When he spoke, his words came slowly. “The human response to pain is complex—tears, anger, the urge to defend or attack or sleep or find distraction. A wolf’s response is simpler. If a wolf is wounded, he withdraws—physically, if the wound is physical. Emotionally, if it’s not. I have both sets of responses, but when the pain is acute, the wolf’s response dominates.”
“You’re saying this need for privacy is connected to your misleading me.”
“The initial impulse was unhealthy. Wrong. The need for privacy, as you put it, kept me from correcting it.”
“So you need to lick your wounds in private. I can understand that.” She did understand. Her biggest loss had occurred when she was nine. Her best friend had been raped and killed in front of her. She’d never been able to talk out the feelings the way everyone seemed to think she should. Not then, not now. “I’m not much on talky-talky stuff, either.”
“It’s more than being unable to talk about my feelings. It’s distance I need. A distance that hurts you.”
Well, yes, it did. But…“You’ve let me tend you when you were physically hurt. You’ve let Nettie tend you. You know the instinct to withdraw doesn’t work when a wound needs attention.”
Surprise was clear in his voice when he said, “You’re right.”
How could she not smile? “It happens.”
“But I don’t…I don’t know how to do this differently.”
“Maybe you could tell me about him. About Steve.”
“We were age mates. He…that means more, perhaps, with clan children, especially those raised at Clanhome, since we so seldom have siblings close in age. We got in trouble together.” He smiled slightly. His grip on her hand eased. “For several years, he was my partner in crime.”
“What kind of crimes did you commit?”
He spoke of climbing a nearby peak, of an unsupervised trip into the city, of practical jokes that sometimes worked only too well. The first two didn’t surprise her; the practical jokes did.
“He sounds like he had an unlupus-like disrespect for authority.”
“That’s Steve.” He was easy now, his hand relaxed in hers. “Before First Change especially, but even after he became an adult, he enjoyed challenging the status quo.”
“Why didn’t I know him?” she asked softly. Hilliard had lived in a town that bordered Clanhome. If he’d been such a close friend, why hadn’t she met him?
“We…weren’t as close in recent years as we used to be.” After a moment, he added sadly, “He never had children. He wanted them desperately, but he never had children.”
That wasn’t unusual for a lupus. The magic that flooded their systems inhibited fertility. This was their big secret, the reason for their disdain for marriage or fidelity, for anything that lessened their chances of finding the right woman at the right time. The one who would bear them a child. “How did he deal with his disappointment?”
“Disappointment. It’s a mild word, isn’t it? As adults…” He shifted uncomfortably. “Age mates don’t always remain close, but Steve and I did for many years. Even after I was named Lu Nuncio, we were close. But when Toby was born, when I had a child and he didn’t…his longing for a child distorted him. He couldn’t settle. He couldn’t bear to be with those who had a son or daughter, so more and more he associated with those younger than him.”
“There was a distance between you, and you hated it.”
“Yes.” He sighed. “The one thing that mattered was denied him, so nothing mattered greatly. He didn’t sink into despair, but he made unwise choices.”
“Risky choices.”
He nodded. “If he’d been human, you’d have called him an adrenaline junkie. He loved high-risk sports—rock climbing, parasailing, sky diving. His first love, though, was motorcycles. He always came back to that, to his love for speed.”
“Those are pretty expensive hobbies. How did he pay for them?”
“He had a motorcycle shop—repairs mostly, though he also sold used bikes. He made a decent living with it. He paid off the loan he took out to open the shop years ago.”
“Who inherits?”
Rule shot her a sharp look. “Am I talking to the cop now?”
“I don’t separate out that part of me the way you do your wolf.”
“Fair enough. I assume you’re interested in what his will says, not his private arrangements with his Rho? His will leaves everything to Jason.”
“What do you mean by private arrangements?”
“We traditionally bequeath the clan its drei.”
“I thought the drei was like an income tax.”
“It’s more of a tithe, but it also means any percentage of our personal wealth given to the clan. With an estate, it can be anything from ten percent to one hundred percent.”
“But that isn’t mentioned in the will.”
“Traditionally, no. For centuries we’ve been careful not to leave a trail to our Rho in public records, and wills are public documents. Most lupi leave their estates to a clan member—a family member, if possible. Someone who will follow their private wishes, which they register with their Rho. Steve left his estate to Jason, but Jason won’t retain all of it. Half will go to Nokolai.”
By Nokolai, he meant his father. A clan’s Rho owned all the clan’s common property. As far as human law was concerned, Isen Turner was a very wealthy man. “I thought Steve lived publicly as a lupus.”
“He did.” Rule smiled. “When I made my public bow as Nokolai heir, Steve announced himself, too. That was his way of saying he stood by me. We weren’t as close as we’d once been, but he stood by me.”
“If he was known to be lupus, why the secret arrangements with his Rho?”
“Habit. Tradition. A disinclination to mess with the paperwork involved.”
“As far as the local police are concerned, then, Jason Chance inherits everything.”
His lip curled with scorn. “We don’t kill for money.”
“The local cops won’t accept that as a given, and lupi do kill for other reasons. You seem pretty sure Chance didn’t do it. How do you know?”
Rule shrugged. “How do we know anything about anyone? This would be wildly out of character for him. Jason’s a calm soul, a beta with little interest in status. He’d be moved to violence only if there was an immediate threat. But to be sure, I’ll ask him.”
He meant that. He would ask Chance if he’d killed Hilliard, and if Chance denied it, Rule would believe him. That wasn’t some bullshit belief in Chance’s honesty. Rule claimed that no clan member could successfully lie to his Lu Nuncio.
“Earlier,” Rule said, “you took my hand even though you were angry with me.”
“I was pissed at you, not Nokolai. Wouldn’t be good for the clan if you freaked out on an airplane.”
He smiled slowly. Fully. “What color are they?”
“They?”
He stroked his thumb along the skin between her thumb and finger. “I didn’t watch you dress this morning. What color are they?”
Oh. She smiled. “Leopard.”
3
MORGUES in California are as chilly as those in other parts of the country. Lily was glad for her jacket—the one she hadn’t gotten blood on yesterday—as she studied the pale body of a man who looked about thirty.
Caucasian, brown and blond, weight maybe one-eighty carried on a five-foot ten-inch frame. Steve Hilliard had been built like a fullback, with streaky blond hair and the sort of face that gets called all-American…if you think of Americans in terms of an all-white, Andy Griffith Show cast.