“I won’t tell you were derelict in your duty, waiting so long to report,” Isen said. “You already know that, and I understand why you delayed. Have you spoken to anyone else about this?”
He shook his head. “I won’t. Not yet. Not until …” He didn’t know how to end that sentence. What conditions could he place on this? It was out of his control. Entirely out of his control. “Not yet.”
“The Rhej has to know.”
“I hoped that you would tell her.”
Another pulse of silence. “I can do that. She’s sequestered with Cynna now, but I can go up there and wait. Sooner or later, she’ll be free to step outside and see what I want. You want this kept quiet.”
“I need time.” Benedict’s fists clenched. “I’ll tell Nettie. She deserves … I have to be the one to tell her. But no one else. It can’t be kept secret long, but a day, two days … I need time.”
“Where are you now?”
The simple question sent the past shuddering through him. It had been forty-two years since Isen had needed to ask him that: Where are you now? Back then, he’d answered many different ways: the abyss, her grave, the desert, I don’t know but it’s dark and the darkness has teeth …
Today he said, “A swamp. Quicksand, gators, mud, mosquitoes. I need …” He squeezed his closed fists tighter. “I need dry land, but I don’t know where it is.”
“Are you fit?”
The blunt question steadied him. “I’m functional, but not stable. I want to go to my cabin. A week, maybe two.”
“No.”
That brought Benedict’s head up, anger blazing through him.
Benedict’s father—who was also his Rho, leader of his clan—sat in his favorite wingback chair. Isen Turner was burly, bearded, and nine inches shorter than his oldest son. He looked to be in his fifties, though unusually fit for that age. He was ninety-one. His eyes were sad, but there was no give in his expression, none at all.
There never was when he gave an order. “Is my Rho speaking, then?”
“Yes, although your father and your Rho agree on this. As Rho, I need you here, even if you don’t have your head straight. Too much hinges on the heirs’ circle Rule has called.”
Benedict stared blankly. He’d forgotten the meeting of Lu Nuncios. How could he have forgotten something so critical?
“You’ve done all the setup for security already, but I can’t have you holed up in your cabin now. Given the current tension—”
“Because my brother decided to get married.” He kept his voice level. He wanted to spit.
Isen’s voice sharpened. “You know better. Some are upset about that, yes, but it’s the union—or what they fear is a union—of Leidolf and Nokolai that worries the other clans.”
Benedict took a deep breath and let it out, forcing his body to relax. Isen was right. Nokolai’s relationship with a couple of the clans had been troubled ever since the Leidolf mantle was forced on Rule. It could grow worse at any moment—especially if anyone realized the truth about those two blasted Leidolf Rule was having trained as guards. “My apologies. My reaction … that’s why I’m not fit. I’m not thinking clearly.”
“Clearly, you aren’t,” Isen said with a thread of humor that quickly evaporated. “What you don’t know because you’ve been hiding it is that a Leidolf lupus went crazy last night. He killed three people and injured several others before someone put a couple bullets in him.”
Benedict’s head jerked up. “Beast-lost?”
“No. He stayed two-footed.”
“That’s bad. You have a name?”
“Raymond Cobb.”
The small jolt of surprise landed him a few steps closer to normal. “Ray Cobb?”
“You know him?”
Benedict frowned. “Not really. He took second in the pole vaulting at the last All-Clan, though. Fifth in shot put. Competed in wrestling, too, but didn’t place. He’s got the strength, lacks the speed. Good control, though. I’d have sworn his control was good. He was attacked?”
“Apparently not, but Rule had very few details when he called. He’s headed to Tennessee now.”
“The circle—”
“Will proceed as planned on Monday, unless Rule finds the situation to be more than it appears right now.”
Benedict nodded slowly. Whatever had gone wrong with Cobb, the meeting was too important to delay. “Rule took guards with him?”
“Two of the Leidolf guards, yes. Lily’s with him, of course. She’ll be handling the investigation, such as it is. It sounds open and shut, from a legal standpoint. Plenty of witnesses, Rule said.”
“Is Cobb still alive, then?”
“He’s hurt, but not dead.”
Benedict considered consequences. “Is Rule going to announce himself to the press as Leidolf Rho?”
Leidolf clan had vehemently opposed the mainstreaming Isen promoted. The previous Leidolf Rho had forbidden any of his clan to live openly as lupi. Rule had lifted that ban, but hadn’t yet announced the existence of the clan to the press, or his position as Rho.
Isen chuckled. “I asked. He told me it was my son and heir who’d called me, not the Leidolf Rho, but if I wished to speak to the Rho he’d see if he could arrange it.”
Benedict’s eyebrows shot up. “And did you?”
“He gave me to understand that he hasn’t told Leidolf his plans yet, so he couldn’t tell me.”
Benedict supposed it didn’t matter greatly. Humans wouldn’t care that it was a Leidolf lupus, rather than a Nokolai, who’d killed. Their fear would encompass all lupi, and their fear was dangerous. Dealing with the human world was Rule’s job, and Isen’s, but threats from that world were his business. Keeping Clanhome and his Rho safe were his business. He couldn’t retreat to his cabin.
Isen said simply, “Ben.”
His father was the only one who called him Ben. No one else did, including his Rho. It was his father he’d hear from now. Benedict swallowed. “Yes.”
“That swamp you’re in—that’s the past. No one could blame you for bogging down in it now. How could you not? But you won’t find dry land holed up in your cabin away from everyone. Just more swamp.”
“I don’t understand how the Lady could do this,” Benedict burst out. “I don’t understand at all.”
“I don’t, either,” Isen said gently.
“It’s never happened twice to one lupus. Once is rare. Twice is …” Benedict shuddered. His father was right, as usual. He couldn’t run away from this. He had no choice but to stay and face it. His voice dropped to a whisper. “I haven’t been scared like this in so long. So long.”
“You don’t know anything about her other than her appearance?”
Benedict had given her physical description to Isen in his report: late twenties or early thirties. Five-seven, skinny, pale skin, glasses, wildly curly hair tied back in a ponytail. He didn’t know what color all that frantic hair might be, save that it was neither especially dark nor especially light. Wolf eyes saw well in the dark, but they didn’t pick up colors at night.
He knew how she smelled. He hadn’t tried to describe that, or its effect on him. He knew she’d been afraid the whole time—before she saw him, the moment she saw him, and while he walked beside her. She hadn’t let the fear interfere. “She knew what I was.”
“Did she?”
“From the moment she saw me.” Never mind what she’d said. The ghost of a smile touched Benedict’s lips. Nice doggie. “She didn’t freak about me staying with her. She tried to persuade me to go, but she didn’t freak.”
Isen nodded. “That’s encouraging. And, as the proverb says, ‘The enemy of my enemy is my friend.’ She enjoys sneaking around Friar’s property at night, which isn’t the act of one friendly to the man.”