Blood Trail - By Tanya Huff Page 0,17

it," she finished lamely.

The pause and the emotional change were as clear an indication of her thoughts as if she'd spoken them aloud. Four hundred and fifty years having taught discretion if nothing else, Henry wisely responded only to Vicki's actual words. "I was raised to take care of my people."

Vicki snorted, grateful for a chance to change the subject. "Henry, your father was one of the greatest tyrants in history, burning Protestants and Catholics impartially. Disagreement of any kind, personal or political, usually ended in death."

"Granted," Henry agreed grimly. "You needn't convince me. I was there. Fortunately, I wasn't raised by my father." Henry VIII had been an icon for his bastard son to gaze at in awe and, more than that, he'd been king in a time when the king was all. "The Duke of Norfolk saw to it that I was taught the responsibilities of a prince." And only fate had prevented the Duke of Norfolk from being the last death of King Henry's reign.

"And Tony is one of 'your people'?"

He ignored the sarcasm. "Yes."

It was as simple as that for him, Vicki realized, and she couldn't deny that Tony had responded to it in a way he'd never responded to her. She was tempted to ask, "What am I?" but didn't. The wrong answer would likely throw her into a rage and she had no idea of what the right answer would be. She fiddled with the air-conditioning vents for a moment. "So tell me about werewolves."

Definitely a safer topic.

"Where should I start?"

Vicki rolled her eyes. "How about with the basics? They didn't cover lycanthropy at the police academy."

"All right." Henry drummed his fingers on the steering wheel and thought for a moment. "For starters, you can forget everything you've ever seen at the movies. If you're bitten by a werewolf, all you're going to do is bleed. Humans cannot become wer."

"Which implies that werewolves aren't humans."

"They aren't."

"What are they then, small furry creatures from Alpha Centauri?"

"No, according to the oldest of their legends, they're the direct descendants of a she-wolf and the ancient god of the hunt." He pursed his lips. "That one's pretty much consistent throughout all the packs, although the name of the god changes from place to place. When the ancient Greek and Roman religions began to spread, the wer began calling themselves Diana's chosen, the hunting pack of the goddess. Christianity added the story of Lilith, Adam's first wife, who, when she left the garden, lay with the wolf God created on the fifth day and bore him children."

"What do you believe?"

"That there are more things in heaven and earth than are dreamed up in your philosophy."

Vicki snorted. "What a cop-out," she muttered. "And misquoted."

"How do you know? Remember, I heard the original. Had the hardest time convincing Shakespeare not to call the poor guy Yoluff." He sounded perfectly serious but he had to be pulling her leg. "Yoluff, Prince of Denmark. Can you imagine?"

"No. And I don't really care about mythic wer. I want to know what I can expect tonight."

"What do you know about wolves?"

"Only what I've learned from National Geographic specials on PBS. I suppose we can discount the character assassination indulged in by the Brothers Grimm?"

"Please. Brothers Grimm aside, wer function much the same way wolves do. Each pack is made up of a family group of varying ages, with a dominant male and a dominant female in charge."

"Dominant? How?"

"They run the pack. The family. The farm. They do the breeding."

"The Stuart and Nadine you mentioned the other night?"

"That's right."

Vicki pulled thoughtfully on her lower lip. "For something this important, you'd think that they'd have come and spoken to me."

"The dominant pair almost never leave their territory. They're tied to the land in ways we just can't understand."

"You mean, in ways I can't understand," she said testily, his tone having made that quite clear.

"Yes." He sighed. "That's what I mean. But before you accuse me of, well, whatever it was you were about to accuse me of, you might consider that four hundred and fifty odd years of experience counts for something."

He had a point. And an unfair advantage. "Sorry. Go on."

"Donald, Rose and Peter's father, used to be the alpha male, so I imagine the hold is still strong on him. Sylvia and Jason are dead and Colin works nights, which makes it difficult to use me as an intermediary. Rose and Peter, while not adults by wer standards, were the only remaining choice."

"And they were,