Blood Trail

"Yes."
    Personal differences must not be allowed to influence the case; things were going to be difficult enough already. Ifthey didn't deal with this now, odds were good it'd turn up sometime a lot more dangerous. "I spoke with Tony today."

    "Ah." Jealousy, he understood. "You know I must feed from a number of mortals, Vicki, and you yourself chose the other night to. ..."

    She turned to glare at the indistinct outline his body made against the opposite window.
    "What the hell does that have to do with anything?" Her left fist slammed down on the dash.
    "For four years I couldn't get Tony to take anything from me but a couple of hamburgers and some spare change. Now all of a sudden you've found him a job and a place to live."

    Henry frowned. "I don't understand the problem." He knew her anger was genuine, both her breathing and her heartbeat had accelerated, but if it wasn't the sexual aspect that bothered her. ... "You don't want Tony to be off the streets?"

    "Of course I do, but ..."... but I wanted to be the one to save him. She couldn't say that, it sounded so petty. It was also completely accurate. Abruptly anger changed to embarrassment.
    "... but I don't know how you did 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