Renegade Page 9

  The laugh that burst from my throat was pure astonishment, because I hadn’t expected that from her, and even though she should have been reprimanded for her rudeness, the prince’s mouth was twitching too, and even the princess jerked her gaze away and compressed her lips, as though trying to hide her own mirth. But my amusement died when Nicholas glanced back over his shoulder, laughing too, and winked at me, sharing in our private joke that was no longer private, or funny.

  I don’t know whether what I felt for him then was admiration or resentment. Over the years the two became so entangled in my head I’m not sure I ever could tell them apart. And even today, when I think of him, the image that so often comes to mind is of that day, and his careless laughter, and the way Lara clung to my hand as we watched him walk away.

  Alexander Devoncroix was the most striking creature I had ever seen. He was tall and straight shouldered, with hair that was already brilliantly silver when I first met him and eyes so blue that looking at them was startling; they made you blink, and forget what you were going to say; they made you never want to look away and they made you afraid to look again. When he entered a room the air around him seem to hum with potential. His wife Elise, whom they called the queen, was of the same elegant, regal build, with a cascade of hair that, when loosed, tumbled below her hips and sparkled and glinted like diamonds on snow. I thought no one could ever be more beautiful than my princess. It felt like a betrayal even to look at Elise Devoncroix.

  She was wearing a big sun hat and dark glasses to shield her pale eyes from the sun, and a sarong-type dress in a colorful print with sandals that were beaded in turquoise and diamond chips. When the boat failed to make the last few feet to shore, and before her son could reach her to assist her, she simply removed the expensive shoes, caught up her skirt, and waded onto the beach. It was difficult not to like her after that.

  “What a paradise you have here, Ilsa!” she declared warmly, both hands extended. “How generous of you to share it.”

  “How generous of you to come.” The two women embraced in the customary style, holding shoulders, touching cheeks together on one side, and then the other. There are scent glands, very subtle, behind the earlobe, that traditionally emit an odor when one lies—which is what is meant when a werewolf says he can smell a lie. The cheek-to-cheek greeting is a gesture of sincerity, like the handshake is among humans.

  Because it was the queen, the females of the family were greeted first, and I had to push Lara forward when it was her turn. There were fifteen female members of the Fasburg clan present on the beach and by the time they were done the pack leader had arrived, and Nicholas Devoncroix had found some clothes and dried his hair, and the ritual began all over again. It was all very complex, in terms of who greeted whom at what time and with what words and gestures, and I wondered how they kept up with it all. But this was what Lara studied while I practiced Tae Kwon Do, I supposed, and I was glad, because I wanted her to explain it all to me.

  By the time they were all assembled there, all the Devoncroix and all the Fasburgs, the kinetic power on the beach was so thick it practically shimmered, and I could feel it crawling in my flesh, tickling my lungs when I drew in the air, fighting with my pulse like the shadow of a panic attack. I had never known that kind of sensation before. I had never known the Devoncroix.

  It was one thing of course for the prince to make a casual introduction of me to the impudent Nicholas Devoncroix when he appeared so informally upon our shores, but I did not expect to be acknowledged by the pack leader—nor did I want to be. I stayed far back from the proceedings—close enough not to miss a detail, of course, but hiding myself among the servants and workmen until I saw Alexander Devoncroix lean his head toward the prince and say something, then the prince turned and searched the crowd with his eyes until he found me. He beckoned me with a lift of his hand, and I came forward, heart pounding.

  I hesitated when I reached the prince, but he placed his hand firmly upon my shoulder and drew me forward. Those around us—the queen, some of the older Devoncroix offspring, even the princess, who seemed to enjoying her duties as hostess far more than the prince was enjoying his as host—grew quiet, watching curiously. The prince said, simply, “Emory Hilliford, a human. Emory, this is Alexander Devoncroix, about whom you may have heard.” I could hear the amusement in his voice and he added, “Emory is quite an admirer of yours, I believe, Alexander.”

