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  Not much, Des thought bitterly, shaking her head and sighing. It was not her place to judge the person George, that most Dyre of Loups, Alpha of Alphas, Leader of all the Packs, had thought fit to pass his lineage and power on to. But she couldn’t be less than honest with her leader, either. Not after all that’d happened. “They’ll probably kill her.”

  “Not…with you to be her teacher and guardian, Daughter.”

  Des’s mouth dropped open, and George actually grinned. “But—I can’t—I mean, I didn’t…” protect you. What makes you think I could protect her?

  “You failed in your Geas…it’s true.” More blood bubbled from between George’s lips. “So you must redeem yourself.” George’s smile turned steely and unforgiving. “In blood…if necessary.”

  Des shook her head again, brow furrowed in shame and consternation. She’d spilled enough blood, Hume and Loup, to know no redemption was in it. “I don’t understa—”

  But George was taking her hand with mortal effort, his breathing becoming even more forced. With his other hand he reached feebly for the woman-Scent’s hand. Thinking she’d guessed his intent, Des placed it in George’s. Or tried to. He refused to take it, and instead placed Des’s other hand on the Hume-woman’s warm, lax one.

  “Jennifer Desiderio…with my last breaths…I charge you with the care and protection of Ruby Knudsen…Dyre-apparent…ah…to keep her and teach her…until such time as she wins true Dyrehood…through contest or compromise. To die in service of her…if so called.” George took a deep, shaking breath, but he pinned Des with his eyes just as surely as if he’d picked her up and slammed her against a wall. “Do you accept this Geas, child? And with it your chance at redemption?”

  Des swallowed and glanced at the already closing, but still gruesome wound on the Hume-woman, then back at George. His eyes were keen and clear despite his deteriorating state, and they seemed to see right through Des, to every wrong and terrible thing she’d done that might need redeeming. And there was definitely a lot to see: all the mayhem and trouble she’d caused for the Packs. All the people, Loup and Hume, that had ended their lives in Des’s jaws. All the people.

  Swallowing again, Des nodded and squared her shoulders. She’d never hesitated to accept her responsibilities, and she didn’t plan to start now. “I accept the Geas with a heavy heart, but a willing one, DyreFather.”

  “Ahhh,” George exhaled, smiling in obvious relief. “That’s good.”

  His smile didn’t fade even as his eyes glazed over. He exhaled one last time and then didn’t take another breath. With a sigh that came out as a brief, muffled whine, Des reached out and closed his eyes. His skin was already cooling.

  “Run with the Moon.” Des bowed her head.

  George Carnahan, the DyreFather, was dead. This strongest, canniest, most cunning of Loups was dead; the large, ever-present force of the spirit that had once animated his strong, tall form was utterly gone. The Dyre, Wolf of all Wolfs had gone on to join his forefathers and mothers.

  The towering, charismatic leader who had once spared Des’s miserable life despite the entirely just death sentence passed on her by the Tribunal was no more. The man who’d welcomed Des as his protector after all the terrible things she’d done, the oaths she’d broken, and who’d always treated her more as a beloved niece than a hired goon, had gone to a place where she couldn’t yet follow.

  Des couldn’t seem to think beyond that single, incredulous thought:

  The DyreFather is dead.

  “Long live the DyreMother,” Des whispered to the unconscious Hume-woman, scooping her up and standing with her as if she weighed nothing. The Hume-woman, Ruby, moaned and twitched, her eyes fluttering open. She licked her full, dry lips and tried to speak.

  “George…” she said, with obvious effort. Des hesitated then shook her head no.

  Ruby moaned again, her eyes shutting briefly before opening once more. “He bit…me.” Her hand flopped feebly up to her shoulder to feel at the wound. With her weak fingers, she traced a raw, vicious-looking scar that would soon fade to practically nothing.

  “It’s already healing,” Des murmured. “The rest is up to you. Surviving and shit.”

  Ruby wrapped her shaking arms around Des’s neck and attempted to hold on tight. Ruby’s gaze never wavered from Des’s. It was pained, confused, and begging for answers. “Surviving what?”

