Fair Game

But Anna is wrong. Brother Wolf is not ready to break loose.”
    “No,” agreed his father softly. “But your grandfather would tell you that you need to cleanse yourself of all those ghosts you carry with you.”
    Charles flinched. He should have known that his da would understand what was happening to him. Da wasn’t a spiritual man, not that Charles could tell, anyway. He was pretty sure that his father couldn’t see the ghosts the way that his grandfather would have. But his da had a way of seeing right to the heart of things when he wanted to.
    “I have tried,”Charles said, feeling about thirteen. “Fasting and sweat lodge haven’t worked. Running. Swimming.”
    “You hold on to them because you do not feel that their deaths were just.”
    Charles turned his head away slightly and angled his eyes down but not so far that he couldn’t see Da’s face. “It is not for me to determine the law, only to carry it out.”
    Da frowned at him, not like he was displeased, just thoughtful. “I had a talk with Adam Hauptman.”
    Charles raised his eyebrows and found a dry voice to say, “Adam is worried about me, too?”
    “Adam is worried about his mate, who is injured, cranky, and obstreperous,” replied his father. “So he’s not available to take on a rather tricky situation.”
    Charles didn’t follow where this conversation was going, so he adopted silence as a strategy. Da liked to hear himself talk anyway.
    The old lobo sighed, stretched, and put his feet up on his desk—a sign that Charles was talking to his
father
and not just the Marrok. “I’ve been racking my brain—not to mention Asil’s brain—with how to make your job easier.”
    He spoke as if Adam’s situation had some bearing on Charles’s, though he couldn’t see how. “You have.”
    His father frowned at him. “No. It’s becoming painfully obvious that nothing I’ve done has helped you.”
    Bran didn’t say what it was for a few moments, just studied Charles’s face as if it were not the face he’d worn every day since he became an adult nearly two centuries before.
    “I cannot send anyone else to enforce the rules—but I am, as of this moment, relaxing the penalties for many transgressions in the hope that it will allow the Alpha wolves to need less…
help
enforcing them.” He held up a hand and Charles bit back his protests. “You are the onlyone I can send out, yes. But if you falter, there will be no one but me—and I do not trust myself. So it is necessary that you not break. Anyone who has been Changed less than five years gets one warning. Asil is as frightening as you—and he also is not an Alpha right now. He has volunteered to go out and scare the bejeebers out of young idiots who break the rules the first time.”
    Charles knew it was wrong. His father had weighed and assessed the needs for the wolves’ survival and had made the necessary changes in the laws of the packs. But it wasn’t shame, but rather relief, that made him drop his eyes.
    “I have failed you,” he said.
    “No, son,” said Da. “I nearly failed you. You are, as Asil has reminded me, one of my pack and I am responsible for your well-being.” His tone turned wry.
    “Asil has appointed himself my guardian?” asked Charles softly. Asil was overstepping himself.
    “He was bored, he told me,” said his father. He gave Charles a small smile. “I have given him a job so he doesn’t get bored again.”
    Da rocked back in his chair and studied the ceiling as if it were interesting for a moment, before turning his yellow eyes back to Charles. “Asil scaring the britches off our young wolves won’t be enough. I…
We
will still need you to kill. However, Adam thought that maybe doing other things, too, might…dilute the effect. Maybe if every trip you take isn’t to go kill some more old friends and acquaintances—” Charles hid a wince, or tried to. “Maybe it will help. So. I have a call from some of my contacts in the government that they need to consult with one of us about a possible serial killer.”
    His father saw his face and smiled without humor. “Not one of us. One of the killers they’ve been tracking awhile seems to have changed his victim of choice. At least three of his kills in Boston have been werewolves.”
    “Three? And we didn’t know?”
    “Iknew three had died,” said Da. “From three different packs, but someone did not see fit to tell me that they were probably connected. I’ll deal with