

Firos William McLaughlin’s son, Charles William, was your professor, was he not? You excelled in his classes?

Charlie McLaughlin was the son of Firos William, alpha of all alphas among the North American werewolf population? He’d never let that fun fact slip.

Luis had done well in Charlie’s classes at the academy. If he hadn’t chosen to become a tracker, he could have pursued language studies with no trouble. During the weeks he and Charlie had worked together on the Tavery case back in March, Charlie had praised him several times for his skills.

Luis felt his face grow hot. Skills indeed. Charlie had sure lauded Luis’s skills in bed.

It was to their teacher-student relationship that Agent Weinberg was referring, Luis assured himself. She couldn’t know about the relationship Luis and Charlie might have had if Charlie hadn’t abandoned Luis following a hard-won night of passion.

It wasn’t quite abandonment. I was initially planning for a one-night stand. It’s not Charlie’s fault I wanted more and more the moment he touched me.

That was true, but they’d shared something beyond physical pleasure that night in March. Why hadn’t Charlie felt it?

Agent Weinberg cleared her throat.

Luis refocused. Yes, ma’am.

You will receive all other information after your release. Rest well and heal quickly. She vanished.

I’ll be working with Charlie. There was no denying it. He still wanted Charlie. But in the midst of a mission had to be the worst time to get in someone’s pants. Hadn’t Luis already tried jumping the man while the two of them were protecting Agent Tavery back in March? Charlie -- Professor McLaughlin, as Luis had called him until that wonderful one-night stand -- had rebuffed every attempt except that last. We’re working, Luis, Charlie had said on more than one occasion. I’m interested, but this isn’t the time.

Five months later, Charlie’s words still rang clear. Because of that one-night stand, Luis had hoped they would have a few more chances to get together. But Charlie had packed up and left for SearchLight Academy right after their night of passion. He’d left Luis asleep in the bed.

Luis sat up. At least he hadn’t been restrained in this crazy hospital wing. Orders to heal or not, it was time to get out of here, find Ethan, and learn what they were supposed to do.

Thoughts about Charlie would just have to wait.

* * *

Sit, Professor McLaughlin.

This fae woman’s psychic scent reminded Charlie of well-steeped rose hips with an underlayer of congealed bacon fat. That might be his prejudice speaking since he had no desire to be here. He obeyed her order, laid his white cane at his feet, and folded his hands.

You’re Firos William’s son, Agent Weinberg said the moment Charlie was settled. The centuries-old fae crossed her arms. And you’re gay. That makes you the most valuable insider we can send.

Send where?

She rolled on, ignoring his question. Not only do you have influence with your father, but you’ll have pull with both delegations by extension.

What delegations? For now, that didn’t matter. She obviously meant him to acquiesce, details to follow whenever she felt like it, which could mean during this meeting or via e-mail. Or even -- shudder -- texts, which were difficult for Charlie to read.

Agent Weinberg’s facts about his father and himself were accurate. So far as they went. Should he argue with her? Would clarification be seen as argument?

His fierce and defiant nature grumbled. He’d chosen to cultivate that part of his will rather than seek an eros werewolf pack and submit to someone else’s rule. Even though he’d be accepted as a member of an eros pack because he was gay and half-human, Charlie couldn’t imagine being anywhere other than alone.

Or possibly back with his birth pack. Sometimes, during lonely nights when he was afraid to sleep because lowering his guard meant inviting trouble, he imagined submitting to his father’s strictures. Firos William wasn’t cruel; he might have given Charlie space and protection if Charlie had been born straight. After all, his father had taken him, a half-human, half-werewolf child, into the pack without a moment’s hesitation. Then again, Firos William’s only other choice, given that Charlie was of his blood, would have been to kill him. Werewolves were careful not to reveal their existence to humans in any way.

Charlie had developed prudence alongside defiance. Hyperaware of the guards who had escorted him into this secure office and who now stood a few feet behind him, Charlie measured the truth of his family’s dynamics against the probability he’d be listened to. Ma’am, my father sent me away from the Firos Pack when I graduated at sixteen. I haven’t been back since. My sexual orientation is the source of the rift between us.

Yes, Professor McLaughlin, I am aware. She leaned forward, and her words slowed to a stalking cat’s pace. Now Firos William has plans to call a peace summit between heterosexual werewolves and all those they formerly considered outcasts. Do you agree Firos William may be changing his attitude toward you?

It wouldn’t be professional to scream that’s impossible, packless loner’s bastard pup, or any of the other phrases that came to mind. And Charlie knew he wasn’t going to get out of this. Her implacable voice said so. Agreed.

