Rein: A Tidefall Novel Page 3

  Wolfkinders could be hale one morning, then transformed into a monstrous creature during a full moon night. The transformation—the shift stalled between man and wolf—was confirmation of Madness.

  "Hell, she's the Tinkerer's daughter. Just imagine what mayhem a mind like hers would conceive when Mad. We could take her now. Think of the lives we'd save."

  Nikolas shook his head. "But we don't save anyone." Gods, if only they did. Teodor would still be alive and cursing that hated nickname—Tinkerer. "We simply End them."

  "Maybe we need to change the way we Rein. Because I'm sick of following a trail of corpses. Aren't you?"

  Nikolas sighed in frustration. Yes, it wore him to the bone, always arriving too late and having to bury bodies in unmarked graves. But the alternative meant Reining based on suspicion alone. They would never be able to prove, without a doubt, that the Wolfkinder descended into Madness. Since Mad Ones could not be cured, what would they do then? What would be the solution?

  "Gods, Philip." Exhaustion washed over Nikolas, and he slumped. "Where did you get this notion?"

  "My brother, and I wish that my last memories of him were…different."

  Nikolas understood. He truly did. His own brother, Linos, was the first Wolfkinder that Nikolas had ever Reined, and blood soaked his last memories of him. "What would happen to us, our people? It'd be worse than the Salem witches."

  Philip sneered as he looked about the taproom. "Do you think we'd act like them?"

  He didn't share Philip's superiority complex over humans. Despite his abilities and his own longevity, spending his life confined as a Reiner was a waste. It made him a wretched fool.

  Except when she hunted him…

  He wouldn't describe her hunting him as a romantic pursuit. He doubted that she carried any carnal interest for him, although arousal, a close companion to adrenaline, coursed through his body on occasion. Rather, he simply considered this as being sought. Someone, in this ever-long life, searched for him.

  Nikolas looked about the taproom again. Olwen appeared appalled to be there and directed his focus to his book, reading with the benefit of his Wolfkinder eyesight rather than using the meager candlelight. Artur, conversely, declared his extreme pleasure with their accommodations, indulging his own fascination for all things human. Philip, though, watched the door, his posture tense.

  Oh, the damn fools.

  "You're a barking arse, Philip!" Nikolas turned on his Runner. "You're baiting her. You thought bringing me here would make her jealous."

  Philip paled. "It wasn't my plan."

  "Whose ass-licking plan was it, Philip?"

  Philip looked pointedly toward the rear of the taproom. A door, shadowed by the rickety staircase along the back wall, opened. Marcus emerged, and a gloom pushed into the rambunctious taproom as he strode forward. The crowd parted, men ducking and women scuttling away, clearing his path.

  Marcus had left the pack days ago, claiming to be scouting ahead. Nikolas, his head so twisted around his own problems, never questioned why their Prime scouted while Artur, their damn Scout, stayed behind.

  Feeling a fool, Nikolas greeted his Prime hesitantly. "I didn't know you'd be here."

  Which made him an arse to admit such a thing. Obviously, Marcus would have given orders before he left. Nikolas, at the moment, just couldn't recall those orders. Probably something inspiring, too. Stay the course? Man the fort?

  "Secundus," Marcus said solemnly. "We're adjourning in the back."

  Nikolas nodded and glanced about the taproom. Philip had already taken a sentry position by the front door of the establishment. Olwen had disappeared from the corner, probably already outside, establishing a perimeter. Night in a human city presented numerous dangers compared to out in the wild. Too many sources of water—puddles, troughs, wells, fountains—remained uncovered and exposed to moonlight, and they couldn't effectively avoid them all.

  Artur remained in the crowded space, melding with the customers.

  So, it was a private meeting.

  Nikolas followed Marcus. An unknown Wolfkinder guarded the door. He had dark, alert eyes, and his soft stance spoke to his training and his preparedness to move his bulky frame quickly, if needed. Nikolas merely nodded to the man and entered the room.

  A woman waited there, seated by the hearth. From her white powdered wig to her white kid boots, she at once looked both formidable and ridiculous. Her ensemble lacked practicality—she swathed herself in the height of courtly fashion while she perched on a stool in the back room of a smoky brothel. Her perfume hung so heavily he could barely sniff out the scent of Wolfkinder on her. She had saturated herself in roses and sandalwood, the scent clashing with the pungent odors of alcohol and unwashed bodies.

