This confused her. She had encountered wolves on her travels before, and they had often been wary of her, as she was an outsider, and one more foreign than most, a possible threat to the pack, but never had she known wolves to react to her presence with such complete terror. They were not fleeing from her outright, but they were keeping clear of her, and they were certainly not in any state of mind to approach her. She could not see or hear them yet, but she followed their scent slowly, holding a non threatening posture, trying to convey her benign intentions in every way possible. She hoped she could convince them to trust her, at least enough to allow her to draw nearer. She needed to speak with them, to ask them for information, but even if she had not needed to, she might well have sought them out, if only to find out why they were so terrified.

That they did not run from her gave her hope, and she continued to track them. As she was slow and careful, the fear smell seemed to lessen after a time, and a few minutes later, she saw them. Or rather, she was allowed to see them. A pack of seven wolves. Most of them kept to the periphery of her vision, little more than movements in the shadows beneath the trees, but one was bold enough to draw nearer. She could still smell the fear scent, an oppressive pall hanging in the air.

The wolf who approached her was a male, obviously the alpha. He was large and silver-grey, with golden eyes. He was aging; his eyes were slightly glassy, his coat dull, his steps somewhat too heavy. He would not, she thought, be alpha for long. But then she noticed something, smelling it as much as she saw it-- this pack was made up entirely of aging wolves. It was unexpected. Where were the wolves in their prime? Where were the young?

The wolf addressed her in wolfish, a difficult language to translate into human language or even into werewolfish, but a language she spoke as well as the other two. "I am Dark Thicket, alpha of this pack. We are known as Fade-of-the-Sunset." It was a sad name for a pack, the name a pack might take for itself when it was dying, passing from the world and into darkness, like the light at the end of the day. "I am Jessica, of the Hekatoi."

"I do not understand your names. You are of the grey one?" He showed her a scent picture that she recognized as Eamon. Eamon had told her he'd encountered a pack of wolves on his journey. This must be that pack. He had said they had been uneasy when he'd met them, but he had not managed to fully convey the extent of their fear of werewolfkind. Speaking to her in werewolfish over the phone must have muffled his meaning.

"Yes. He is my friend." Packmate was the word she used, although this was not strictly true.

"Then you will want to know of Child-Killer, as he did." The old wolf's tone was grave. His eyes were deadly cold, as with anger, his teeth bared, and the fear scent surged in him. She scented old wounds as well, and she shuddered.

Child-Killer. She did not like the sound of that appellation. "Yes," she said. "Tell me of that one."

"I told your packmate. You should not seek her out. She is death."

"Yet I must find her."

This confused Dark Thicket. "Why? Have you not heard my warning?"

"She is of my kind," Jessica replied. What else could she say? How could she explain the task of the Hekatoi to this wolf? To wolves, stories required no special effort-- they were simply there, in their blood, in the moon, in the wind and in the water and the rushing streams. Wolves would not be able to comprehend that anyone could gather stories, could pluck them as if they were ripe fruit hanging from the trees and store them against a long, long winter.

"I do not understand your kind."

"I do not always understand us either."

This too confused the old alpha wolf, but he did not attempt to make sense of her remark. "Then I will tell you of her, if this is what you must do. She lives higher up, where the humans rarely go. If you travel north, further into the mountains, you will find her, or she will find you. She is golden as the sun. She comes down to us when the moon grows to its fullest, and we fear her then. She is like you, and yet she is not, for she cannot stand as you do, as a wolf calmly before us. She is a wolf and then a human, then a wolf again. We fear her, for she kills our children. She will kill us too, if we displease her, and all things displease her, so we run from her." He paused, adding, "She is far more swift than we."

"She is alone?"

"There are no others with her, although there were once."

"Where did they go?"

"We call her Kinslayer," said the wolf, as though that was answer enough to her question, and it was.

"What else?"

"That is all I know."

Jessica made a gesture of respect, but not submission. "I thank you."

"You will still seek her out?"

"I told you-- I must."