If you will gather enough clothing -- including formal wear -- for a month’s stay in Buffalo, I will e-mail you the particulars of your flight. Dismissed.

Wolf shit on a stump. He stood. Bowed. There couldn’t be anything worse than functioning as SearchLight’s long diplomatic arm. If his father didn’t hate him now, that would surely change by the end of this assignment. Firos William, alpha of alphas, werewolf above all werewolves, never took kindly to being told what to do. Moon goddess help me.

Chapter Three

Buffalo-Niagara International Airport drowsed as the hour clicked over to eleven p.m. Thick August darkness pressed at the windows. Luis scanned the mostly empty area around the luggage carousels. No one seemed to be paying attention to his charges.

The six werewolves he and Ethan had escorted from Orlando’s airport, through Reagan International, and finally here to Buffalo, New York, didn’t remind him of a delegation of ambassadors, or even the vicious werewolves they were. Most looked like bored and disgruntled tourists.

Luis peeked at the drowsy-seeming wolves. Unless I’m mistaken, two of them are half asleep. He took three steps away from the cluster of chairs where the werewolves congregated with their various bags.

Managing a psychic feeding proved challenging at any time. Luis’s kind -- both psychic vampires and the better-known bloodsucking sort -- were in danger if SearchLight caught them eating without permission. That notion had always bugged Luis to no end. Humans had, by far, the most nutritionally sound and tasty emotions from which to feed. And drinking emotions didn’t hurt the victim. Not if it was done right.

Luis glanced at the slumped werewolves. If he didn’t sneak a meal now, he might not get another chance for days. He and Ethan, with their group of six alpha werewolf delegates, would be joined soon by the rest of Luis’s team. Once everyone was together, he couldn’t afford to hunt. Not only would time be limited, but there was a greater chance one of his fellow SearchLight agents would catch him. Psychic vampires -- and the bloodsuckers -- were allowed to drink from willing hosts. Denying them the right to eat would doom them to death. Determining who was willing or otherwise when it came to civilians was damn near impossible. Especially since revealing yourself as a vampire to a human was illegal.

He peeked at the delegation one more time. The six alpha delegates -- well, five alphas and Agent Redpath, who’d somehow managed to be included despite his relatively submissive nature -- weren’t looking at him. Luis closed his eyes to center himself, and then he glanced around casually, seeking someone, anyone, who had energy to spare. The airport terminal stood mostly empty.

A flicker of movement off to his right, from the direction of the werewolves, caught his attention, and he refocused at once. Had the terrorists followed them this far north? Or had they lain in wait?

Luis relaxed. It was only his tracker partner, Ethan. The werewolf was gesturing to the three women of the delegation to accompany him. As the four of them passed, Ethan tipped Luis a small salute. We’ll be back momentarily.

Women always have to go together, muttered one of the other wolves, a werewolf with enough extra padding to preclude the possibility of hunting at the time of the full moon.

The closest female wolf smiled, showing her sharp teeth. Keep talking, Georgy, and I’ll rip out your entrails and feed them to my children.

Georgy, Alpha George St. Martin, snarled. Mind your tongue, bitch. I’m alpha of a powerful --

Save it, she said. You couldn’t catch me if I was carrying a pack of pork rinds in my back pocket, and your pack isn’t here to back you up.

Please, Fehrna Susan, Ethan said, his voice scarcely above a whisper. Peace.

Luis waited, hoping he wouldn’t have to step in. Ethan was one of the guards assigned to this mission. And he was undoubtedly one of the best fighters Luis had ever served beside. But Ethan was also far from alpha-wolf material, and all the werewolves here knew it. They didn’t have to take Ethan’s suggestions, although if they did, they’d probably live longer.

Fehrna Susan tousled Ethan’s long black hair. All right. She and the two with her headed for the bathroom, with Ethan keeping pace.

Luis knew his fellow tracker well enough to be confident Ethan would investigate the bathroom before allowing any of the members of the delegation to step inside. And since the male werewolves had subsided and there didn’t seem to be immediate danger, he allowed his gaze to wander once more.

The first people to catch his attention were a young couple and their fussing toddler.

Late night, young one? Luis rested against a handy pillar and bent his concentration toward the child. Her emotions flowed back to him like a tide of sweet water mixed with one part vinegar. Slightly nutritious, not poisonous, but not the tastiest thing he’d ever eaten.

When will I eat again? Tomorrow? Next week? He opened his mind completely to her and drank.

