Chapter Eleven: Bloodlines
Klavier guides Apollo to the kitchen table, acutely aware of the tension in Apollo's body still, the way Apollo's muscles jump and twitch under his hands. It wouldn't take much to send Apollo tumbling into his wolf form, and Klavier is fairly certain if Apollo changes, Klavier will too.
They haven't yet, though. Even when fire rolled over all Klavier's thoughts, urging him to obey, to be good, to follow orders, he held on to his sanity and his human form. He kept Apollo human, kept Apollo from attacking a man who is here as a personal favor to the Chief Prosecutor, and—
And he needs to not think about it anymore, because his hands are shaking, his muscles trying to tense and roil like Apollo's, and that will do no one any good.
Once Apollo is sitting, Klavier stalks to the kitchen counter, knowing better than to attempt to sit yet himself. Besides, there are things that he can do to help them hold on to their humanity a little tighter. Six mugs are easy to find, everything having already been washed and replaced after breakfast; Edgeworth's automatic kettle takes a little bit of fiddling, the settings different from Klavier's, but he gets it filled and the water heating.
Really, who could imagine becoming a wolf and attacking each other while sipping tea?
Turning back to the table, Klavier flashes Apollo a grin and receives a strained smile in return. Juniper and her pack are sitting around the table, too, all of them pointedly staring away from the other person still standing.
Lang doesn't approach the table or the counter, lounging against the doorjamb, his arms crossed in front of his chest. "Gavin."
Klavier startles. He can't help it, the wolf still too close to the surface, his brother's voice declaring him a monster still too fresh in his memory.
A snarl instantly twists Apollo's features, and he leaps to his feet, leaning towards Lang on fisted hands.
Crossing to his alpha's side, Klavier places a hand on Apollo's shoulder, willing them both to be calm.
It isn't until Apollo turns to look at him, expression uncertain, that Klavier realizes he is singing to himself, soft nonsense syllables. Licking his lips, offering his alpha a rather rueful smile, Klavier shrugs and forces himself to stop.
Lang is still leaning in the doorway, not watching them, his eyes carefully trained on the back door and the sun-dappled yard.
After another moment or two of silence, Klavier decides nothing more is going to be said until he answers the man. "Agent Lang, it seems that you are capable of remembering people's names when it suits you. I will have to let everyone at the office and the precinct know, they will be quite surprised."
A full-throated laugh, and Lang's lips turn up into a bright grin. "You're something else, pup. But I wanted to say I'm sorry. If I'd known how hard I'd have to press your alpha, I would have asked you to step out of the room."
Klavier considers the words before inclining his head. "I appreciate the thought. But I think I like better how things went. If my alpha is in danger, I want to be there."
"He wasn't in any danger." Lang straightens from his position, expression becoming fiercely serious as his eyes flick to Apollo. "I might not be the biggest fan of defense attorneys, but I've learned over the years that there're some good ones, and you seem like a good one, Firebolt."
"Fire..." Apollo groans, looking exasperated. "Please don't give them more nicknames to work with, Clay and Klavier and Trucy are already insufferable."
Lang just grins again. "Ask your beta. I'm contractually obligated to do it."
"What contract?" Apollo raises an eyebrow. "I'm sure I can find a way to get it annulled."
Another deep, chuckling, honest laugh from Lang, and the kettle chooses that time to beep its readiness.
Klavier makes chamomile tea for everyone, from a box with individual bags that he finds behind a small armory of loose-leaf selections. Chamomile might be considered more of a bedtime or illness tea, but right now he wants something with no caffeine, the possibility of soothing tempers, and the least amount of work necessary to make it, so it'll do.
He gives Apollo his tea first, then Juniper, then Robin and Hugh, and finally sidles his way up to Lang, trying not to look like approaching the Interpol agent—the alpha of alphas, the terrified part of him that still remembers that blazing fire blanking out all other thought insists—is frightening him.
Lang takes the mug of tea carefully, his fingers just barely brushing Klavier's. When he speaks, his voice is low and surprisingly gentle. "You did well. You resisted. It was a simple, innocuous command, but you still resisted. No one will ever be able to force you to do something you don't want to do, Klavier Gavin."
Retreating back to his position just behind Apollo's chair, Klavier has to remind himself to breathe, a combination of gratitude and shame swelling in his throat. It shouldn't matter so much, really. His greatest mistakes were those he made due to ignorance, not those he made because he was threatened, but it does make him feel better, knowing no one can direct him like a puppet.