  The great man with his silver hair and gleaming blue eyes turned his gaze on me. “Is that so, young man?”

  Immediately I lowered my eyes. It would, frankly, have been difficult to do otherwise. “I have read about you in the history books, sir. It is an honor.”

  “Nicely mannered,” observed Alexander Devoncroix.

  “Of course,” replied the prince.

  “You take a risk,” added Alexander, his tone still casual, “bringing your human along on a holiday such as this.”

  And the prince replied, equally as at ease, “But he is my human.”

  I was aware in the brief pulse of silence that ensued of a contest of some sort taking place between the two males, and then, when I chanced a quick glance upward, I saw the pack leader smile. It seemed a cold thing. “Well then. You’ll be certain to keep him safe, won’t you?”

  He looked at me then, his eyes twinkling, and I thought my heart might stop. “You, young human, will make an effort to find me when I’m not otherwise occupied, and tell me what you have read about me in history books, eh?”

  I managed to nod, and to sputter, “I will, sir. Thank you, sir.”

  And then he turned away to make some comment to his spouse, and the prince was chuckling as he gave me an affectionate shove on the back of the neck. “You are far too easily impressed, little man. Away with you, now, and find something with which to occupy yourself until the Great Ones deign to notice you again.”

  The Devoncroix brought gifts of all description for their hosts, their hosts’ servants, and their hosts’ children—which included, to my astonishment and delight, a prototype 3-D video game which took the rest of the summer for me to master, but with which Lara was bored with in a week. I was, however, most fascinated by the barge that drew up behind the yacht, and began to disgorge a small herd of goats and sheep which, once shepherded down the high-walled ramp onto the rocky beach, were simply allowed to disperse at will all over the island.

  “Eh bien, my friend,” declared Alexander Devoncroix, clapping the prince on the shoulder in a gesture of familiarity even I could see was false, “we will feast on hunt night!”

  “What is hunt night?” I asked Lara. “What are all those animals going to do?”

  By now the formalities were dispensed with, and everyone intermingled happily on the beach, or explored the island, or settled themselves in the great marble villa on the hill. Lara and I had found a perch on a rocky overhang a little removed from the action, but close enough that I was certain not to miss anything important.

  “Poop all over the island,” she replied. I could tell she was put out with me but I didn’t know why.

  “Are they really going to hunt them?” I insisted, wide eyed as I watched the herd flow this way and that through the rocks and gorse. “For real?”

  She was frowning over a delicate gold chain, beautifully worked in delicate roses of white and pink gold, that Elise Devoncroix had given her. “They are brutes,” she said. “Why did they have to come here? Why couldn’t we just have our pleasant holiday like we always do?”

  I said impatiently, “Because we can have a pleasant holiday any time. How often do you get to meet the leaders of the entire pack? This is an adventure, Lara! You’ll tell your grandchildren about it!”

  She gave me a look of disdain. “You are such a sycophant.”

  “It’s better than being an idiot,” I shot back, and we stood there for a moment, glaring at each other.

  Then, because I was far too excited about what the rest of the adventure might hold to fight with her, I
said, “Look, it’s going to be fun, you’ll see. Just give it a chance, all right?” Then, nodding at the necklace she worried in her hand, I said, “That’s pretty. Do you want me to fasten it for you?”

  Her eyes flashed suddenly and she balled up the necklace and threw it at me. “No,” she said, and stalked off.

  I called after her, but she didn’t look back, and I didn’t try very hard to get her attention. I was far too intent upon everything that was going on around me to worry much about Lara. But I did remember to pick up the necklace, and give it back to her when I saw her later. She didn’t even thank me.

  I could not get enough of the visitors. Where they were, I was, watching them, listening to them, observing them, absorbing every nuance and subtlety about them, sometimes even interacting with them, although always in the most superficial way. Nothing was forbidden to me, no place was off limits, yet it was understood that my freedom was provisionary. I might wander among them as long as I did not make a pest of myself and observed protocol. But if I trespassed, I would not only bring humiliation to the prince and princess, I would very likely be sent home. So I was careful to stay out of the way and draw no attention to myself. And I became very good at stalking.

