Lycans and Legends

Chapter 7: Lycans

I slipped back into the auto and headed across the city to Temple Square. It was already late afternoon, the sun dipping toward the edge of the horizon. Not really the ideal time to head into pack territory, but the Templars had come to tolerate, if not accept, my presence.

I parked my auto on the street then headed to the gate.

When Sir Nash saw me approach, he checked the street then unlocked the gate.

“Good evening, Agent Louvel.”

“Sir Nash.”

“Lionheart will be happy to see you,” he said.

I raised an eyebrow at him. “I certainly hope so.”

The knight chuckled lightly. “You’ll understand soon enough. He’s in Middle Temple Hall.”

Confused, I crossed the square to the hall. I could hear some ruckus coming from the assembly hall where the Templars met to dine and discuss pack matters. All these years, Quinn and I had watched the wolves from the rooftops, never getting too close. Now, I was in the heart of pack territory. When Quinn and I ran this town, however, Cyril and Fenton haunted the streets, that bitch Alodie causing trouble behind all our backs. Even back then, the Templars were never a problem. They were secluded, secretive, scholarly. As it turned out, the Templars were still on a mission to find the holy grail. And even now, when they ruled the realm, they had not forgotten that goal. Many of the Templars were out in the field, still on the hunt for Christ’s chalice.

Given their quiet, scholarly ways, I was surprised when I heard yelling in the hall, followed by the clatter of breaking dishes.

I pulled my pistol and cautiously opened the door.

The room was long with wooden panels on the walls and a polished wood floor. The windows were lined with stained glass. At the opposite end of the room, a portrait of Richard the Lionheart towered over the space.

Not that the king’s gaze had any effect on the lycan standing in the center of the room having a complete meltdown.

Jericho’s eyes were glimmering red. One of his hands was balled into a fist. The other was holding an expensive looking piece of china. The rest of the set lay in shattered pieces on the ground around him. His jaw set on edge, Jericho was staring down Lionheart like he was vying to become the new alpha.

“Clemeny,” Lionheart said softly.

“Good evening. I came in to get some supper, but they told me you’re fresh out of plates.”

Jericho yelled in frustration then smashed the plate onto the floor. It shattered. Loudly.

I imagined Grand-mère, somewhere across town, wincing but not knowing why, her instinct to click her tongue barely in check.

“Want my silver cuffs?” I offered Lionheart.

“Hardly good parenting,” Lionheart replied.

Since Jericho had come to London, Lionheart had taken the lycan under his wing. He kept the boy close to him, guiding him as best he could. I hadn’t known werewolves could have the patience of a saint. But Richard never failed to surprise me.

I eyed Lionheart. He stood with his hands in the pockets and stared down the boy, but I could see he was trying to smother the bemused expression on his face.

“Jericho, I have explained to you that while your hunger may be ravenous, you will make yourself ill if you don’t limit yourself. We have an unhealthy drive to consume that must be managed.”

“I said I wanted more,” Jericho screeched.

“Indeed you did. And I said no. Four plates were quite enough. Now, if you hope to eat again in the future, I suggest you stop breaking our china. It was, after all, a gift to the Templars from Queen Anne.”

At that, the boy stopped. He looked at the heap at his feet. The red in his eyes dimmed a little, replaced by the rosy blush on his cheeks.

“Oh,” Jericho said.

“There is a broom and dustpan in the closet. When you have finished cleaning up the mess, you may return to our chambers for some leisure reading. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” the boy muttered his voice barely an octave above a growl.

“Sorry?”

“Yes, Sir Richard,” Jericho said, his voice clear. He turned and looked at me, an abashed expression on his face. “Hi, Clemeny.”

“Hello, my dear.”

Jericho gave me a little wave then crossed the room to the broom closet.

Lionheart shook his head then joined me, motioning for us to step back outside.

“I see things are going well,” I said with a grin.

“That’s an improvement over how most of the day went, actually. In fact, Sir Blackwood suggested you brought Jericho to the Templars to destabilize our pack,” Lionheart said with a chuckle. “In jest, of course.”

“Of course. Why would I want to do that? If you’re destabilized, then I can’t whisk you away to come work a case with me.”

“Whisk me away for a case? Ah, let me guess. This has something to do with the fireworks at the museum opening today.”

“So it does. What have you heard?”

“Someone tried to assassinate the Queen—again. No wolves were involved. Other than that, merely rumors.”

“Well, let me regale you. First, we had a boggart in an automaton. It smashed out of the new museum and tried to grab Her Majesty. That was a spectacle. And then there was the robed assassin. Apparently, the Rude Mechanicals suspected someone might try to come after Victoria again. Her presence at the opening was an attempt to smoke the assailant out.”