  "Nikolas Pollos," Marcus said, positioning himself at her side. "May I present Lady Simone Remy?"

  Nikolas, who had been striding forward, stumbled to a stop.

  Hell. Lady Simone Remy functioned as the Wolfkinder's Omega Agent, living and mingling amongst humans, all for the purpose of gathering information and perpetuating myths about their people. The woman coined the term 'werewolf,' turning Mad Ones into human horror tales—myths that were discounted.

  He'd heard whispers of her aptitude for intrigue and espionage. She wielded her astute and insightful mind like a rapier. He'd also heard whispers of her oppressively obstinate and rude personality. With her combination of talents and faults, Nikolas had done his best to avoid an introduction to her. For assuredly, an overbearing know-it-all like Lady Remy would never withhold her opinion, and he had no desire to know himself any better than he already did.

  Lady Remy pierced him with a hard gaze as she rose from her seat. The woman towered, which spoke to her personality rather than her features. She stood about Artur's height—tall for a woman, yet still a head shorter than Nikolas—but her presence squeezed everything else out of the room.

  He almost balked, which riled him, but he would mind his manners and play pretty with her.

  "M'lady," Nikolas said in Wolfkinder Latin and bowed slightly.

  She rolled her eyes and sighed.

  "He's Saxon, Marcus," she said sharply in English, as if someone presented to her the right shoes but in the wrong color. A hint of French colored her British accent.

  "His line goes back to Roman Gaul by Frankish descent," Marcus said calmly, continuing in English.

  "With a Greek name?" She narrowed her cold eyes at him.

  "His father was Quintus Pollux. His grandfather was Ajaxus of Sybaris."

  She scoffed, "Romans and Greco-Romans. His mother?"

  "Ingathis of Heristal."

  "Ah!" Rapt approval colored her tone. "I have always liked Inga. Tell me, Nikolaos, how does she fare?"

  For Nikolas, the moment had passed in a blur. He had not heard his mother’s name spoken aloud in over two hundred years. He also had not heard his Greek name—Nikolaos—spoken with just the right inflection in ages. Lady Remy’s pronunciation matched his mother’s.

  And he shuddered to think that Lady Remy knew his mother.

  "Fare?" he echoed like a fool. "She's dead."

  "Reined?"

  "No." He had no reason to share his mother's fate with this pushy harridan of a woman. French couture be damned. The dress didn't mark the woman as a lady.

  She narrowed her icy blue eyes at him and then turned back to Marcus. "And he is the best you have?"

  "Yes," Marcus said, with some apology in his voice.

  "Best for what? A mission?" Nikolas's frustration with the proceedings gave way for a moment. "I thought we were contracted to Emperor Frederick as soldiers of fortune."

  Marcus sighed and leaned his shoulder against the mantle. "The kingdom's going to resume the Call."

  Nikolas just blinked, not sure how to process his Prime's statement. The Kingdom of Orondomia, the homeland of the Wolfkinders, would resume the Call, and Marcus's announcement held the rousing gusto of a butler announcing that tea was served.
br />   Eventually, Nikolas bumbled out, "Bully for them?"

  Lady Remy huffed. "Dear gods! That's your reaction?" She gestured at him yet turned toward his Prime. "Marcus, truly, the best?"

  The Call. The damn all Call.

  Yes, he knew of the Call. All Wolfkinders did. The Call had become their greatest hope. Finding one's destined Mate prevented Madness, and Unamene, that vindictive sow, had turned it into a crushing curse. No true Mates had paired in centuries. Hell, in nearly a thousand years. Most men had tried Calling at least once in their lifetime, only to Hear no reply and feel nothing but emptiness.

  Nikolas himself had never Called, and he never would. "Calling's a farce."

  "I agree." Lady Remy arched a brow, and her quick agreement unbalanced him. "At least, the Call that has been conducted in our fair Orondomia for countless centuries is farcical. It has become nothing but a festival to add pomp and grandeur to our current, massively flawed method of aligning mates."

  When Calling proved fruitless because of the lack of true Mates, a complex system of match making had evolved instead. Alphas would evaluate and pair men to women, all geared toward producing offspring and, hopefully, a truly Mated pair. Nikolas thought it ludicrous, that Wolfkinders tried to calculate the formula for true love.

  Desperate idiots, the lot of them.

