far end of the net. Judging by the level of laughter, the missed shots, and werewolves’ great tolerance for alcohol, she assumed they’d been at this a long time.
“Hey! How could you have a party without me?” she called.
Steffan, one of the shirtless guys, turned at the sound of her voice. “Ari! Come join us!”
“Love to, but I’m a working girl today,” she yelled back.
He tossed the ball to a buddy, grabbed a T-shirt from the ground, and pulled it over his head as he sauntered toward her. The casual observer would never guess Steffan was a werewolf. He was a cool, jazzy, redhead with burnished copper locks and beautiful long eyelashes. His sociable personality made him a people magnet. Women longed to marry him, or at least take him to bed, and guys sought him as a friend. A party person, a bender of rules, and the last guy you would picture involved with the serious business of the Magic Council. It seemed equally unlikely you’d find him howling at the moon.
Steffan wasn’t a natural born. During college, he’d fallen in love with a werewolf. She also had a wolf lover who resented the competition; he attacked Steffan and left him bleeding in the woods. The girlfriend found Steffan in time to save his life, but he was infected with lycanthropy. Ironically, their relationship didn’t survive his transformation, and the girlfriend returned to her original lover.
Somehow, Steffan hadn’t turned bitter. He embraced his new strength, his self-healing, the pack life and even the monthly run in the woods. He’d quickly risen through the ranks of his pack and was elected to represent them on the Magic Council. Ari and Steffan met shortly after that and had now been friends for six years. He was one of the Council’s hardest working members. He chaired two committees and was the chosen go-to guy for unusual or complicated problems that involved any of the lycanthrope families.
Ari and Steffan greeted each other with a hug of mutual affection. They hadn’t had a chance to talk for five or six months except at Council meetings, so it took a few minutes to catch up. Finally Ari got down to business and asked about new wolves in town.
“French-speaking women,” she specified.
“Well, that does narrow the field.” Steffan pursed his lips. “Interesting you should ask. We’ve got our eyes on a possible pack right now. Canadians. Strangers pass through the area all the time. When they settle in but shun the rest of us, I get worried.” He waved a hand toward the keg. “How about a beer while we talk? At the house. Where it’s more private.”
Ari waited on the wooden deck while he collected their drinks. She leaned on the rail, watching the wolves’ festivities, a pack party to celebrate a member’s promotion in his day job. Ari felt a brief pang of envy at their easy camaraderie. Someone always at your back. A Guardian’s life was so often solitary.
Steffan returned and handed her a beer. Cold and bitter, just the way she liked it.
He leaned one arm on the deck rail. “About four months ago a pack, maybe ten or twelve men and women, moved in from Canada. They’re staying in an old house at 13th and Vine. Leader’s name is Louie Molyneux. Tough-looking thug. Pack’s not friendly, at least not with us, but so far no trouble either. No visible employment. At night they hang out at the vamp clubs. It’s off behavior but not necessarily bad.”
“So why are you watching them?”
Steffan slowly shook his head. “Beats me. But I’m not the only one feeling uneasy. My pack mates are talking about it, asking questions. No one has seen this group on night runs or in furry form. Almost like they want to hide the fact they’re werewolves. Can people in Canada be so naive they don’t recognize a wolf?” He rubbed his nose and grinned. “It smells wrong. I’ve even wondered if the missing red wolf from Goshen Park isn’t part of the pack. Anyway, I’d bet money that’s where you’ll find your French-speaking woman.” He downed the rest of his beer in one long swallow.
Ari’s interest sparked when he mentioned Goshen Park. This was a pack she’d like to visit. “Any suggestions on how to approach them?”
“Don’t go alone. Can’t your police buddies call the she-wolf down to the station?”
“How? They have all these legal rules. And we don’t even have a name. Besides, I’m beginning to think I need