"Raeg is in town, I'll have you picked up right away."
"Someone has to stay and check on Alex."
"Don't worry. I will tell Raeg to leave one of our people to guard the house."
"Thank you."
"See you soon, brother."
Michael closed the communication and leaned against the bathroom wall. He didn't understand why he felt so nervous: whether it was because he was about to return to Barclay House or because he was about to leave that house... and Alex.
He decided he would explore his feelings later, now he had to prepare himself: Raeg would be there any minute.
He found Alex in the kitchen washing the breakfast dishes and cutlery. He stood in the doorway in silence, not quite knowing what to say.
"Where will you go?" she asked him without turning around.
"At my brother's house."
"Do you need a ride?"
Michael shook his head even though she could not see him. "No," he said finally. "A friend will be by shortly to pick me up."
"Then you'd better hurry."
Michael waited for her to turn around, but she did not, so he returned to the living room and changed his clothes. The mobile phone Alex had given him began to ring. "Hello," he answered. "Yes, I'm on my way." He remained staring at the mobile phone, then a noise made him turn around. Alex had entered the living room. He put the phone in his pocket and approached her. "Thank you for everything you've done for me," he told her.
She shrugged her shoulders, her figure shrouded in an aura of cold indifference.
Michael reached out a hand and made to caress her cheek, but halfway stopped the gesture and his hand fell back along her side. "Take care," he told her, then turned and walked to the door. Without looking back he went out and closed it behind him.
Awaiting him was a blue Mercedes with tinted windows. As soon as he opened the door, Raeg's smiling face greeted Michael with a powerful handshake.
"Welcome back!" Sky-blue eyes travelled down his person and then pinned back onto his face. His blond hair, shoulder-length, was held back in a soft, low ponytail that let shorter locks escape to the sides of his face, framing his oval. "Can we go?" she finally asked.
Michael looked around. "Christopher told me you would leave someone to watch the girl."
Raeg nodded and with his head pointed to an alley not far away. "Rider is hidden there. He will keep an eye on your friend as long as it is necessary."
Michael nodded, then took one last look up towards the window of Alex's flat. 'We can go,' he finally said, returning his eyes to the asphalt.
---
Alex stayed looking out the window until the car had driven away. Then he went and sat down on the sofa. She stretched out her injured leg and looked around. The flat had recovered its breath, but she could not relax; in fact, she felt even more restless. She got up and hobbled over to her duffel bag, picked up the blades stored inside and sat down at the table. She cleaned and polished them, greased the hilts and sheaths, checked the thread and finally hung them on the wall. It was lunchtime but he had no appetite. He went back to the window to look out at the world outside, like a restless beast. She wanted to go outside but her leg was aching. She took the book from above the bedside table, where Michael had left it, and stretched out on the sofa. After a few lines, however, she was forced to reread the paragraph again: only her eyes had followed the words, while her mind wandered elsewhere, restless. After being stuck on the same page for some time, she placed the book on her chest and her eyes looked up at the sky behind the canvas curtains of the window. A strange sadness seized her, loosening her tense muscles. The silence of the house struck her senses and invaded her heart, chilling it. How could she miss the man she had known for such a short time?
The phone rang, drawing her in.
"Alex! It's Jim! Everything OK? Listen, I'm calling to see if you're free this weekend. There's a well-paying job if you're interested."
"Tell me."
"At the Holiday Inn Leeds Bradford there is a conference for bank managers."
"What do you need?"
"Table service or barman."
"Gone for the second. When do I come?"
"Tomorrow morning. Do you know where that is? It's about an hour from Oldgrove. Take the A629, then the 650..."
"OK, OK, I'll have a look in the street directory. Don't worry, I'll find it. See you tomorrow."
More relaxed, Alex abandoned herself against the back of the sofa and closed her eyes. Shortly afterwards, she fell asleep.
---
"So what happened?"
"Six days ago some wolves attacked me."
Raeg turned around sharply. "Why the hell didn't you call?"