Her exhaustion flooded his mouth, bitter but sustaining. Her grumpiness contained a hint of something stronger, the difference between spinach and steak. He took most of this emotion, so unpleasant to the little one, until he felt her drifting toward sleep. Then Luis pulled back. Across the way, the little girl was falling asleep in her mother’s arms, and the couple shared a tired smile.

Glad to help. Call me your friendly neighborhood psychic vampire. He shot another glance at the three remaining delegates. They still seemed to ignore him. Good. SearchLight didn’t have patience for its agents, even its trackers, bending the law to suit their own needs.

But honestly. Where’s a psychic vampire going to find a willing victim in a roll-the-sidewalks-up city like Buffalo after, say, eight o’clock on a weekday evening?

His stomach growled. If he wasn’t going to get caught, he needed to stop griping and eat a little more.

A TSA employee leaned against a distant pillar with his hat pulled low over drooping eyelids.

When’s the last time you slept? Luis sent into the man’s mind, and he received an answer that made him smile: Not since hell froze over.

All right then, Luis told the TSA agent, you’ve earned a nap. Let me help you along.

He drank the last of the man’s resistance off, enjoying this taste, more like legumes and vegetables than vinegar. Across the large room, his donor yawned and sank to the floor. His rough snores vibrated the air.

The distinctive creak of a plastic chair drew Luis’s attention. His hand dropped to his empty knife holster, and he glared at the two werewolves who were smirking at him. Damn alphas. They assumed the world had to kiss their asses.

The skin between Luis’s eyes tightened. Neither of the alphas was paying much attention to him, except in a peripheral, you’re-below-us way. No, he’d managed to trigger the other SearchLight agent’s radar.

Does he realize I was feeding? Does he even suspect? Luis Delgado met Agent Redpath’s gaze and waited to see what the werewolf would say or do. If Agent Redpath, who was no tracker, understood the law Luis was breaking, Luis would need to watch him more closely.

Ethan reappeared, the three female wolves a step or two behind him. The rest of our team’s reported in, Agent Delgado. He pocketed his cell phone. Agent Wind Child will be here momentarily.

Luis had glanced to the left at the sound of Ethan’s footsteps. Now he turned toward Agent Redpath again, wondering if the delegation member would make trouble for him. But Redpath seemed preoccupied with his luggage. If that’s the way you want to play it, I can wait. But if you’re planning to surprise me with a reprimand, I know my rights. Luis steadied himself. This other agent didn’t have to be his enemy. But God knows what he sensed or how he feels about it.

As the delegation members gathered their belongings, Luis retreated to Ethan’s side. Agent Redpath caught me eating, I think.

Maybe he doesn’t understand you didn’t have time to eat while helping to protect everyone from the terrorists in Orlando. Ethan flashed his trademark false-wellness smile in the direction of the half-dozen werewolves. Did you get enough?

For now. Luis squeezed Ethan’s shoulder. Thanks. For understanding. Again.

We’ll find you some time away from the LGBT delegation. Promise me one thing.

If I can.

Ethan offered him a smile Luis took as a real one. Don’t feed around them again. No amount of explaining will protect you if you’re caught while on this mission. And I don’t want to lose you.

Luis saluted. Yes, Mom.

"Madre de Dios," Ethan muttered as he started back toward the delegation.

Luis grinned to hear his native Spanish coming out of Ethan’s mouth. I’m God’s mother? I didn’t know you thought so highly of me.

* * *

Charlie retreated under the stone roof of his father’s gazebo as the first storm of August opened overhead. The rain wouldn’t stop his father and most of the rest of the pack from hunting, but it might sour their moods.

I’m doubly glad I didn’t go. He rested a hand on one of the cement pillars and watched his father’s home through the shifting downpour. Between my low vision and the rain distorting both sound and smell, I’d be hard-pressed not only to catch anything, but to keep up at all. That assumed the rest of the pack he’d once called family would wait for a half human, half wolf who could smell and hear as well as any werewolf but who couldn’t adopt a wolf’s guise. They’d once done so as a matter of course. Charlie had passed several of the rites required of all werewolf pups before he turned twelve. The days when he’d run with his pack -- his father’s pack, he reminded himself -- happened before his family figured out he was homosexual. And telepathic, which was much worse.

Charlie yawned. And there’s such a thing as too much hunting.

All right, so that last wasn’t true. He’d grown up among these werewolves, and no matter his mixed-species blood, Charlie longed for the chase. But he was forty-two, a professor at SearchLight Academy, and long past the time where dreams could serve as more than a reminder of what he’d failed to accomplish.

None of that now, he told the silent gazebo. "This isn’t a vacation. I’m here on official SearchLight business, even if I don’t like