Wolf Omega: Lykanos Chronicles 2

New York City, 1891

“Mistress, we shouldn’t be on the street at this hour,” Henry said.

“Just a while longer,” I answered. “I promise we’re safe. Think of what you plan to order for dinner at Delmonico’s. We’ll dine there tonight if I’m successful.”

“That’s ridiculous, Mistress. I’m not dressed to accompany you there.”

“You might be surprised,” I smirked. That maître d’ hôtel would see a manipulated vision of Henry wearing the finest hat and tails any man had ever stepped through the restaurant’s door in if I had my way tonight.

I knew Duccio was in an apartment on the fourth floor of a quiet building at the corner of Columbus and West Eighty-sixth. But I couldn’t approach any closer without him realizing I was near, even with the sea of minds around us drowning my sound. But if I extended my hearing, I might tell which side of the building he stood.

Duccio had kept mistresses in Washington. These were women that he housed for himself. Prostitutes had never aroused him; he didn’t care to share anything with other men.

At first, I’d hoped those women would draw him away from me somehow. Maybe he would love them, or perhaps they would require him to fulfill the obligations of a father. But these women never conceived from their pairing. Or rather, they never carried to term. I could only guess the reason and pondered that lycan became too dissimilar from humans after awakening.

Sempronio had examined the matter of interbreeding in his journals to no avail. Like Duccio once announced, some believed that only two lycan should breed to enhance and offspring’s gifts. I’d seen no conclusive proof of any sort on the subject.

But Duccio could hardly keep such liaisons from me. If I hadn’t heard his exploits in my mind, I could certainly smell them on him. To each, I feigned disappointment, but it never mattered to Duccio. He received my protests with the same notice he might give to a complaint about the weather on a Spring day. It was a part of life, so why did I spend energy caring about such matters, he’d ask.

I decided I would confront Duccio with disgust and annoyance instead of my usual disappointment. It was an idea I’d toyed with many times over our years together.

Some might accuse me of being intolerably slow to accomplish matters, but they likely couldn’t comprehend time in the same way I do. An immortal perceives twenty years like Henry might’ve think of a doctor’s waiting room. By the late nineteenth century, I was so disconnected from the flow of ordinary, mortal life that I often erupted with laughter when its changes caught my attention. The first silver hairs of middle age at Henry’s temples aroused such a delighted fuss from me that he became silently angry before I could contain myself. And countless other pursuits took up this time while I waited for Duccio to lose interest in my company.

Again, understand that I leap forward through this chronicle to focus attention where it matters most to me and keep this account from being thousands of pages long. These are the parts of my life that are important to me.

Duccio was on the move, descending the building, and I withdrew at once.

“Find us somewhere loud to hide.”

Without affording Henry a moment to consider or search, I made for a diner only feet away on Columbus.

“This will suit me fine,” he announced humorously before the host seated us in the back.

“Don’t give up on me. There, think of the chocolate creme pie under the glass dish on the counter.”

Henry did as I asked, filling his mind with the texture and smell of the pie from his imagination. Satisfied, I closed my mind to everything around me, thinking of the waves of the harbor we’d sailed over to reach the island. I needed to give Duccio time to leave without noticing either of us.

In thirty minutes, I came to, seeing the last bites of chocolate creme on a dish Henry hovered over. I grinned a disappointed side-eye.

“Beginning with dessert?”

“It’s difficult to think of food for that long and not do something about it,” he answered. His mother’s English accent was still crisp in his throat after all these years.

“Let’s go,” I said.

I stood up from the table as he fumbled to reach for a bill to leave the waiter.

Duccio was long gone; there was no question. I hurried up the street until I came to the building, where I looked up to where I expected his mistress must live.

“Stay here,” I told Henry.

“Mistress, please.”

I shot him a look of denial and entered the building at once. I took to the central staircase as reservedly as my anticipation would allow for, climbing with a light, even rhythm. Flight after flight, I smelled the lingering spice of Duccio’s scent in the air. It led me to the fourth floor and down a hall to one of three apartment doors.

It was the one on the right. It must be, I thought.

A woman inside wept quietly at a table. She sat by herself, and through the door, I saw the hue of pain in her light. I wanted her name; I would confront him with her name to prove my obsession.

“Who’s there?” her voice called when I knocked.

“Good evening, Miss. My name is Gabrielle. We have a common friend, Thomas. May I speak with you?”