(His greatest mistakes were made because he trusted, because he gave affection and loyalty to those who deserved neither, and that is what the fire Lang can bring to bear demands—loyalty, love, devotion—and that is what Klavier cannot freely give.)
His left hand has ended up fisted in Apollo's shirt, his head against Apollo's head, and he inhales deep lungfuls of Apollo's scent. His friend, his alpha, a stubborn constant in a world that likes to shift like quicksand, and Klavier shudders, forcing the wolf-lightning down to a manageable level.
Apollo's hand lands on his, Apollo's fingers massaging gently at Klavier's tense ones. It is Lang that Apollo addresses, though, his voice cool, as though he were interrogating a witness in court. "You said that my alpha level ratcheted up. What was it that you meant by that?"
Klavier raises his head in time to see Lang shrug. Taking a sip of his tea, Lang continues to study the outside world. Making himself non-threatening, Klavier realizes, presenting as little a challenge as he possibly can with both tone and body language. "I meant what I said. It's obvious that you're more dominant than most made-wolves just to watch you and smell you, but your dominance is sometimes a little... odd. Sometimes it's obvious you're stronger than Woods; sometimes it seems like maybe you're the same level or a little weaker. So I pressed you, to see how you'd react, how much power you had to draw on."
Apollo nods, slowly. "And the answer was... a lot?"
"The answer was a hell of a lot." Lang takes another sip of a his tea. "I've never met anyone stronger than me—someone who could turn a command back on me. But you just about did. I think you could be at least as strong as me, possibly stronger. More interesting than that, though—because despite what the pure-breds like to spout, I've known some damn strong made wolves—is the fact that you can control how strong you seem."
Juniper nods, raising her head hesitantly to glance at Apollo. "I wouldn't have known, if I hadn't been there for Lang's demonstration. I thought you were about the same dominance level as me, not..."
Apollo's hand is tight around Klavier's, a whiff of fear spreading out into his scent. "Is that... ability of mine a good thing? Or a bad thing? What does it mean for me?"
"Of immediate importance... it means you're not going to be joining anyone's pack." Lang takes a prowling step closer to them, his mug held negligently from his right hand but somehow not spilling. "You have to be alpha of a pack. If you're not, the second your alpha gives you a suggestion you don't like, there'll be blood."
A shudder runs through Apollo's shoulders. "I can learn to control it. This is just my second day as a werewolf. I could—"
"Go against your nature?" Lang's eyebrows pull down in a fierce scowl. "Train yourself to be something that you're not? Why?"
A beat of silence, of hesitation, and Apollo opens his mouth, but Lang answers before he can speak, taking another step closer to them. "Just like there's no shame in being submissive, there's no shame in being dominant. So long as you listen to your pack—and I don't think you'll have much choice, not if you're recruiting people like Piano Pup—it's not a bad thing to want control. To want to protect. To trust yourself."
"I do trust myself." Apollo frowns, sitting up straighter in his chair. "And I've got no problem being the alpha for our pack—other than the fact that saying something like that out loud is still this bizarre combination of very wrong and very right."
Klavier smiles, nodding in agreement. Strange, how the thoughts that now seem perfectly reasonable with Gitarre prowling under his skin still sound utterly insane and bizarre when spoken out loud.
"I'm just worried this is going to cause a problem." Apollo glances at Juniper and then turns his frown back to Lang. "Especially given the whole I'm-not-supposed-to-exist thing."
"There're going to be wolves who aren't happy about it, certainly." Lang studies Apollo, a quick up-and-down flash of his eyes over Apollo's body. "Especially because I suspect you're something else that shouldn't exist. Not just a made-wolf accidentally made, but a made-wolf with multiple bloodlines."
"Bloodlines?" Klavier's head snaps up, and he frowns at Lang, trying and failing to come up with a polite way of letting Lang know that issues of family and bloodlines are likely not good topics of conversation with Apollo.
"Our fierce little forest has been filling you in on what you need to know." Lang lifts his mug, taking a large mouthful and grimacing. "She told you about us wolves being the Moon?"
Apollo gives a hesitant nod. "The Tarot thing, yeah? Werewolves are the Moon energy—dream and magic and other stuff like that."
The wincing look on Hugh's face makes Klavier think this is either only partially accurate or a gross simplification. Given that Klavier was probably trying to die during this bit of teaching and has no memory of any discussion of Tarot, he can't really offer much by way of support or correction.
Apollo twirls his tea bag, creating a small whirlpool in his tea. "Humans are the Sun—logic and reason and physical things."
