Licence To Howl by Helen Harper

Chapter Two

‘Can I come with you?’Alice asked.

‘Nope.’ Devereau gave his niece a flat look. ‘You know you can’t. Stop asking.’

‘Martina gets to go.’

From the corner chair, where she sat with her legs tucked underneath her, Martina grinned.

‘Martina is a werewolf.’

‘You could make me a wolf like her. Then I could come.’

‘If I did that,’ Devereau grunted, ‘your mum would kill me.’ Literally.

Dr Yara appeared in the doorway. ‘They are here,’ she announced.

Devereau nodded and got to his feet. ‘Natasha will be here to pick Alice up shortly.’

Yara smiled. ‘Is no problem. I wait.’

‘Thank you.’ He glanced at Martina. ‘Have you called your dad?’

The young girl waved her phone at him. ‘I texted him. He texted back and told me not to eat anyone.’

Devereau kept his expression schooled into a blank mask. Martina’s father was an idiot. She needed support and love, not pointless warnings or admonishments even if they were wrapped up with misplaced humour. It wasn’t the time to comment, however, and it wouldn’t do Martina any favours. She only stayed with him for the three days over every full moon and her blood ties, especially given her history, were not his to break. It had been a few days since Greensmith’s daft test and Devereau had a free pass until the moon completed its cycle so he had been able to give Martina the attention she deserved. However, with only one night left before she returned to her dad, he was keen not to rock the boat. None of them could afford to allow Martina’s riotous teenage hormones to get the better of her composure. Like him, she was a werewolf who wasn’t supposed to exist. Unlike him, she had to struggle with puberty and adolescence as well as her lupine form. They weren’t states of existence which tended to blend well and at this time of the month it paid to tread on eggshells around any werewolf, let alone one barely into her teenage years.

‘Come on then,’ he said. ‘Let’s make a move.’

Martina bounced up and stretched. Her eyes were already glowing yellow in anticipation. Devereau nodded at her and the pair of them turned to join the small motley group of waiting werewolves outside his door.

They fell in together, forming a small band as they walked with purpose towards Regent’s Park, where they could allow the lure of the moon to inhabit them completely without fear of injuring any innocent humans who happened by. From her window his pixie neighbour, Millicent, waved at them. They all waved back. Devereau insisted upon it.

Morty sidled up towards him. Once upon a time, he’d tried to kill Martina. When he’d failed, his old employer had forcibly turned him into a wolf. Fortunately, since then, Morty had learned the error of his ways and had a new job working as a personal trainer. He’d garnered himself some well-heeled human clients and was establishing a decent reputation for himself. Morty knew as well as Devereau did that his status as a werewolf meant he’d never be fully trusted by humans, however. Such was the nature of the beast.

He cleared his throat nervously. ‘Uh…’

‘Spit it out.’

Morty scratched the side of his neck. It was growing visibly furry and Devereau knew without looking that his fingernails had already become misshapen claws. Dusk was too close and it was all any of them could do to maintain even a vaguely human body at this point.

‘I’ve been approached by Lord McGuigan. He’s offered me a spot in his clan as a ranked wolf.’

It had only been a matter of time. In fact, Devereau fully expected that it wouldn’t be long before all the ragtag wolves who’d been part of the slave ring that he’d busted a few months ago would be picked up the four werewolf clans. He took it as a success rather than a failure. He’d turned a group of near feral supes into functioning members of society. He also knew that McGuigan’s approach meant the clan lords and ladies were as keen as ever to ensure that Devereau had no followers of his own and no power to speak of. They still saw him as a threat. They were right to think of him that way.

‘Are you going to take him up on it?’ he asked.

Morty swallowed. ‘That depends on you.’

‘There are four clans,’ Devereau told him. ‘Not five. Clan Webb does not exist. You’ll do well with a real werewolf clan behind you.’

‘You’re not angry?’

He half smiled. ‘No. Although,’ he paused briefly, considering that it was worthwhile saying aloud, ‘regardless of which clan you choose to end up with, I hope you’ll remember me and the times we’ve had together.’ Translation: don’t forget what I did for you and don’t ever fuck with me.

‘I will always be in your debt, boss,’ Morty said.

Good. Devereau nodded. ‘Then I wish you well in your endeavours.’ He pointed to the leafy trees on the fringes of Regent’s Park just up ahead. ‘Of course, it does mean that you won’t be able to come here anymore.’ Only Devereau had the rights to the use of this particular park over the full moon. The clans had to make do with the far smaller St James’s Park. Devereau didn’t feel the slightest flicker of guilt about the situation. He flashed the other man a grin. ‘You’d better make the most of it while you can.’ He broke into a run. Almost immediately Morty and the others followed him, with Martina all but nipping at his heels.