“Ah,” Lionheart mused. “Rather a foolish risk to put the monarch in harm’s way.”

“Agreed. I was unaware of the plan until the last moment.”

“Indeed?”

I nodded.

“I see,” Lionheart said, a guilty expression stealing across his face. While I didn’t talk about it much, I was very sure Lionheart knew that my shift in companionship from Edwin to him was bound to cause tension on my job. The look on his face told me he knew, and he was sorry.

“It’s all right,” I reassured him.

He nodded apologetically. “The assassin was a boggart?”

We exited Middle Hall. The sun was dipping low on the horizon, the sky illuminated in deep shades of red, gold, and pink. The wind whipped across the square.

“Agent Rose went to track him down.”

Lionheart chuckled lightly. “If she finds him, god help him.”

“Do you know Agent Rose well?” I asked in surprise.

“We’ve crossed paths in the past. Her and her companion. But the question remains, who hired the boggart?”

“Ah, now, that is the question of the day,” I said then pulled the dagger from my belt and handed it to Lionheart, waiting anxiously to see what would happen when he touched it.

Lionheart stared at the dagger in my hand. “Clemeny…” he whispered.

I nodded and pressed the dagger toward him again.

He reached out and took the blade.

Nothing.

I frowned.

He lifted the instrument and studied the engravings thereon.

“Well, professor?” I asked.

He grunted, making that low wolfy sound I had come to adore. “Where did you get this?”

“I disarmed the would-be assassin.”

“You disarmed the assassin.”

“Don’t sound so surprised,” I chided Lionheart.

“I certainly don’t disregard your prowess in battle, but do you know what this is?”

“Star metal.”

Lionheart nodded. “So it is.”

“We believe it was an Unseelie who went after Victoria today. Who? Why? We don’t know. Which brings me back to my case. I know Conklin yelps are stirring up trouble, but do you suppose the pack would mind if I borrowed you for a few days?”

“And where are we going?”

“To talk—I hope—to the druids.”

Lionheart looked at me. He knew as well as I did what a trip meant, not just for the case, but for me personally.

“Given Jericho’s temperament, I believe the pack would be horrified beyond measure if I try to leave.”

“Then I guess he’ll have to come along.”

“Oh, Clemeny. That is a terrible idea.”

“Well, if you ask around, I’m sure everyone thinks you and I are full of terrible ideas. One more can’t hurt. Besides, there’s no danger in talking to the druids. The worst they can do is ignore us.”

“Don’t underestimate Celtic wizardry.”

“I don’t. But I have this,” I said, taking the dagger from Lionheart’s hand with my bare palm. At once, it began to glow. “And something tells me that the druids might be interested in why it does that.”

“Clemeny,” Lionheart said with a shake of the head.

I chuckled. “Are you coming or not?”

“I need to talk to Blackwood. Conklin is up to something, but I’m very sure Blackwood will be happy to take over if I promise to take Jericho with me. First thing in the morning, then?”

I nodded. “You drive. I’ll leave the auto to Harper.”

“Very well. We will see you at the grotto in the morning. Now I just need to go convince Jericho that he wants to come.”

“I doubt you’ll have any problem with that.”

“Why is that?

“You’re very persuasive,” I said, stepping closer to him.

“Am I?” he replied, wrapping his arm around me and pulling me closer.

I gazed up into his eyes. My heart beat hard. “Yes,” I whispered in reply, unable to form an acceptable witty comeback.

He reached out and gently stroked the scar on my face. “Look who is convincing whom,” he said then set a soft kiss on my lips. The sweet and salty tastes on his tongue, the feel of his body pressed against mine, and a terrible but wonderful sense of want washed through me.

It seemed that Lionheart shared the sentiment. It was only when we heard a door open nearby that we broke apart.

Lionheart coughed lightly then adjusted his waistcoat. “Very well, Agent Louvel. I shall see you in the morning.”

I grinned at him. I didn’t want to let him go. I wanted to stay there with him. I wanted…him. An avalanche of carnal thoughts crossed my mind.

Hell’s bells, Clemeny. Get it together.

“In the tomorrow…I mean, morning. Bye.”

Lionheart huffed a laugh. “Bye.”

Swallowing hard, I turned and left Temple Square.

From the first moment I’d met Sir Richard Spencer, I’d been attracted to him. In truth, I’d spent more than a moment lusting over him even before we were together. But it was one thing to lust over someone you thought you’d never have, and quite another to realize that you were actually on a path that could actually lead to…

My cheeks reddened at the thought.

But even so, my mind delighted at the idea. I was brave enough to slay a werewolf. Was I brave enough to bed one too?