"Not bad for a beginner." Lang's smile now is proud. "The Sun and Moon are major arcana. That's the big forces of nature and life. There're twenty-two of them, in total."
Silence draws out, tense and waiting, and Klavier sighs. "May we take it from the dramatic pause that there are also twenty-two bloodlines, each associated with an arcana?"
"Well, it's more likely that the arcana were derived from the bloodlines, but that was ages and eons ago, and no one's good at recording things properly." Lang gestures with his mug toward Apollo. "You've got some other special abilities, don't you? Something you inherited through one side or the other of your family?"
Apollo stares down into his tea, and the trembling under Klavier's hand increases in intensity. "I don't know anything about my family. I'm an orphan. Abandoned at a year old with just my first name and this."
The fingers of Apollo's right hand wrap around his golden bracelet, and Klavier finds himself pressing as close as he can, trying to provide comfort via physical contact.
"Well, that would explain why you don't know much about your gifts." Lang speaks in a quiet, reasonable voice, but he's frowning deeply as he studies Apollo. "You haven't denied you have gifts, by the way."
"I..." Huffing out a disgruntled breath, Apollo runs his fingers along his bracelet. "I can tell when people are lying. I can see it, and my bracelet gets tight on my wrist."
"You can..." Klavier takes a step back from Apollo. "What, you are a human lie detector?"
"Something like that." Apollo frowns, still studying his bracelet. "I can see the moment they lie, and when I press someone on it, they always admit that they're lying."
"That is cheating, Herr Forehead." Klavier tries to keep his voice light, but he can hear the strain in it. It's not fair, though, that Apollo is able to know when people are lying to him, while Klavier has to scrape and scrabble after the truth from a twisting kaleidoscope of clues and doubts and fears. "And something you should have let the rest of us know about."
"It doesn't make me infallible." Apollo turns in his seat, his left hand reaching out to Klavier in a gesture that looks completely unconscious. "I have to be asking the right questions to get a useful answer, and just because someone's lying doesn't mean they're lying about something important. It's just... another tool for me to use. Nothing more, nothing less."
Taking Apollo's proffered hand, returning to his spot at Apollo's side, Klavier stays silent. Perhaps he should have been able to figure it out on his own, from the way Apollo watches people, the way he grips his bracelet when he thinks they're not telling him the whole truth. Perhaps it really doesn't matter. He will need to think on it, to decide if he has any right to feel betrayed or hesitant, and in the meantime, there is no need to hurt either of them.
Apollo's fingers are tight around his, the smile Apollo gives him grateful before he turns back to Lang. "So. Does that fit with any of the missing twenty bloodlines?"
"I couldn't say for sure." Lang shrugs. "We tend to keep mostly to ourselves, and some have become very fractured and diluted over the years. Some haven't—us, the High Priestess line in Kurain—but others... whatever your bloodline is, it's not one I've had a lot of experience with. I don't recognize the scent."
"Have you got a guess?" Apollo asks.
At the same time Klavier asks, "You can smell the bloodlines?"
Lang's lips quirk up into a smile. "Of course we can smell it. You can smell the wolf on all of us, can't you? And if I had to guess what your bloodline is, Firebolt... maybe Justice? It would fit what I've heard of you, and being able to tell when someone's lying and demand the truth would be in line with the legends of that bloodline."
Apollo stares at Lang with growing horror.
Klavier manages to suppress his laughter for almost ten seconds, but eventually Apollo's expression in combination with the still-happily-fizzing lightning in his blood makes it impossible.
Robin cracks up a moment later, and Hugh cracks a smile. Juniper winces in sympathy, but even she is clearly trying to suppress a grin.
"No." Apollo makes the statement flatly. "We're just going to stick with me having an unknown bloodline for the moment, and go from there."
"As you like." Lang shrugs. "Lang Zhi says it's best to avoid over-interpreting what your nose tells you, as it can lead both body and mind astray. The important part's that you're a little bit different from a standard werewolf. You can do things most of them can't, and that'll get their furry knickers in a twist."
"So." Klavier strokes a hand over Apollo's hair, earning first a disgruntled glare and then a sigh. "What do we do about it?"
"We keep the two of you working on your control. We talk about what options you have for third pack members, so we have a plan of action to present to the alphas tomorrow." A wolfish grin of sheer delight springs to life on Lang's face. "And then we play this evening, because this is the Lady's night, and she's given it to us."
Klavier howls without meaning to, a long, low sound that echoes through the kitchen.