Dark Thicket clearly thought her mad. Or perhaps he thought all werewolves mad. If he was judging by the behavior of this Child-Killer he spoke of, then it was no surprise if he came to that conclusion. "And what will you do once you have found her?"

"I will speak to her."

"Then you seek death."

"No, I do not. It is something else I seek. Although I might find death there, I know it. I thank you for your warning. It was well given to this stranger, no kin of your own. Wherever I go, I will speak only praise of Dark Thicket and his pack Fade-of-the-Sunset, even in the land of death."

"Then give my regards to our ancestors and our slain younglings. And if you should return here, we will welcome you, Jessica of the Hekatoi." Dark Thicket clearly thought little of her chances for survival, yet he spoke with polite concern. Jessica found herself liking this wolf, who, though cowed, was not defeated.

"I thank you again," said Jessica. "Farewell." So she must go north, higher up into the mountains. This she could have guessed. The one she sought was obviously in hiding from the world. Her people were from this region of Europe, and they would have been driven by the relentless human progress of this age up into the mountains, where humans did not live but only passed through, on mountain climbing excursions or research expeditions. Yet there was no place left on earth where one could truly hide, and Eamon, the tracker, had found her at last. Now Jessica must make overtures to her, despite the danger, despite the warning of the terrified wolfpack, and the Hekatoi would see what would come of it all. Perhaps this would be a story someday, told by generations far in the future, but what kind of story it would be was yet to be determined.

Amato had said, You must be kind to her. It is always hard to be the last, as hard as it is to be the first. Yet if the one Jessica sought was as the old alpha wolf had described her, how could Jessica be kind to her? A murderer of pups, one who slew her own kin-- why would such a one treat Jessica any differently? It seemed Jessica might well be obligated to fight, or die.

If you travel north, further into the mountains, you will find her, or she will find you. So Dark Thicket had spoken. Simple enough counsel. Yet how difficult not to feel fear as she traveled, not to jump at every sound. This was, after all, Child-Killer's own territory. Child-Killer would know how best to take her by surprise. It was only when Jessica did meet Child-Killer at last that she realized her jumpiness had been in vain, realized how literally Dark Thicket had meant his words. If ever there had been anyone unconcerned with stealth, it was she.

Jessica was still within the forest, had not yet reached the altitude where trees would give way to scrub and stone, when the overpowering scent flooded her nostrils all at once. Werewolf scent, a brash greeting smell mixed with warning. I am here, and you are in danger, that smell announced. A moment later, Jessica heard a short, sharp cry-- half wolf, half human, and she heard something moving rapidly through the trees towards her.

Though a desire for flight shuddered through her, Jessica did not move. She held her wolf shape and held fast, her hackles rising, her upper lip raised in a snarl. Then she caught sight of her quarry, and her quarry caught sight of her. Child-Killer, for that was who it must be-- although Jessica wished she had another, less alarming, name for her-- came to a sudden halt. Both of them stood frozen, watching each other. Jessica was afraid, and she knew this other must smell her fear. But she did not feel fear only. A surge of elation coursed through her, mixed with awe. Here she stood, facing a thing she had believed irretrievably lost, facing what was to her a creature of legend.

There was no doubting Child-Killer's lineage. She had the famous golden pelt of her kind, the amber eyes. Those eyes were shining with keen intelligence-- members of her bloodline were known for their formidable mental powers. Another thing they were famed for was their propensity for madness, and it was madness too that Jessica saw in those eyes fixed upon her. This was a werewolf of the line of Cicatri, known also as the Roman Wolves, the sons and daughters of Romulus, the wolves who had founded an empire-- and later lost it. It was common knowledge among werewolves that the Cicatri had been wiped out during the Spanish Inquisition, as so many of the Fae had been slain during those evil times. Yet that common knowledge, it seemed, was false knowledge, for here she was, resplendent in her madness-- the last of the Cicatri.