Michael shrugged his shoulders. "I didn't think it was anything serious."
"Isn't attacking the top dog's son something serious?"
"I have been missing from this city for eight years. I didn't think they knew who I was."
"An assault is still a violation of our laws."
"I know." It was true. But he had somehow hoped it would die out on its own, without him getting involved in pack matters again.
"You didn't come back to stay." It was not a question.
Michael nodded, "I have a construction site... actually, I had." Yeah, he had to resolve that issue too. He was going to have to call Roger as soon as possible. "Tell me what's going on in town. Who were those wolves?"
"For some time now there have been strays, many strays. And, among humans, there have been a few disappearances."
"What are you trying to tell me Raeg?"
"That something is moving, and it is not good."
"What is my mother doing?"
"That is the problem: nothing. We can only monitor these events, but not intervene; not yet at least."
"But how is that possible?"
"It is because of a kind of pact that the packs across Britain have made: free movement of wolves, without strict control of the territory."
"What does Christopher think?"
"He is not happy. He is the one who has unleashed us on Oldgrove since the first arrivals, but his hands are tied: the top dog is your mother."
"He should step aside by now," Michael said bitterly.
"The nobles still support it."
"Will they continue even when our cities become ungovernable, with no law to safeguard them?" His voice was harsh with rising anger. He shook his head. For years now he had thought his mother should leave the leadership of the pack to his brother. Their father had prepared him for that task since he was a cub. Christopher was sensible and intelligent, he would be an excellent leader for the pack.
"Maybe he will change his mind."
Yes, Michael thought, as she had changed her mind about Evelyn, or about him. His mother was too self-confident and convinced of her own ideas to even question them. And if she didn't even listen to Christopher, there was no one who could make her change course.
When the car stopped in front of the estate gate, Michael's stomach contracted. The thrill of returning to the house was much stronger than the one he had felt on his arrival at Oldgrove. He would see his brother and mother again. But not his sister. Evelyn's sweet face reappeared in his mind. The long dark hair, the ice-blue eyes. Then the image of her mangled body, the blood, the face distorted by pain. Michael squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head to send those images away and focused on the long, tree-lined avenue leading to Barclay House. In the distance he could glimpse the wide colonnaded portico.
When the car stopped in front of it, after having circled the oval fountain that occupied the centre of the forecourt in front of the villa, Michael clenched his fists and his eyes studied the familiar façade interspersed with the large white square windows, the two semicircular wings protruding on the two extreme sides, the three sloping roofs that closed the roof of the advanced central body and finally the many chimneys rising from the roof pitches. He got out of the car, imitated by Raeg.
On the steps, Christopher was waiting and as soon as he saw him, he went to meet him. "Welcome back," he told him, squeezing him in a warm embrace. "I am glad you are here." Then he shrugged and looked at his brother carefully. "I had Dr Fredrik come," he said seriously.
"It was not necessary."
"I'll be calmer after he takes a look at you. Then we can talk."
Michael surrendered to his brother's will and followed him into the house. A few steps away followed Raeg.
Fredrik had been the family doctor for a long time. Tall and serious in his dark suit, his short hair was now white and his hazel eyes had wrinkles at the corners. For centuries he had cared for the wolves of the Barclay family. He had attended medical and veterinary schools several times during his career, and could count several degrees on his CV. The anatomy of werewolves was different from that of humans and not all medicines could be used with them; some were even lethal. Among other things, a werewolf could never go to hospital: their existence depended on men not knowing of their presence among them. Not that they were unknown to everyone. Some knew them - and hunted them.
The werewolves had now integrated themselves into the society of men, with the necessary arrangements. The organisation into packs, led by a pack leader who dictated law and justice, ensured that any dangerous elements were eliminated from the pack. It was a harsh law but it guaranteed their survival. They could not afford to awaken fear in man, for if he started hunting them, a war would break out whose outcome no one could have predicted.
The doctor found Michael in good condition: the wounds had now healed. "Whoever treated you did a good job."