Now it is Apollo's turn to give a snort of laughter, and he shakes his head as he downs the rest of his tea in one long draught. "This is going to be an interesting day, I can tell."
Lang's smile is still toothy and sure as he sets his own empty mug down on the counter. "One you won't soon forget, Firebolt. Now come on, let me see you both in fur."
XXX
Edgeworth takes his cell phone out of his pocket as he moves from the courtroom into the prosecutor's lobby, his mind still running over the case that they just finished. How do Wright and his proteges always manage to find the most absurd situations imaginable? Really, if Miles never has to deal with another case involving twins, music, decade-old grudges, or ridiculous architecture again, he will be very happy.
There had been no calls from Lang after his arrival in the country—Edgeworth had told the Interpol agent to call him immediately if anything important happened. There is a single text on his phone when Miles turns it off vibrate, the words blunt and to the point. Call when ready to discuss action plan. Well, since they've now successfully wrapped up this case, even if it is in a way that will involve another trial tomorrow—
A commotion starts at the door to the prosecutor's lobby and Edgeworth lifts his attention from his phone to squint Phoenix's profile into view. "Wright, why are you hugging the guard?"
"I'm not, he's refusing to acknowledge my right to be here." Disentangling himself from the perturbed patrolman, Phoenix straightens his suit. A flash of bright red hair, a shimmer of yellow, and Edgeworth knows that Athena is standing behind her boss.
Sighing, Edgeworth waves the guard off. "Let them in. Don't you usually spend this time consoling your defendant, though?"
Athena grins. "Turns out Ella doesn't need much consoling. She's actually super excited to be starting a solo career, and relieved that she wasn't going crazy and hallucinating her partner being in multiple places at one time over the last six months."
Edgeworth looks between Wright and Cykes. "Do the four of you in that office sometimes sit and listen to yourselves and wonder if you've made the right life choices?"
"Given that we're saving the innocent and seeing the guilty sentenced, I'd say this, at least, hasn't been a poor life choice." Phoenix stands with his hands in his pockets, grinning, but there is a rough edge to the smile that reminds Miles it has only been a little over a year since Phoenix's personal nightmare ended.
Holding up his phone, Edgeworth turns the conversation to what is undoubtedly the reason for their visit. "No calls, which means nothing disastrous. Just a request for a call when we're done."
Cykes makes a hurry up gesture with both hands. "Well then, get calling!"
Fixing the young woman with a nonplussed expression, Edgeworth dials Lang's number, the phone feeling awkward and portentous against his ear as it rings.
And rings.
And rings.
It goes to voicemail, Lang's voice barking out a command to leave a message, and Edgeworth frowns. Could something have happened that would prevent Lang from calling? Is it possible that Justice or Gavin has—
A low-pitched howl overlaid by a steady taiko drum beat and joined after a second by a nohkan's flute line explodes right by his ear, and Edgeworth winces as he pulls the phone away enough to answer it.
"You didn't." Wright stares at him, obviously suppressing a smile. "You decided to use the Pink Princess' Samurai Wolf theme for—"
"Lang." Edgeworth glares at Wright. "Is everything all right?"
"Everything's great! You've got a good batch of pups here, Mr. Prosecutor." A grunting, groaning sound is followed by a rustle. "Sorry I didn't grab the phone right away. We were in fur, helping the new wolves get a bit of practice and seeing what they're like. I don't suppose you'd be willing to give them to Interpol?"
Edgeworth can actually hear the wolf growling in the background, which he takes as a bad sign.
"Easy there, easy, it's just a joke. I'm not going to kidnap your pack-mate, Firebolt." Lang sighs, but it seems to be a pleased sound, and Edgeworth imagines that he is smiling. "You have a few minutes to talk, Mr. Prosecutor?"
"The case is over. The... situation that you're helping us deal with now has my full attention." Edgeworth glances at the eager faces pressing closer to him with every sentence. "All of our attention, really. I have Wright and Cykes here too."
"Oh, good." Lang's tone becomes more serious. "Because there's something I think we're going to need, if we're going to get out of tomorrow with everyone's skin intact. We're going to need to present potential thirds for Justice's pack."
Edgeworth allows a breath to hiss out between his teeth. He had been worried about this yesterday, when Gumshoe pointed out and Edgeworth had observed for himself that Gavin and Justice were sticking together as a pack. That doesn't make it any less frustrating to hear Lang say it out loud. "Can't they just... join Woods'... group for a few days?"
