TOUCH OF THE WOLF By Susan Krinard

“Boy.” Braden jerked out of his thoughts and stared up at his grandfather. A glance from Tiberius could freeze any other man, human or werewolf, and it had always reduced Braden’s knees to jelly.

But Braden had learned to Change, and fear had turned to respect. “Sir?”

Tiberius cuffed him lightly and pushed him toward the massive wooden doors. “Go. I have final words for the others, but I shall speak with you later.” He dismissed Braden with a jerk of his shoulder, and Braden saw that all the strangers’ eyes, cool and assessing, were on him this time. The delegates knew Braden was to inherit the earldom and his grandfather’s great purpose. They watched him for any sign of weakness.

I shall be strong, like Grandfather, Braden thought. One day they will all respect me. He stood tall and marched from the room, closing the heavy carved double doors behind him.

“Well?” hissed a voice as he passed into the entrance hall. Quentin’s eyes were bright with curiosity and mischief. “Was it as exciting as you thought it would be? Did you get to talk, or did they even notice you were there? What did you think about the one with the funny—”

Braden snatched at his brothers arm. “Not here,” he whispered. He glanced at Rowena who stood, as always, at Quentin’s elbow, and herded the twins down the entrance hall to the front doors. A footman hurried forward to open the doors, and then they were out in the fading sunlight. Once they were alone and beyond the high shield of rhododendrons across the lawn, Braden fixed his sternest gaze on his younger brother and used his deeper voice to best advantage.

“You were spying,” he accused. “You had no right to be there. If Grandfather caught you—”

Quentin laughed. Nothing ever frightened him—no threat of punishment, no prospect of dire consequences. He was, as Maman had said before her death, impossible.

“Do you think it’s just a game?” Braden asked. “What Grandfather has done to save our people—”

“I know, I know.” Quentin rolled his eyes. “You’re so deadly serious. What’s the use of being able to Change if it’s never any fun? When I make the passage, I shall enjoy it.”

Rowena curled her small fingers around her twin brothers arm. “I shall not,” she said. “I wish I never had to Change at all.”

“You don’t have a choice,” Braden said, more harshly than he’d intended. “We all have to do as we’re told, or there won’t be any of us left.” His voice softened. “Anyway, when you can Change, you’ll find out, Ro. It’s amazing…” He shivered. “Poor humans. I almost feel sorry for them.”

“Not me,” Rowena began. “If I could, I would—”

But her words were quickly drowned out by Quentin’s. “I know you can’t wait to become leader when Grandfather dies,” he said to Braden, his grin belying his words. “But he’s not nearly ready to stick his spoon in the wall, so you may as well resign yourself to a few more years of playing second fiddle.”

Braden stiffened. “When I am leader, you’ll have to do what I say.”

Quentin snapped into a mock salute. “Yes, my lord. But not quite yet.” He gave a yelp as Braden grabbed for him, and suddenly there was a chase in progress, half in earnest and half in play. They tumbled onto the lawn, Quentin nearly holding his own in spite of his lesser years. Rowena hopped a little as if she’d join in, but she was far too proud of her new frock to dirty it, and her twelve-year-old’s dignity was too fragile to compromise.

At last Braden had Quentin pinned. “Promise me,” he said breathlessly, “promise me that you’ll obey me when I’m leader.”

There was no surrender in Quentin’s eyes, and his smile didn’t waver. “Are you afraid I shall do what Grandfathers brother and sister did, and spoil your Cause?”

Braden knew that story by heart as well. “They were both traitors. Great-Aunt Grace married a human instead of the mate chosen for her. And Great-Uncle William broke his word. He went to live in America, but he never sent his children back to England. Now he’s dead, and we’ve lost his bloodline—”