  Chewing her lower lip, Des averted her eyes for a moment then met Ruby’s gaze again. “The Fever. The Change. The Packs. The goddamn politics. Being the Dyre.”

  Ruby shook her head a little. “Dire? I don’t understand.”

  “No, Dyre. The Queen,” Des spat out, straight to the point. She felt like she’d done more talking in the past ten minutes than she had in all her twenty-three years. At any rate, they had to get out of there before more trouble showed up. So longer, less traumatizing explanations would have to wait. “Of the Loup-Garoul. The Werewolves,” she added quickly, before Ruby could ask.

  After a moment, Ruby turned her face away. “You’re awful. This whole dream is awful.”

  She sagged in Des’s arms again and this time she really was out for the count. The Fever was taking her fast. Ruby wasn’t going to be any help in saving her own life. Which meant it was entirely up to Des to get them both somewhere hidden and defensible until Ruby woke up. Or didn’t.

  “With all my strength and power, I will protect you,” Des promised, hugging close her only chance at redemption. She already felt the heat baking Ruby. “With all my craft and cunning, I will save you. To my last breath, Ruby.”

  One last glance at George’s body, and she exited the apartment with Ruby in her arms. They needed to go underground and stay there until the next Full-Moon Waxing. Till Ruby was strong enough to fight for the Dyrehood and win. And Des could only think of one defensible, completely unexpected place they could hide, but she’d almost rather chew off her own foot than go back there.

  Almost.

  Chapter Two

  The steps leading downstairs to Des’s basement apartment normally groaned like an elderly person getting out of bed. They barely made a sound as she descended. When she arrived at her apartment, the door was wide open, and the brunette was gone, though her scent lingered heavily.

  Kicking the door shut behind her, Des carried Ruby across the room to the bed and reluctantly laid her down. No time for niceties such as changing the sheets. And anyway, it wasn’t as if they’d be staying for any longer than it took Des to get her stuff.

  Des grabbed her emergency duffel out of her cramped closet and tossed it on the futon next to Ruby. Then she pried up the loose floorboard on which the duffle had sat. She got a few splinters for her haste: tiny, but bright flashes of pain gone as quickly as they came, the splinters themselves plinking to the floor as her body rejected the intruders.

  Swearing to herself in Spanish, Des extracted the seven thick, neat rubber-banded wads of cash from their hiding place. She knew how much was in each wad down to the exact dollar, not to mention just how far away from Lenape Landing such a pile of accumulated cash could get them.

  Pretty goddamn far, Des thought, briefly remembering the months spent wandering the wide world post-rabidity, but pre-Geas and George. The only responsibility she’d had in those stark, hard, empty, drifting days had been keeping her own temper and desires in check. Surprisingly not hard to do since all her formerly endless rage and hunger had seemed to finally be quenched with the passing of her rabidity. Not that said quenching had made living with all she’d done any easier.

  Not that Des deserved to have it easy after—

  “Time and place, Jennifer. Time and place,” Des muttered to herself, getting to her feet and shutting her closet door with a final click.

  A moment later, she stuffed the money inside the duffel under her shirts, except for one wad of twenties, which she put in an inner pocket of her jacket. Des took a quick look around the Spartan, one-room apartment, but she didn’t feel any los
s or nostalgia, just the vague sense she’d forgotten something, but that seemed to attend every leave-taking she’d ever had. However, just in case the feeling was right, for once, Des divided the room into quadrants and scanned it carefully.

  Closet and bathroom? Nothing there she couldn’t do without for the next day or so. And anyway, the point was for the apartment to look as if it was still lived in, despite the fact that it wasn’t.

  Kitchenette? Barely any food in it anyway, and nothing worth carrying except for the small microwave Des had invested in a year ago. But she was definitely not going on the run with a microwave.

  The small desk-and-bookshelf that’d been there when she moved in? Nothing on it but an ancient thesaurus, which had also come with the apartment, and Des’s old, bulky but powerful laptop. A gift from Jake, built by Jake. Three years old, and it still consistently outperformed the other laptops Des occasionally looked into buying. Not to mention that whatever alloy the case was made of was tougher than nails, having survived several falls from high places, falls in which it stood up not only to impact, but to Des landing on top of it.