They sped past the small cluster of police officers, who were there ostensibly to keep the werewolves inside the confines of the park but whose actual jobs were to keep curious humans out. Devereau bit back the temptation to burst out of his clothes. After all, he’d need them later if he didn’t want to be strolling back home stark bollock naked. It wasn’t that he was modest or shy. It was simply that it was bloody freezing at this time of year. He pulled off his shirt, kicked off his shoes and divested himself off his trousers and underwear. The others did the same. Barely had his clothes landed on the ground when he allowed his wolf to take over. The surge of power and adrenaline as the change happened was incomparable.

His bones snapped and altered shape. His muscles bulged. His blood fizzed and, from head to toe, his smooth skin yielded to thick gold tipped fur. Devereau paused for a beat, on four paws now rather than two feet, and inhaled the twilight air. The power of the full moon resounded towards him. It was like nothing else in the world. He enjoyed the single solitary moment. Then he became aware of the others, watching and waiting for his cue. In belated acknowledgment, he tipped his head back and opened up his lungs, howling into the darkening sky. He wanted to sing to the moon like she sang to him. A heartbeat later, his small group of wolves, from Martina to Morty and beyond, joined in.

* * *

They tore through the park.Martina caught the scent of a squirrel and darted off in one direction. Two of the younger male werewolves who had been supe slaves like Morty began to snarl at each other, a missed step by one causing a minor collision that was developing into a full blown fight. Devereau could step in and prevent any bloodshed but it would be better for them all if he allowed the spat to continue. They all had to blow off steam and if it resulted in a few minor bites and some blood loss along the way then so be it. They all had to learn. This was the way of the wolf.

He turned to his right, opening up his stride and bounding along the grass with the cool dew seeping into his paws. There was a bite to the air that pleased him. Devereau bounded ahead, expending as much lupine energy as he possibly could. I am wolf, he thought. Watch me soar.

The mingled scents from the animals in the zoo behind him drifted over. The wolves were not permitted anywhere near that area but even from this distance he could smell their unease. They knew what was happening. Even the largest of the beasts contained within those pathetic, miserable cages knew that there were predators around. Devereau swung away from them, leaving them in peace. But then he caught another scent – and this was one was both more familiar and more fragrant. Hmm. Interesting.

Slowing to a more sedate pace, he swung round towards the source. It was over there, beyond the park boundary. There was little more than a breath of wind in the air but it didn’t escape his attention that the scent was downwind. She probably assumed that he couldn’t smell her, basing her actions on years of knowledge garnered about werewolves and their abilities. She should already know better than that, however. He wasn’t like the other wolves.

Devereau slunk into the copse of oak trees over to his right, keeping his body low. He weaved in and out until he had a clear line out of sight out of the park and over the road. There. She was right there.

Scarlett was alone. She was standing perfectly still, staring across at the park. He knew instinctively that she couldn’t see him beneath the cover of the trees and that she didn’t know he was watching her. What he didn’t know was why she had come here. After one tumultuous sexy fortnight when they’d shaken the foundations of his house and christened every single room with mad, passionate bouts of heady, raw sex, she’d walked away. She told him they’d had good times together – great times together – but that it was time to move on. Then she’d left. Devereau had given it a few days before calling her on the phone. Scarlett didn’t pick up. He’d walked into Heart, the large vampire nightclub where they’d first met, and waited for hours for her to show up - although in truth he wasn’t surprised when she didn’t. This was Scarlett’s MO. He was hardly the first man to fall for her and then find himself dumped. If she were anyone else, he’d have given chase. At the very least he’d have demanded answers. But he knew that anything like that would simply make her less inclined to speak to him. If she was going to play it cool, then he would do the same in return. He wouldn’t forget her, however. He couldn’t forget her.

He settled back on his haunches and gazed at her. Her dark hair was pulled back into a tight ponytail. Despite the cold air, she was wearing nothing more than a lowcut bodice and tight trousers. His breath huffed out. Damn her for looking so good. What do you want, Scarlett? he sent out silently. Why are you here? And then, because he couldn’t help himself, Are you looking for me?

After several moments, Devereau gave up on hide and seek. It wasn’t his style anyway. He stood up, shook out his fur and let out a brief low howl. Scarlett’s head whipped in his direction. He grinned to himself and padded out from the trees. Now all that was separating them was the old ornate fencing that circled the park, and the road. If he wanted to, he could clear both in seconds.

Scarlett’s eyes met his. For one long second they stared at each other. He desperately wished he knew what she was thinking. She tilted her head, smiling slightly and revealing her single vampire fang. Then she blew him a kiss and turned away, walking quickly in the opposite direction.

Devereau felt his insides tense. Despite the laws which stated he had to remain within the park until dawn hit, the urge to leap after her gnawed at him. He doubted she would thank him for it though. Not to mention that he had a responsibility towards the motley crew of werewolves somewhere behind him. He let out a deep sigh. Then he too turned and walked away.