Shift Happens(7)

“By you?” I asked.

He relaxed. I wouldn’t have noticed if I hadn’t been keenly watching for a reaction. Not the right question then. “I would like you to answer a few of my questions before you answer Lucien Delgatto’s.”

Frowning, I tried to place the name. Then it hit me. “The vamp?”

“The Master Vampire of the Lower Mainland? Yes, the vamp.” He sounded amused.

“What does he want with me?” My brain hurt. My target had been a norm, so I hadn’t wasted time researching the local supes in the area. I’d taken a cursory glance, and knew a bit from living nearby, but now I regretted my haste. I didn’t know how Clint, the alpha and Lucien linked together and I needed to figure the connection out. I had a feeling my health depended on it.

“That will become apparent. I am not to speak more of it,” he said in a flat voice, not sounding thrilled about the situation. The formal phrases and his occasional inability to use contractions gave him away as an older Werewolf. Maybe a couple hundred years old? Some Werewolves found adapting their speech to current times more difficult than Vampires. Go figure.

“You’re following orders out of the goodness of your heart?” Somehow I found it unlikely. Alphas were a law unto themselves.

His jaw tightened. “I follow orders because I have to. He’s my master.”

“But you’re an alpha. The leader of a pack.”

“His animal to call is a wolf.” He bit it out. A vein in his forehead puckered out, pulsating.

Clarity hit me like a three hundred pound wrestler with a grudge. A Master Vampire’s word reigned absolute over his subjects. And as his animal to call, this alpha and all the wolves in his pack, fell into that category. Now I knew the connection between him and Lucien. But how did Clint factor into everything? I glanced at the alpha. He couldn’t go against Lucien’s orders even if he wanted to, which meant I wouldn’t get any more information out of this Werewolf.

I lay back in bed with a groan. “Is that why he wants to speak with me? Another minion to add to his horde?”

The alpha leaned in. “He did not ask me if you were a wolf.”

My ears perked up.

“I would hold closely to one of your other forms when you speak with him.”

Exactly what I planned to do. “Why would you protect my identity from him?”

He shifted his weight, his gaze cut away. “He has enough wolves enslaved to his purpose. He does not need another.”

Truth, but again I had the impression he left something out.

“What are your questions?”

He smiled and leaned back. “Your name?”

I laughed. Normally this would be an easy question to answer, but as a government assassin, my identity remained one of my biggest secrets. “Andy,” I told him.

He straightened in his chair. “Short for Andrea, I assume?”

“Only if you’re my mother.”

He chuckled.

“And you are?” I asked.

“My apologies. I should have introduced myself earlier. You can call me Wick.”

Clint’s guard. The one he hadn’t waited for the night I killed him. Another piece to the puzzle, but it still didn’t tell me how Clint fit in with the Werewolves and Vampires. I leaned forward. “Short for Wicked, I assume?”

Wick laughed out loud. “Short for Wickard, my last name.”

I settled back against the soft pillows. “Fairly easy round of questioning,”

“I’m not done.”

“My last name is off limits,” I stated, anticipating what he would ask next. Staying invisible and nameless comprised one of my most important job requirements.

His lips twitched. “That wasn’t it, but I can easily find out.”

“With your superior telepathic skills?”

He grunted, which I found kind of sexy. “I have many skills, but that is not one of them.”

His knowing look made me want to fidget with the blanket. I suppressed the urge, very aware I lay in a bed which smelled of him.

I looked around, mainly to break the eye contact and take in more of the room. The walls, painted a sage gray, gave the room a serene sanctuary feeling. A painting of rocks in a hazy forest hung in the centre of the main wall, decorating an otherwise unadorned room. The space had a tranquil quality. A large dresser, overflowing with large articles of clothing reeking of Wick, told me this space belonged to him.

Good mate, my wolf huffed.

What the heck? Where’d that come from? My wolf hadn’t spoken like that since Dylan. And boy, had she been wrong. I shushed her and focused on Wick’s chocolate eyes.

“What are you?” he whispered.

A norm would’ve missed his question. I jolted in the bed and my attention zoomed back to his face. “That’s a rude question.”