  Lady Remy spoke true, though. The Call had warped into a festival which celebrated the latest pairings. Pairs that the dominant families arranged, selecting their pick from available women. Available meant widows, debutantes, and those Solitari who, with some persuasion and some coercion, returned to Orondomia. Also, women freed from current mate contracts—usually due to a lack of offspring—qualified as eligible for pairing. Destiny had no place in the proceeding. The dominant families staged the entire event.

  "They are conducting a true Call this time," Lady Remy said. Nikolas scoffed, but she continued, "Unamene has promised to send Mates."

  Nikolas jolted as if struck. Unamene? The self-proclaimed goddess of the moon had not been seen in ages. She hadn't even bothered to show up a few years ago to End him.

  He growled. "How do we know this? Who told us this?"

  "We've heard from a Hand." Marcus uttered 'Hand' without disgust coloring his tone. Nikolas would've spat the word. "Unamene has relented and is permitting Mates."

  Hand. His stomached heated at the mere mention. Hands were Wolfkinder women who served Unamene willingly, as opposed to the Eyes who had been created to serve. Nikolas would tussle with an Eye any day over encountering a Hand. Hands were devious. They smelled like Wolfkinders, yet had lost the ability to shift into wolves, and Unamene bestowed upon them unnatural abilities. They could intuit a person's thoughts and moved faster than a flash of lightning, appearing in one spot, only to flash and appear elsewhere. Tironox, the Forever Prince, had decreed any Hand found should not be suffered to live, and Nikolas wholeheartedly agreed.

  "It's a lie or a trap." Nikolas's voice deepened with his disdain. This news had to be false. "She cursed us."

  "We have this on good authority," Lady Remy said dryly. "The Mates are genuine. You'll be proof of that. Traditionally, Reiners have been excluded from Calling. Add in the nasty little fact that Reiners also hunt Unamene's servants, well, what better way to show the goddess's sincerity than to have a Reiner find his Mate?"

  Nikolas blinked, dumbfounded. "Easy as that, is it? All's forgiven?"

  Lady Remy sighed. "Indeed, Mr. Pollos. It's time to start anew."

  Marcus pinned him with a dark look. "You're going to Orondomia."

  He knew that tone. Marcus had issued an order.

  "Like hell I am."

  Unamene's curse and Madness—these things meant something to him. What did the Call mean to him? Nothing. He wanted his End. Oliviana had given him a second chance to see it through. He would not waste it running errands for the likes of Lady Remy.

  Lady Remy narrowed her eyes at him, and the room fell into silence.

  Nikolas fumed. He would not give his chance up for false hopes. Never.

  Lady Remy turned to Marcus. "When was the last attack?"

  Marcus canted his head, his tell when he strategized. "From what I've observed, it's been several months. She may not've left Finland."

  Lady Remy hummed, and leaving her spot by the hearth, she circled Nikolas. "Do you think she broke from him?"

  Nikolas pivoted to face Lady Remy. She spoke about her—Oliviana. It both cut and enraged him that this ghostly fop of a Wolfkinder suggested that Oliviana had stopped her pursuit of him.

  He needed Oliviana to hunt him. She gave him a second chance.

  In his mind, he saw her flowing red Cossack coat and her honey tresses catching the wind as she ran, turning and laughing merrily at him.

  Why did he picture her this way, though? He'd never seen her laugh.

  Lady Remy stopped her circuit and raised an imperious eyebrow at him. "So, what do you propose we do about that?"

  Nikolas opened his mouth to respond, stating that he would hunt Oliviana if he had to because he needed to know why she let him linger like this. Why she toyed with Ending him. But he realized that Lady Remy hadn't responded to his unspoken thoughts, which would've been impossible. She merely addressed his Prime.

  Marcus, his brow low, kept his eyes on Nikolas. "We still send him. He's our best candidate."

  He shook his head, scattering that chest aching image of Oliviana laughing. "I'm your what?"

  "I would have thought it obvious." Lady Remy stopped before the fire and crossed her arms. "You are the only Wolfkinder currently in a courtship."

  Nikolas laughed, a sharp bark that ricocheted throughout the room. "Courtship?"

  "The woman." Marcus jutted his chin, indicating the world beyond that small room. "She's hunting you. She'll follow you to Orondomia."

  "And then what?" But he already knew what they wanted from him.

  He just didn't want it for himself.