  Of course, even I knew better than to attempt to stalk the leader of the pack.

  I came upon him accidentally one purple twilight as I was making my way back to the villa after an afternoon of watching a group of females in wolf form dive for fish from the low cliffs on the south end of the island. He swam alone in human form, cutting in and out of the water with long, leisurely strokes, a thing of beauty to see. I sank quickly into the shadows before he noticed me, then scrambled off the pebbly beach and over the rocks to take the longer route home. I had not gone twenty steps along the steep path that wound toward the villa when I saw him standing there a few dozen meters before me. I had no idea how he had gotten there before me. But he was waiting for me. I approached slowly, my tongue dry in my throat.

  He had combed back his wet hair and had donned slacks and leather shoes and an open gauze shirt. He was as strong and fit as the prince, for they were about the same age, but there were hard edges about the pack leader that made him seem somehow even stronger, sharp-muscled and poised. And he had eyes that could cut steel.

  He said easily, as I reached him, “We can hear you, you know. No matter how silent you make your feet, we can hear your heart beat from half a mile away, and hear your breath even when you hold it, and the fluids that flow through your body. Still,” he conceded, “you do well, for a human.”

  I swallowed—something else he could hear—but said nothing.

  “You may one day learn to disguise your heartbeat,” he went on, turning as I reached him to continue along the path, “but there is nothing that can be done about the smell. It’s quite distinctive, and lingers long after you’ve gone. So you see you’ll never be completely invisible to us.”

  I cleared my throat. “I wasn’t trying to be invisible, sir. I was trying not to intrude.”

  “You were spying,” he corrected, without accusation.

  I knew the futility of lying. “I was trying to,” I admitted miserably, and to my surprise, the great werewolf chuckled.

  “An admirable effort,” he said, “if misplaced.”

  We climbed higher, my legs stretching to keep up with his long and effortless stride. He said, “So what is it that you make of us, Emory Hilliford, the human, now that you have found time to study us? Have you learned anything you did not already know?”

  I could not begin to put my thoughts into words. I admitted, “I already knew a lot.”

  “Ah yes, your history books.” He seemed amused. “Tell me what you’ve read of me from them, then.”

  This was the moment I had been waiting for. I cast a quick eager glance at him. “I read that you and your mate Elise are the parents of modern commerce. That you have brought more wealth into the pack since the beginning of this century than all the other leaders who have gone before you. That you traveled to Alaska and discovered Castle Devoncroix, which was built thousands of years ago by a race of loup garoux that died out long ago, and you moved the pack headquarters there from France. And started the gold rush in the Americas. And bought up all the oil. And invented the airplane. And …” I had to paused for a breath. “Singlehandedly rounded up and destroyed the Brotherhood of the Dark Moon, when no one in a thousand years had been able to do it. You brought civilization to all the world.”

  Again that amused look. “There is no such thing as the Brotherhood of the Dark Moon, my boy, never has been. It was a myth about a group of wild loup garoux who plotted to bring down the pack so that they could be free to devour humans and wreak havoc upon the earth. Mothers used to tell it to transgressing children to keep them in line. I think your teacher may have been having a joke on you.”

  I was disappointed, and confused, and I wanted to point out to him that I had not discovered the Brotherhood in one of Teacher’s assigned books, but in the private papers of the prince’s library. But when he looked at me, his gaze steady and even and completely neutral, I was certain I saw a challenge there, daring me to speak. And because I knew I had to say something, or be the fool, I blurted, “Prinze-Papa says that history is written by the victors.”

  He was silent for so long that I thought I would have been better after all to be a silent fool, and my heart started to pulse under his slow, dissecting gaze. Then he murmured, without removing his eyes from me, “Your prince was right, young man, on many counts.”

