"Normally?"
"Paul's people may not want Nokolai present."
"You mean his clan won't want you there."
"Not precisely. The Leidolf Rho would probably like to bar me from the ceremony, but the decision belongs to Paul's father, if he's alive. If not, his other male relatives will make the decision."
"Male?" she said sharply. "What about his mother? His sisters, if any?"
"Leidolf's customs are different from Nokolai and most of the other clans." He paused, choosing his words. "You won't care for some of their ways."
"That's two."
"Two?"
"Topics you'll need to go into more later. You said there were two possible rituals. What's the other?"
"If Paul's father is alive, I owe him a son's duty. I will offer it. He may not accept. Pride could hold him back, or a desire to shame Nokolai. Or pragmatism. In accepting, he would also take on certain responsibilities."
"What do you mean, 'a son's duty' ? What sort of duty?"
"Nothing so different from what you probably feel you owe your father. Not obedience, but respect, financial support if needed. My presence, if he wishes it, at certain occasions."
"Since your presence means my presence, too, I'd like to know…" She stopped to frown at her purse. Her phone was buzzing from its depths. She retrieved it, glanced at the caller ID, and sighed. "Of course." She thumbed it on. "Hello, Dad. It's after one in the morning here, you know."
Rule smiled faintly. Lily's father was well aware of the time difference. He was a stockbroker, and the Street was in their time zone. "Tell him we'll still try to fly back for Christmas."
She shot him a frown. "Yes, that was Rule. He'll be—I know she is, but with what happened tonight…"
They were nearly home. The street was quiet, the area thoroughly urban but more upscale than where Paul had lived. Here the row houses were brick or board or stone, the window boxes tidy, the Christmas lights tasteful. The tiny restaurant on the corner served decorative little seafood entries with mango chutney or saffron aioli.
In some ways, Rule preferred Paul's neighborhood.
"Tell Mother we'll try. That's the best I can do." Lily paused. "Well, how can I? She isn't speaking to me."
While Rule was trapped in hell with another Lily, something had gone wrong between this Lily and her mother. She'd told him little about it. He'd been patient, thinking their return to San Diego would shake things loose, but if they didn't go home for the holiday…
"You know I can't tell you much," she was saying. "You'll read about it, though. There was a demon, and—no, no, I'm fine." A pause. "He's okay, too, but someone else was killed. That's why… no. No one you know."
Rule passed the elegant little bed-and-breakfast where he'd spent a few pleasant nights on other trips to D.C. Whether here or in San Diego, he'd seldom brought women home. A few, yes— those few who'd become friends as much as lovers.
That life was over. There was only Lily for him now. After a lifetime of many women, there was only Lily. He wouldn't have changed that if change were possible, but tonight…
He felt it still. The moon's song throbbed through him, a bass drumming played on his bones, carried by his blood.
He shouldn't have. She was nowhere near full, and though he'd fought the Change once—and won, by a margin so small it shamed him—in the end he had Changed. That should have diminished the pull. Yet power still pooled in his belly, tangling with the other needs, and the wolf was close. So close.
He wanted sex.
The house where they were staying had a detached garage at the back of its narrow yard. He didn't look at his mate as he turned down the alley. What he wanted now had nothing to do with love or tenderness. He wanted a body to pound into, the smell of an aroused female filling him, the mindless rush to release.
Sex dissipated the strength of the Change need. Nettie called that "evolution in action," encouraging behavior likely to result in more children. Considering the low fertility rate of his people, Rule supposed that could be true, though he wasn't sure evolution applied to those of the Blood. Whatever the reason, though, sex worked. Even in adolescence, when control was all but nonexistent, a bout of hot, sweaty sex could reseat a lupus firmly in his human form.
But it was risky if the wolf was too close. A wolf in rut didn't care about the female's pleasure… or even consent. With true wolves, an unwilling female could keep a male from mounting her. Men, however, had been raping women since the species arose.
He wouldn't risk Lily that way. He had to regain control on his own.
"Sure," she said into her phone. "I'll let you know." She disconnected and sighed. "I should have known he'd call. Unlike Mother, Dad actually reads his e-mail and text messages."
"He's upset that we might not be back for Christmas."
"He claims it's Mother who's upset. No matter what, I'm still supposed to show up so she can refuse to speak to me in person. God knows my job is no excuse."
There was too much bitterness in her voice… and he was more sledgehammer than scalpel tonight. Too preoccupied with his own needs, he admitted, to deal with hers with any delicacy. "That's one," he said, reaching up to hit the remote for the garage door.
"One?"
"Topic you're going to fill me in on later."
"Oh." She gave a slow nod. "That's fair."
The garage door slid up, the lights inside came on, and he turned in.
The garage smelled like most—of oil, hot metal from the car, exhaust. There were mice here, too, which pleased Dirty Harry. The cat spent a fair amount of time in the garage.
Rule breathed in more deeply as they left the garage to walk to the house. Though city smells still dominated, humus and cedar sweetened the air, too, and the hint of a breeze carried the scent of the old torn who'd been engaging in territorial disputes with Harry. He smelled the German shepherd next door, too. The dog was following them along the fence line.
Rule wanted to pace the darkness on four feet, too. To tip his nose toward the moon and join her song, mourning a life cut off young. So very young.
"Are you coming in?"
Until Lily spoke from the doorway, Rule hadn't realized he'd stopped. He mentally cursed his inattention. "Of course."
"You don't have to, you know."
He couldn't read her expression. Sadness? Pity? Something solemn and annoying, he decided, and moved abruptly toward the house.
She didn't step aside when he reached the doorway. He stopped, scowling. "I thought you were inviting me in, but if you prefer to bar the door—"
"I'd say it's the other way around. You've been shutting me out."
"Is my every thought supposed to be joint property? Move aside, Lily. I'm in no mood for hand-holding."
"Good, because I'm running low on sympathy. Why are you working so hard at pushing me away?"
"I'm not—"
"Especially since you'd like to toss me on the floor and rip my clothes off."
Her bluntness stripped him of words.
She rolled her eyes. "Jesus, Rule, do you think I'm blind? You aren't that different, you know."
"Except that I might suddenly develop very large teeth and the appetite to go with them."
"So we add turning furry to your list of ways to cope with stress."
"Stress?" he echoed in disbelief. "Is that what you think this is about?"
"You're right. Discussion is a bad idea." She moved up to him, put her hands on either side of his face, and brought his head down to hers. She didn't kiss him. Instead, she rubbed her cheek along his.
He went still. The smells of her flooded him—citrus from her shampoo, the slightly tinny scent of her cosmetics. Blood. Arousal. Lily. He shuddered. "I'm not…" Safe, he wanted to say. Not safe, not whole, not in control, not…