"Yeah." A note of nostalgia emerged in his voice at the memory of Alex, and he wondered what he was doing now, if he was better off.
"I'll rest for a couple more days, then you'll be OK again."
"Thank you."
With a nod, the doctor said goodbye and left the room.
Michael put on a pair of black sports trousers and a T-shirt of the same colour, then went downstairs.
He saw Christopher talking to Fredrik in the hall, then the two shook hands and the doctor left. They did not look much alike for brothers. Their height was almost identical, but Chris had a more rounded face, his hair - which now reached down to his cheekbones - was dark brown, like his eyes.
"Fredrik told me that you will be fully recovered in a couple of days."
Michael smiled at him. "I told you I was fine." Then the smile faded. "Our mother?"
"Don't worry, it's in Edinburgh."
Michael felt relief relax his muscles, which he only now realised had been tense since he arrived.
"Let's go to the study. So you can tell me what happened."
The study, with its dark purple walls, was located immediately after the salon that occupied the semicircular west wing. The high, vaulted ceiling had corded plaster cornices and a large iron and crystal chandelier hung from the centre of the ceiling. In contrast, the large desk in front of the window and the dark walnut bookcases that completely filled the side walls had a clean, essential design, as did the dark leather sofa and armchairs that occupied the wall opposite the window. Their father did not like antiques, of which their mother was a fan, so, at least in that one room, she had tried to claim her right to choose.
Raeg was already seated on the large brown leather sofa. His right ankle rested on the left knee of his black cargo trousers. In his left hand, resting on the padded armrest, he held a knife, which he twirled between his fingers.
Michael began his story from his meeting with Sandy.
"You should have called me right away," Christopher finally said. There was no reproach in his voice, but a note of displeasure. "The important thing is that you are well," he then said, avoiding Michael's response. "We can no longer simply watch from a distance. It is urgent that we understand what is happening in the city as soon as possible."
"How will you convince our mother?"
"I will talk to her. The attack you suffered will shake her."
Michael's bitter laugh drew their attention. "Only because it didn't work out."
Christopher squinted his eyes. "You are still his son."
"Mhm, you're right, he might take it as a personal affront!" she replied in a sarcastic tone.
"To the pack you are a Barclay, and so are the other wolves."
"So you think they wanted to hit the pack directly, or the pack leader himself," Raeg said, trying to bring the conversation back to a more neutral topic.
Christopher nodded. "Especially considering Mick's assumption that their initial intent was to kidnap him and not kill him."
"Well, a pack leader's pet is always a good bargaining chip, especially if the pack leader in question is a female."
"They got the wrong puppy though," Michael said, raising an eyebrow in Christopher's direction.
"Raeg, I need you to return to Oldgrove. I will send you reinforcements to scour the town as soon as possible. If you find any strays find out what they are doing here." Raeg nodded as he stood up. "I'll take care of Eleanor," Christopher continued. Before the man had left, he added, "And keep us posted on Michael's human friend."
Raeg nodded and waved, then closed the door behind him.
When they were left alone, Christopher turned to his brother. "What does he know?"
"Nothing."
"Good." He stood up. "Go get some rest, Mick. I'll send for you as soon as dinner is ready."
Michael went into the west hall and let his eyes wander over the park surrounding the family's historic estate. He opened the French doors, passed the gravel-covered forecourt and walked right across the lawn. The cold air made him shiver under his light shirt. He reached the geometric gardens that drew labyrinths of hedges of herbs and flower bushes; he followed the beaten earth paths and headed towards the stables. He reached the box at the far right. A brown and white muzzle appeared and whinnied softly.
"Devon!" said Michael with a smile.
He took oats from a container and handed them to him. The horse ate it, brushing its soft muzzle against the palm of his hand. He caressed its head and mane, speaking to it in a whisper. The peace that this place always managed to instil in him finally reached his heart, and like a balm soothed his restlessness. With one last caress on his neck Michael took his leave of Devon and headed home.