She wore neither wolf nor human form, but rather a combination of the two: a wolf body with patches of human skin. Her back legs ended in paws, but from the ends of her front legs sprouted hands. Her head, rising from a wolfish neck, was human, but her eyes and ears were those of a wolf. As Jessica watched her, her body continued to change in a multitude of small ways, patches of bare human skin disappearing and reappearing somewhere else, her tail shrinking and regrowing, hard claws extending then fading into fingernails. She could not master her form. She had lost control.

Child-Killer spoke, but Jessica could not make out the import of her words. She heard only the harshness of the voice, shaping words which were unfamiliar yet familiar-- what was that language? A human one, certainly. Jessica's eyes widened. Latin. She was speaking the dead language, fitting for a member of a tribe believed dead.

"I fear I cannot understand you," said Jessica in werewolfish.

To her relief, Child-Killer replied in the same: "Barbarian." Jessica was taken aback by the statement, uttered by one so barbaric in her own appearance, until she remembered that the Romans had considered all who had not known Latin to be just that, barbarians. "Why do you fear me?" Child-Killer asked. "I smell it on you, the fear." She took a few steps forward, but Jessica, in spite of her fear, did not retreat. "I smell the wolves on you, too. The weak ones." Child-Killer breathed in through her nose, deeply. "And others. Others like you. Where do you come from?"

"America."

Child-Killer bared her teeth. "I do not know that place. Is it far away?"

She had been isolated indeed. "Yes. It is across the sea. In the New World."

Child-Killer made a noise indicating disgust for this New World. "And who are you?"

"I am Jessica," she replied respectfully. "Of the Hekatoi."

"Ah." Child-Killer drew yet nearer, but Jessica still did not retreat. "The Hekatoi I know. Meddlers. Why have you come here? Do you wish to meddle with me?"

"No, that is not my intent."

The golden female's harsh voice dropped to a harsh whisper as Child-Killer advanced until she stood a mere yard from Jessica. "What is it, then? Your intent."

"Merely to speak with you."

"That is a lie," said Child-Killer flatly.

Jessica did not even see the female's muscles bunch in preparation for a spring. All she knew was that she was knocked flat, with a weight on top of her, which was Child-Killer herself. Jessica felt wolf jaws at her throat, and she thought to herself, quite clearly, without a trace of panic, I am going to die. She closed her eyes. She thought of Peter and Lucius, how she would never see them again, and she felt a stab of sadness. She thought of Eamon, how he would weep rivers for her, how he would drink himself stupid at his own personal wake in her honor. At least she would be missed.

Yet the jaws did not plunge in to tear out her throat in a rush of redness. They rested there a moment, teeth against her skin, then were withdrawn a short way, although Jessica was still pinned beneath the other werewolf. "Now you may fear me," hissed Child-Killer, "for I have given you cause for fear." She laughed, the sound as harsh as her voice. "Yet truly," she added, with a trace of puzzlement, "I don't know why I don't kill you." She paused, and Jessica opened her eyes to find wide amber eyes staring into her own, a face that was now completely human. "Perhaps," Child-Killer mused, "it is because you are so beautiful."

Ah, thought Jessica, so this is what's going to happen. It was bound to be one or the other, considering how long this female had been removed from all contact with other werewolves. Presented now with one of her own kind, the urge to fight or the urge to mate would become overpowering in her. Jessica now suspected which urge it was going to be. She could smell the desire on the other female, who suddenly was human entire, and naked. Jessica felt an urge of her own, born unbidden, and she too shifted into human form, lying on her back on the forest floor, Child-Killer still on top of her. She felt the heat of Child-Killer's body keenly.

"Why are your eyes like the sky?" asked Child-Killer, her voice softening somewhat, and Jessica was struck by the childlike innocence of the question. She realized how young this werewolf must be. She was certainly younger than Jessica, although by how many years, it was difficult to say. Child-Killer bore the marks of a hard life, her skin toughened by wind and sun, marred by many scars. Looking into her face now, Jessica saw she was, if too strange and startling to be precisely "pretty", rather striking, her complexion olive, her tangled hair gold, and her eyes a fiery, almost reddish, amber. Her frame was large, and she was muscular as those who lived in the wilds tended to be, but she was lean.