  It’d be a shame to leave it behind, but she barely had room for the cash in the duffle, and anyway, she could buy another easily—

  “Fuck it.” Des carefully shut down, disentangled, and unplugged the laptop. It’d been all over the world with her, a constant companion. Sometimes, it’d been like having Jake with her, and the Moon Above knew that for some months, months she’d spent living in places she’d only ever read about, it had been her only contact with the world she’d known.

  Grim-faced, Des turned to the final quadrant with the bed and the woman lying in it.

  Moaning and shivering in it, like someone who’d eaten fruit from the Fever Tree.

  “It sucks, now, but it gets better,” Des found herself saying as she pounded the stuff in her duffle into submission, then jammed the laptop down lengthways, between her jeans and leather jacket. “I promise. Maybe at first, for the first few months, it’s gonna be rough. But if you can survive them, well, it ain’t gonna be a cake-walk, but it’ll be okay. It’ll be okay.”

  The only response Des got was another moan, followed by a soft, desperate sob.

  “Your lack of faith in me is justified. But trust me on this. I know whereof I speak.” She swung the duffle on her back then stood looking down at Ruby, arms akimbo. In the forgiving light of the Hunter-Moon, Ruby looked as if she was merely sleeping, not nearly comatose with a fever that would in all likelihood kill her.

  She looked as if a kiss could wake her from her slumber and save her, all in one press of lips against lips. A police siren wailing in the distance snapped Des out of her reverie and, red about the face, she got her arms under Ruby’s legs and around her waist, and hefted her up.

  Neither woman nor duffle was heavy for Des.

  Stalking out of her apartment for the second time that night, Des gave no thought to the groaning of the stairs this time. Within seconds, she was stepping out into the windy, moonlit night, eyes always searching-searching-searching for the ever-present danger. In her arms, Ruby started to shake almost immediately, unconsciously huddling in Des’s arms, as helpless as she’d ever be.

  *

  On such a patchily overcast, gloomy night, it was easy enough to keep to the many shadows Lenape Landing offered. What wasn’t so easy was getting out of the city without using public transportation or a cab.

  From her vantage point of a stinking, dark alley, Des watched yet another L.L.P.D. cruiser go by. The police presence seemed heavier to Des tonight. Not an hour into her flight with Ruby, and she’d already evaded twelve cruisers. No telling how many more were out on the streets of the rest of the city. It was enough to make Des wonder why the extra bacon. Why tonight? What or who could possibly have the Commissioner so spooked that he put so many units out on patrol. And why tonight? Looking down at the moaning woman in her arms, Des felt a cold, prickling sensation that ice-danced its way down her suddenly rigid spine.

  They’re looking for us, she thought with a start. They may not know who we are, or at least who Ruby is, but they definitely know who I am, because I am—was—George’s Geas-Protector. If they find us, it won’t be hard for them to figure out who Ruby is. Or, if they have a Loup in their midst, she or he will smell it on her.

  And on the heels of this surely unbelievable premise: Holy shit, how deep does this rabbit hole go?

  Des had a feeling she didn’t want to know.

  Not that what she wanted had anything to do with what she was obligated to do, and she was quickly realizing the Geas placed on her to protect George, and now Ruby, was more than just a night job as a bouncer at a club. It was a life-and-death duty that included her gathering information as needed to keep her Dyre safe. She was not just a hired gun. She was a soldier, a spy, and a nursemaid, all rolled into one. Maybe more, as time went on. Looking down into Ruby’s soft, innocent, troubled face, Des for the first time wondered if she was up to the challenge. Another cruiser went by, and Des moved deeper into the alley.

  Just then, it started to rain. Hard. The clouds that had been sporadically hiding the waning Gibbous-Moon released a torrent that immediately soaked Des and her charge.

  Sighing, Des hefted Ruby. When she was sure the cruiser had turned a corner, she scurried out of the alley and headed east. It wasn’t the fastest or safest way out of the city, but it was mostly abandoned, and only occasionally patrolled by the cops. Maybe less occasionally tonight, but still, their presence wouldn’t be as heavy as it was here in the Northside, or in the more commercial Downtown.

