Luc raised his head and stared at Mason. The older man looked back at him, his eyes the same odd shade of green and amber as Luc’s. Why, Luc wondered, did that seem so terribly important?
“As unbelievable as it sounds, when you saw the wolf, you saw Camille, my wife.” Mason looked away. He coughed, rubbed his hand across his eyes. Luc felt as if his own heart broke, mortally wounded by the fathomless pain in the other man’s voice.
“She was unique in many ways, a woman of the forest. A woman destined to be my mate, the perfect match for me…but she was not what she seemed. Camille was not merely of African-American descent. She was a member of a unique race, a separate species, actually, long forgotten, often misunderstood. A species that gave rise to fearful legends and fantasies, almost all of them false. Still, she was impetuous, often careless, but always beloved. She was Chanku.”
“What?” Luc leaned back to better see Ulrich. The man appeared lost in his own world of dreams and thought. “What do you mean…Chanku?”
“Chanku. A species of wolf native to the Himalayas.” Ulrich turned and looked straight into Luc’s eyes. “A species of wolf, but also human. Interchangeable, able to shift from one form to the other, with the intelligence of a human yet all the senses of its wild counterpart. The wolf you saw was my wife. The shift back to her human roots occurred at the time of her death. Camille, myself, our daughter…and, if I am not mistaken, you, Lucien Stone, are all Chanku.”
Chapter 1
Oakland, California—August 2006
Luc sipped his brandy and stared out the large bay window of Ulrich Mason’s Marina District home and reflected on the night’s mission while he waited for his commander’s return. Things had gone better than expected—the young kidnap victim was unharmed and now safe with his parents. Even better, the intelligence had been good, for a change.
Lights reflected off the bay. Traffic, even this late at night, still raced along Marina Boulevard. The rest of the pack had gone off to their respective homes for the night, all heading toward a group of apartments carved out of an old Victorian mansion in the Sunset District. The boy had been returned safely to his parents, the press kept totally out of the story, and the first, cursory debriefing was complete.
There would be time for more details later, after they’d all caught up on some badly needed sleep, but for now Luc appreciated a moment to merely sit and relax and enjoy the pleasurable feeling of a job well done.
What did he have to go home to, anyway? There was no mate waiting, no children. No life beyond the camaraderie of the pack and whatever job came next.
Since the terrorist attack on New York, the pack had worked overtime, their unique abilities in demand by the government as never before. A small band of men, all Chanku, brought together by one retired police captain who long ago had recognized his own heritage and realized he could not be the only shape-shifter in existence.
Still, Luc could count on one hand the number of Chanku recruited by Ulrich Mason over the last twenty years to work in Pack Dynamics, the cover for a force so secret even the president was unaware of its identity. Four other men, ranging in age from the newest member, barely into his midtwenties, to Luc, now forty-one. Not counting the commander, of course. Ulrich Mason was an entity unto himself.
There were other Chanku out there. Others with the unique ability to shift from human to wolf, but, just as Luc had been ignorant of his heritage, many of them remained unaware of their potential. So often they led lives of quiet misery, aware of something lacking, but never learning what.
Luc knew Ulrich had recently made contact with the leader of another pack, a group now living in Montana. Ulrich hadn’t said too much about them, though Luc had sensed Ulrich’s respect for their leader, a man reputed to be a powerful wizard as well as Chanku.
Now that was an interesting combination…a magical shape-shifter? Luc chuckled quietly to himself. Accepting the concept of shape-shifting was hard enough, but adding magic to the mix was a bit much. Still, it was heartening to know there were others out there aware of their heritage, living with their own kind.
Camille Mason had been the key for Ulrich, close enough to her Tibetan roots to retain the knowledge of the grasses the Chanku needed, the combination of vitamins and enzymes and other nutrients that enabled that small part of the brain unique to their breed to function as it was genetically intended. Ulrich had explained it all to a disbelieving Luc that long-ago night.
Luc shifted in his chair, remembering the emotions he’d experienced sitting in this same room, in the home of the woman he’d killed. He’d quit the force the day it happened, emotionally devastated by such a horrible mistake. The quiet, graveside memorial had been even worse, but he’d felt an overwhelming desire to attend. No longer a cop, he’d worn his military blues out of respect. He’d stood apart, feeling the husband’s grief, sensing the man’s terrible pain, Ulrich’s love for his little girl, his loss.
His unimaginable loss.
What would it be like to find a mate of the same species? A woman as attuned to your every thought and need as Camille must have been to Ulrich’s? Though the pack was always on the alert for female Chanku, none had been found. The only one Luc had ever known was Tia, and she was just a kid, as far as he knew completely unaware of her shape-shifting nature. The last time he’d seen her, almost ten years ago, she’d been a tall, gangly teenager with smooth, mocha skin, braces on her teeth, and freckles sprinkled liberally across her nose.
She’d inherited some of her mother’s dark coloring—skin the color of coffee with cream and the most beautiful amber eyes he’d ever seen. She even had her mother’s dimple in her left cheek. Her hair, though, was dark blond, just as her father’s must once have been, and she’d worn it tied in a ponytail to control the wild tangles.
It was difficult to imagine her as a woman now.
As a young teen she’d had an inherent grace that hinted of sensuality to come, a natural beauty both unique and compelling. He was a young man in his prime, alone without the prospect of a mate, but a winsome and endearing teenager had been more fun to tease than consider even remotely as an object of desire.
Then Tia was gone, off to that private boarding school with her best friend, and eventually on to college somewhere back east…Boston? She’d been home rarely for very brief visits, though Ulrich had occasionally gone to Boston to visit her. Luc wondered what Tia would be like now, wondered if Ulrich had ever told Tia the truth about her mother, about herself?
Did Tia know how her mother died? Did she remember?
“Thanks for waiting, Luc.”
Ulrich stepped into the room. He’d removed his suit coat and loosened his tie. His thick shock of white hair was a bit ruffled and out of place, but for a man in his sixties, Ulrich still carried an air of authority no one would ever strip from him.
“No problem, boss. It feels good to sit with absolutely nothing on my mind for a change.”
“You deserve to relax.” Ulrich poured brandy into a crystal goblet and sat in the leather chair opposite Luc’s. “Just don’t get used to it.”
Luc laughed. Ulrich lifted the brandy in a silent toast. “You did well tonight. The boy is safe, the press still blissfully unaware of our existence, and no one was injured.”
“Thank you.