After a pause, the door opened hesitantly, and I knew at once why she had been crying. The smell was unquestionable.

“May I come in? It’s a delicate matter,” I whispered.

She stared at me, taking in the expensive cut of my clothes, the fur at my collar, and the jewels I wore. It all evoked an immediate recognition, and her lip quivered.

“Are you his wife?”

“No,” I assured her gently and stepped forward to touch her hand. “I’m his little sister.”

I closed the door behind me and placed my arms around her. At first, she pulled away, but it was an immediate, unconscious response. She soon fell into my embrace, desperate for my console.

“You’re with child?”

She answered only with wrenching sobs, and I guided her to sit down at the table. The room was fashionably appointed in a style that Duccio likely chose for her to please himself. The electric bulb over our heads shot a garish light over her young, glistening face.

“He’s not coming back,” she said. “He has no interest in me anymore—in us.”

“What will you do?”

“I don’t know. This is his apartment. I mean, he pays the rent and bills. But that’s over, at least it will be by the end of the month. I’ll have to go back to my parents.” She placed her hand over her eyes. “I don’t know if they’ll let me back now.”

“What is your name, dear?”

“Lillian.”

“How old are you?

“I’ll be nineteen next week.”

A well of revulsion overcame me, and I stood up from the table. I felt as if I’d been speaking to the child I once was—scared and alone, with nothing and no one to care for her.

In truth, I hadn’t cared about Duccio’s exploits, not in the way a spurred lover might. There was far too much between us to allow jealousy a seat at our table. No, what angered me was how anyone could do such a thing to a child.

Is this it? I wondered. Would this be how I might defeat him? Could my wolf awaken as a vigilante in repayment for what he’d done to this innocent child?

As the emotion processed and settled, I knew the answer with disappointment.

“You are very much better without him, Lillian. He would bring you nothing but unhappiness. As for the child, I’m afraid you’ll soon find that responsibility will resolve itself. He’s burdened many young girls like yourself, and in each instance, the child miscarried early. There is something wrong with him, with his seed.”

I felt her disbelief evolve into hope, and I thought she would find the strength to endure her situation for the first time.

“In the morning, I will have my butler arrive with a banknote. It will cover the costs of this apartment and utilities for a year. That way, you can remain here while you face what awaits you. I recommend you ask your mother for help. Your mother wants for your happiness, I’m certain of it.”

I felt despair begin to take me, and I shook off the memories that threatened my composure.

“Yes, in the morning, he’ll come. What is your family name for the banknote?”

“Archer. Lillian Archer.”

I nodded to her and turned to leave.

“Thank you, Gabrielle,” she said before I closed the door behind me.

“You disgust me, that’s why,” I spat at him.

Duccio’s interest in my outrage was already waning from his initial surprise when I arrived at his house.

“What difference could it possibly make to you? I moved my private affairs from Washington out of courtesy to you. But unsatisfied, you’ve traipsed all the way up here to seek them out? That says far more about your morality than mine.”

“A child! Have you no honor whatsoever?”

“They’re all children to me. You aren’t much more than a child to me. That has nothing to do with why you’re standing here now.”

He ran his finger over the outline of my breasts, and I sensed how strongly he’d begun to entertain the idea of enjoying my anger.

“Take your pathetic hands from me,” I fired at him.

“It seems you need it,” he countered.

“Enough! I can’t stand to look at you. You disgust me! The very sound of your voice disgusts me.”

“Then go!” he howled. “I never invited you here. Go back to Washington, where you belong. I’ll return when it suits me.”

“No, it’s gone too far—that isn’t enough. I need time away from you. And not time until you decided you’re ready. I need to know I won’t see your irritating face a week or a month from now. I’m taking a trip. I need to get away from all this. I’ll go to Chicago or some other place I can stomach. Wherever, have the dignity not to concern yourself with my whereabouts.”

I turned to leave, but he stopped me, pulling back on my arm.

“Don’t go too far,” he whispered. It was a threat and a promise.

“What difference does it make where I go? Whether it be France or the Moon, we both know we’ll see each other again. Isn’t that our predicament?”

I pulled away angrily from his grasp and walked out of his house.

Once on the sidewalk, I stopped and took the air, considering what I’d just purchased for myself. Time away; time to try my plans. I was filled with such relief and excitement that I hardly kept the smile from my face.

I continued down the block to the hansom, waiting for me with Henry in the passenger seat.

“Hungry?” I asked with a flash of excitement.