  And from the Eastside, they could make their way out of the city proper through the brief, iffy eastern suburbs, then they could circle around north to safety. It was a plan. And it had the added benefit of leading any pursuers of the Loup persuasion on a merry chase, what with all the backtracking Des’d have to do just to find their way.

  And that was assuming Des wouldn’t have to fight for their lives.

  That may be a lot to assume, Des thought and stopped, standing stock-still and letting her shoulders slump for a few moments.

  Then she was shaking off her despair and sniffing the humid, slightly reeking air. After a moment of hesitation, she turned east toward their only chance at safety.

  *

  An hour later, she was skulking among old warehouses and factories, grimly weathering the rain and hoping Ruby was doing the same. She was still moaning weakly, still shivering. But she was barely radiating any heat Des could feel. That worried her, but another hour, two, at most, should find them at their destination.

  All Ruby has to do is not die for that long. No, not die for long enough for us to get a Loup doctor to look her over, Des corrected herself with stern pragmatism. She’s in a bad way. I don’t know anything short of a miracle that could save her if I can’t get her to Nathan’s place in time.

  Her ears and nose pricked up, assaulted by a sound and scents she did not like: gun oil, silver nitrate, evil intent, and Loup, approaching fast, no attempt at stealth.

  Shit-shit-shit, Des thought, picking up her pace to a light jog that jostled Ruby enough to make her moan. It was as worrying as it was heartening that she was still alive enough to feel discomfort.

  Des dodged right, around the corner of two old condemned warehouses that looked like they were ready to fall down. On going deeper into the alley, she found a section of the warehouse on the left had fallen down, blocking the egress on the other end of the alley. The clouds diffused the overcast light of the Waning Gibbous, but Des still couldn’t see a safe way up that pile of boards, nails, and concrete. Which left Des in the unenviable position of having to backtrack, only that scent of gun oil, silver nitrate, and Loup had been slowly filling the alley even as Des had jogged to the blocked exit.

  Climbing that rubble was not an option while carrying Ruby.

  So Des scrambled carefully up the rubble as far as she dared, not wanting to leave Ruby vulnerable on the g
round, and placed her on a relatively flat spot that didn’t seem to have any nails or splinters waiting to impale the unwary. She settled Ruby’s head on the solid duffle and covered her with the army jacket.

  She wouldn’t need knives for this fight.

  Ruby opened her eyes briefly, wide and staring, blind in the milky, faint light of the Waning Gibbous. But they nonetheless seemed to lock on Des’s.

  “I got this,” Des promised, leaning down to kiss Ruby’s cool, damp cheek. “Don’t go anywhere, gorgeous. I’ll only be a minute.”

  Ruby moaned again and closed her eyes once more.

  Des turned and leapt off the heap of rubble and began removing her clothes. Now? the Loup growled from just under the surface of her psyche, and Des smiled. But it was more of a snarl.

  Now, she told it as she kicked off her soaked jeans, boots, and socks. They lay where they fell, next to her sodden shirt.

  Lightning struck through the heavens and through Des, like the brightest flash of pain, like a full-body cramp that split her in two. She dropped to her hands and knees, keening. As her bones began to crack and break and reshape themselves, her pale, drenched skin rippled with the suggestion, then the reality of a coarse black pelt. As every bone in her face re-formed, her human keening slowly became an animalistic growl.

  Then a howl.

  A howl that was answered from the mouth of the alley.

  *

  Anka Patsono was old-fashioned, even though she was a relatively young sixty years old.

  When supplied with the silver nitrate bullets and the gun, she’d initially sneered at their clunky, new-fangled impersonality. At the lack of honor they represented. What about the Old Ways? What about the honorable fight? The Right of Challenge?

  And when her erstwhile employer had assured Anka that in a fair fight between herself and this half-blood mongrel, Anka would lose, well Anka had nearly turned down the job right then and there, almost too insulted to even continue the meeting, let alone accept it.