  The villa was in view, misty in the twilight with lamp lights and torch lights spilling all around, and I could hear the music and the laughter that drifted across the wide dark lawns.

  “You are a very rare and fortunate human,” said Alexander Devoncroix. “Respect your good fortune and continue your studies and who knows?” He smiled then, and winked at me merrily. “One day you may come to work for me.”

  He descended the path toward the villa, chuckling softly to himself, and I hung back until he went inside, which was protocol. Then I made my way to the house alone.

  This is what I know about the loup garou. They are brilliant, far-seeing, manipulative. They do not think in terms of years, but of centuries. I honestly don’t believe that, all those years ago, Alexander Devoncroix could have known what his plans for me would be.

  But I do think he had a plan.

  ______________________

  Chapter Eleven

  Until I knew the Devoncroix, I had no concept of the wild beauty of their kind, a barely controlled savagery tempered by absolute elegance. I watched them at night, when I was supposed to be sleeping, their naked human forms and their sleek, diamond-eyed wolf forms running together and tumbling together on the brilliantly moonlit beach, sparks from their bonfires shooting skyward, wolf voices and human-formed song mixing with the whisper of the Aegean into the most exquisite music I have ever heard, music that wound its way deep into my soul and seemed to pull a part of me, the most essential part, outward toward it.

  They were completely uninhibited, carelessly confident in who they were, in what they were, and when they were around all the rules changed. They wandered about in wolf form in bright daylight. The Fasburgs never did that, even in the seclusion of Tyche. They Changed at will, sending the flashing pulse of their Passion across the wake of anyone who happened by, seeming to taunt the unsuspecting into joining their unrestrained celebration of themselves, of their mastery. The entire island was charged, it seemed, with a different electrical signature than it had been before. Rocks hummed and waters sang. Nothing was static. The very air we breathed seemed to be poised to burst into flame at any moment, all because they were there.

  The adults were indulgent of me, occasionally amused, mostly oblivious. The adolescents were cautious at first, then curious, sniffing about me warily and posturing when I came upon them in wolf form. I think they were intrigued that I wasn’t afraid of them—all except Nicholas of course
, who never lost an opportunity to be condescending or mocking toward me, directing his young pack members to be certain to take advantage of the opportunity to fully investigate the rarest of all species, the civilized human. Lara was right. He was a prick.

  But aside from Nicholas, the Devoncroix fascinated and thrilled me. They were the epitome of hedonism, careless in their unrestrained pursuit of pleasure. My upbringing was a far reach from the comparatively modest environment of a normal human child; the loup garoux were as casual about sex as they were about other functions of the body, which is only natural when one can melt between two physical forms at will. I was not easily shocked. But never before had I known the sheer beauty of werewolves in their natural, joyful state, the absolute conviction with which they devoted themselves to the pursuit of pleasure. I saw them in their sex games, their pearlescent white limbs entwined about one another beneath the brilliant wash of the moon, their tongues and hands caressing, their careless joyful laughter, their playful chases and wanton surrender, and the mere watching could transport me to a state of sexual rapture. Watching them, I knew from whence the Greeks had gotten their stories of gods at play.

  Until the summer that the Devoncroix invaded our soft and civilized and oh-so-human world, I knew nothing of the passion that governs their race, which is to say, I knew nothing of them at all. Theirs is an existence ruled by intensity, by mastery, by a fierce and joyful adoration of all that it means to be werewolf, so that even the Change—that rapture of transfiguration in which they metamorphose from one form into the other—is called the Passion. It’s about raw and unfettered emotion; about desire, pain, celebration; it’s about truth. Until you understand that you will never know these creatures. Never.

  And yet, from the moment of their arrival, I was aware of Lara retreating into herself, rarely appearing at public events and never joining in the games, hiding herself in the alcoves and grottos of the villa when everyone else was running on the beach, taking her meals alone, disappearing to her room. I missed her, and I was pissed with her, because nothing was as much fun without her, and I wanted her with me for this, the most important time of discovery in my life.