"I was born with these eyes," Jessica answered simply. "My mother had them too." She took advantage of the seeming drop in Child-Killer's guard to ask her a question. "What is your name?" She could not go on thinking of her by the name the wolves had given her.

The other werewolf bared her teeth in a grin. "They call me Child-Killer. They call me Kinslayer, Cursed One, Pestilence." She related these names with a juvenile pride. "I have won these titles for myself."

"No," said Jessica gently. "Those are not the names I meant. You have no other name? One that is not also a curse?"

Child-Killer scowled, but answered the question. "Antonia Augusta." She pronounced the name with an evident dislike for it.

Jessica could not help but think at once of Mark Antony. He too had been of the Cicatri, and he had been the mate of Cleopatra, one of the most revered of the Hekatoi. This was perhaps one of his descendants. Or was she a descendant of a different branch of the Cicatri? Her second name put Jessica in mind of another of her line, Augustus, arguably the greatest of the Roman Emperors. The Cicatri had been a proud bloodline in its day.

Antonia narrowed her eyes, suspicious. "What are you thinking of?"

"You," Jessica replied truthfully.

Antonia smiled. "Good. That's as it should be. I am also thinking of you." She leaned down, her lips close once again to Jessica's throat, and Jessica could hear her inhaling sharply through her nose. "You smell nice."

Antonia moved again, placing her lips on Jessica's own. Jessica yielded, allowing the kiss. Antonia's lips were rough and chapped. "You know what I'd like?" Antonia asked, whispering into Jessica's mouth. Jessica could taste her breath. It tasted of blood and berries.

"What would you like?"

"I would like for you..." Antonia laughed softly. "...to call me alpha. Like the wolves do."

Jessica hesitated.

With a quiet chuckle, Antonia lowered her head. Jessica felt teeth at her throat again, a wolf's teeth.

Jessica allowed a faint breath of a sigh to escape her. She had foreseen this possibility. Her fear intensified, and she knew Antonia would be able to smell it, her helplessness, her fear. Would she have to give up so much? Submitting was an action that could have dire consequences, if it was to a creature like this. Yet the alternative to doing so was clearly death. She had known she would be risking much on this mission, but she had much to gain-- for the Hekatoi. This was a crucial undertaking for her cause, and a great deal was at stake, more, perhaps, than even she knew. She could not help thinking of Peter and Lucius again for a moment, of the pack they might have made together, which now, perhaps, she would be unable to be a part of.

"Alpha," she said, baring her throat, offering no resistance. As she said the word, a new feeling coursed through her, as though the word had summoned it, which in a very real way, it had. This feeling was something like desire, but with a decidedly slavish taste. Jessica felt as though a wall within her had given way, and this new emotion was rushing through her unstoppably, like a river bursting its dam, speeding through every part of her body. How could a word have such power? How could it have given all of her up, so irrevocably? I am yours, my alpha, her body said. I am only yours. And perhaps her mind, her self, protested, but it could do nothing against the body, against instinct, against her own blood.

Antonia smiled delightedly. "Very good." She kissed Jessica again, and Jessica trembled. It was crushingly real, the passion she felt, rising in response to the passion of her now-alpha.

Antonia pressed her body against Jessica's. Suddenly they were a tangle of limbs, rolling and snapping at each other-- Jessica felt her skin broken by Antonia's human teeth, but they were only love bites, making tiny wounds, scarlet kisses on her skin. She felt Antonia's fingers push their way inside her, and she cried out. No longer thinking rationally, her mind was empty of thoughts of the Hekatoi, of her mission, of her friends. She thought only of her alpha, the feel of her alpha's skin, her alpha's tongue in her mouth, her alpha's hands on and inside of her body. I will do anything you say, my alpha. Take me.

When Antonia was finished with Jessica, she rose. She was in wolf form now, golden and great, although she could not seem to control her paws, which stretched into hands and back almost constantly, and her eyes, which would be wolf's eyes one moment, then in the next moment, human eyes staring startlingly from a wolf's face. "Come with me," she said.

"Yes." It was all Jessica could say.