  "Why, Mr. Pollos," Lady Remy declared with a sly smile. "Then you will Call to her."

  Nikolas sneered. "You think the woman who's been trying to End me for the past handful of years is my Mate?"

  "Undoubtedly," Lady Remy said. "Why else would she be hunting you?"

  "I Reined her father. She wants revenge."

  Lady Remy ran her eyes over him. "Teodor the Tinkerer's daughter. Now what does a woman like that see in the likes of you?"

  Nikolas clenched his fists. "She sees a bloody Reiner, that's all."

  Lady Remy smirked. "Well, perhaps she once wanted revenge, but she has continued the hunt and has not Ended you. She's yours, the hand that Fate dealt you."

  Nikolas's lip curled at the turn of phrase. As if a Wolfkinder would be Mated with a Hand. Blasphemous.

  "Call to her in Orondomia, you will see." Lady Remy snatched a hernest off the mantle and handed it to Nikolas. "Take these items with you. Ah, Mr. Penn, always one to keep the pace. You're right on time."

  The creak of the door, plus a quick sniff, told Nikolas that Artur just entered the room.

  "Artur will be your second on this mission," Marcus said. "Vigilo una inimici."

  Roughly translated, watch your back.

  "I hear we're taking a trip, Sec." Artur, that ruddy sod, grinned at him.

  "Orondomia," Nikolas growled, not hiding his displeasure.

  He opened the pouch of the hernest and pulled out a letter and a coin.

  "The letter is an introduction." Lady Remy returned to her seat by the fire. "Deliver that to the city Alphas. It will explain your early retirement from Reining."

  "It'll what?" Nikolas gaped at her.

  Reiners didn't retire from Reining, rather the profession weeded out the Reiners. Reining decreased one's chance of going Mad simply because acting in the line of duty proved fatal.

  "Reiners, typically, don't participate in the ceremony that has been conducted the past several centuries," Marcus said. "Only those citizens who stay within the city participate
."

  "And those privileged to possess a Calling Coin." Lady Remy nodded to the second item.

  Nikolas inspected the coin. He rubbed his thumb over the green tarnished surface. He flipped it, noting the markings of a wolf on one side and a man on the other. Both images were barely discernible through the patina of age.

  "We have currency?" Nikolas asked.

  Artur hovered, glancing over his shoulder. "I haven't a single coin. Does that mean I'm poor?"

  "Medallion, you fools," Lady Remy snapped. "They are made of bronze. This one, however, has a distinguished provenance. The Alphas will know it for what it is and permit your participation."

  "The images are good luck." Artur slapped him on the back. "The She-Wolf on one side of the coin and Oron the Hunter on the other. But it should've been made of moonstone. It absorbs Madness, you know."

  Nikolas just rolled his eyes at the arcane Cronite reference regarding moonstone and Madness. "I still think you have the wrong man. I mean, if I am fated for a Mate, why did Unamene send that Eye after me?"

  "Yes, Tengis," Lady Remy snarled. "Have you seen her since that midnight swim?"

  The way she arched her brow and changed her tone clearly communicated her thoughts. She deemed his episode at the lake the action of an arse.

  Nikolas shifted, a bit uneasy at the memories of drowning repeatedly. "No."

  Marcus crossed his arms and glowered. "I still say that means something, Simone."

  Based on Lady Remy's reaction to his Prime's statement, Nikolas guessed that they had been over this point countless times.

  Lady Remy waved a hand dismissively. "And I say we don't know enough yet to determine any meaning. Mr. Pollos authenticating the Call will let us know for certain."

  "So, you're testing Unamene's sincerity using me?" Nikolas laughed, which turned high pitched and cracked off suddenly. "I mean, her Eye tried to kill me. My supposed Mate's trying to kill me. Who knows, maybe Artur'll go Mad and try to kill me."

  Artur hastened to make a superstitious symbol with his hand to ward off Madness.

  Nikolas considered another option. "Maybe I'll go Mad."

  "Mr. Pollos," Lady Remy growled. Although she remained seated, she surged—the wolf in her stamping down on his defiance. "All of our people now depend on the sincerity of Unamene's promise. Imagine the hope it would give them, if someone traditionally barred from the Call should find his Mate? I understand that centuries of your bachelor ways may be shrinking in hesitation." She paused to look pointedly at those parts seated in his pants. "But surely, even you must be curious about the young woman who pursues you?"