From a drawer he took a black jumper and put it on. The muffled light from the chandelier illuminated his old bedroom and the dark wooden furniture: the double bed with its curved headboard, the large wardrobe, the chest of drawers. The white curtains were held back by moss-green velvet cords. Michael closed the door behind him and descended the wooden stairs, letting his hand run along the handrail. Everywhere his gaze rested, everything was as he remembered it.
She stopped in front of a portrait hanging on the wall of the large hallway. Her fair complexion, her blond hair carefully combed into soft waves that fell to her shoulders, her icy pale blue eyes. Eleanor, her mother, was a strong woman who had held the reins of the herd since her husband's death, almost a century ago now. Ever since she had become the head of the family, things had never gone smoothly between them: for her, the life of a wolf had to take place mainly among his own kind, while for Michael, life had always been in close relation to that of the humans. His mother had interpreted this attitude as a rejection of his werewolf nature. Moreover, Michael had never shown any interest in the family business, which, moreover, was already being taken care of by the eldest Christopher in a more than egregious manner.
After Evelyn's death, all dialogue had been interrupted. His mother held him partly responsible for what had happened, as he had always supported his sister in her choices, even when she had decided to embark on a relationship with a human, who later turned out to be a hunter.
Raimond, that was his name, had waited patiently for Evelyn to trust him and introduce him to her family and friends. In addition to her, he had killed three others of their pack, before they managed to kill him in turn.
It was Michael who had found Evelyn's body, mangled by Raimond's silver dagger, which had mercilessly ravaged her body. It was Michael who had killed him. In his wolf form he had given vent to all his rage, disembowelling him. But that had not soothed the pain, nor the guilt he still felt. He should have watched over her and protected her from the evils of the world, she who was still so naive, despite her century of life. The pain of that loss was still fresh in her heart.
After the funeral he had moved to London and started a new life among men. He had never seen or heard from his mother again. His only contact with the pack had been through his brother, with whom he spoke by phone and who visited him when he was in London on business.
He looked away from the painting and the memories and went downstairs, joining his brother in the dining room. She found him talking on his mobile phone. She closed it almost immediately and turned to him. "Sorry, that was Sabrina."
"How is he?" asked Michael as he sat down.
Sabrina had been her brother's girlfriend for several years. A well-known lawyer in the City of London, she had left the law firm where she was a partner to deal exclusively with the affairs of the Barclay family - and pack -.
"Good. He's in London right now, but he'll be back in a few days..." He paused. "She has agreed to be my partner."
A smile broke out on Michael's face. "Best wishes, brother!" she said hugging him. "I'm really happy for you." That in fact was the equivalent of a marriage proposal for a werewolf.
"Thank you. I was waiting to come to London to tell you." Michael watched Christopher's face, illuminated by a strange light he had never seen before. "I wish you were by my side that day." His eyes searched his younger brother's anxiously.
"I couldn't not be there," he replied with a smile. He really wouldn't want to miss such an important day.
The anxiety disappeared from Christopher's face and his face relaxed into a smile. "How about eating now?"
At the end of dinner, they retired to the east drawing room with a couple of glasses and a bottle of Macallan. The fireplace that the servants had lit warmed the large semicircular room with blue walls. Ivory-coloured sofas were arranged around the hearth to enjoy its warmth, while a small table and some fragile-looking chairs had been placed near the large window to enjoy the view of the forest.
Elder Mary asked if they wanted anything else, and when Christopher told her she could go and rest, she took her leave and quietly left.
The service staff at Barclay House, as in any werewolf household, were members of the same pack. In this way their habits, longevity and secrets remained well protected over the centuries.
Christopher brought Michael up to date on the estate, its inhabitants and the family business, carefully avoiding any topic that might even suggest Eleanor. His brother told him about his own life and work in London.
When he went to bed, Michael felt tired but happy: the journey home had been much more pleasant than he had imagined. Only one thought kept coming back to haunt him: Alex. He wondered what he was doing, if he was OK. The image of her wounded assailed him. He looked out of the window. He did not even have her phone number.