"We could try it, but everyone's going to be able to smell and see that it's a disaster waiting to happen, and that's not how I want to present them tomorrow. I want them to look calm and respectable, and they'll be able to do that with the little pack they've made now. It's just going to have to grow before everyone accepts that it's something stable and safe—before they'll be really stable and safe. There's a reason we want there to be more than two in a pack. The pack-magic can get a little... intense if it's not diffused along multiple bonds." Lang huffs out a breath. "Worries for later, though. Our biggest problem's that Justice is something special—something they're going to like even less than an accidental made-wolf. He's got another bloodline mixed in somewhere that means he can be even more dominant than me if he ever feels he needs to be. Justice is going to need his own pack, and the sooner we can show them he has good options for it, the better."
Edgeworth closes his eyes, resisting the urge to curse. Of course everything has to get more complicated. He can't have a nice normal werewolf outbreak, oh no. "You don't think that some of the... people... born... like you would want to be in his group?"
He voice sounds so awkward, so uncertain, and it makes Edgeworth scowl all the harder. He hates feeling out of his depth and out of control of a situation.
"Some of them might be." Lang's shrug is obvious in his voice. "Some might even get on great with Justice and decide to join his pack, and he'll want them, and it'll be fine and dandy and make everyone rest a little easier. But from what I've seen of Firebolt he's cagey, doesn't take to people too easily, and hates being challenged, which a born-wolf will be more likely to do when interacting with a made-wolf. Put your hackles down, Justice, it's facts, not judgment. Plus it'll show initiative and intelligence on the part of you and your little pack, Mr. Prosecutor, if you've got potential thirds in the wing."
Edgeworth sighs. "I thought I wasn't supposed to tell anyone? That there are secrecy laws?"
"Choose people you trust to hold the secret. You've done a damn good job so far as a liaison. You send a request asking permission to tell a small number of people, for the good of the packs, they should give it to you without much trouble." A rumbling threat rolls over the phone, causing the hairs on Edgeworth's neck to attempt to stand on end despite his knowing that Lang is miles away and that the anger is directed towards people other than Edgeworth. "If they don't give you permission, I'll take responsibility and say I gave you permission."
Closing his eyes again, Edgeworth considers the problem. "How many people do you want me to bring in on it?"
"How many people do you think need to know?" The sounds of something crashing in the distance trickles over the phone. "How many people're going to have to know to keep Gavin and Justice safe? Because that's the real mission, remember. We're protecting Piano Pup and Firebolt."
Opening his eyes, studying Wright and Cykes, Edgeworth can feel his head inclining in agreement. Klavier is his; Apollo is Phoenix's. They'll do whatever's necessary to keep them safe, given that neither young man has done anything wrong. "Do you think they'll accept me telling two or three more people?"
"Definitely." Lang's answer is prompt.
"Give me a few minutes to discuss the matter with our colleagues, and then I'll contact the local alphas. Once I've got a plan, I'll call you."
"Sounds good." Lang's voice becomes more distant, as though he has moved away from the phone. "If I don't answer the phone right away, I'll call back as soon as I'm in human skin again. Lang out."
The connection goes dead, and Edgeworth slides the phone back into his pocket. His gaze once more traces from Phoenix to Athena. "The best we can do for Mr. Justice and Mr. Gavin right now, it seems, is find them a third member for their... organization. I don't suppose either of you would be interested in joining?"
"I'll join!" Trucy appears suddenly at her father's side, her hand shooting up in the air.
Edgeworth looks at Phoenix, raising one eyebrow.
"No." Phoenix's hand settles on Trucy's shoulder. "Not until you're eighteen and out of school."
Trucy pouts. "But Juniper—"
Phoenix shakes his head. "She was born that way, it's different."
"But Hugh and Robin—"
"Trucy, please." A note of desperation enters Phoenix's voice. "This is a huge decision. You want to think about it for a little bit longer, all right?"
Trucy narrows her eyes. "Until I'm eighteen is a very long time from now."
"Not in the grand scheme of things, it isn't." Phoenix pats her shoulder again. "But if I shortened it to waiting at least three months?"
Crossing her arms in front of her chest, Trucy considers the offer for a few minutes before giving a reluctant nod. "I'll wait at least three months."
Edgeworth narrows his eyes at Wright. Surely he doesn't mean to really let Trucy...?
Wright just shrugs, turning to Athena. "I would really prefer not to become a... well, you know. I've got enough trouble handling my life as it is. What about you, Athena?"
Athena fiddles with her moon earring, turning the post around and around as she considers. "I... don't know? It doesn't seem too bad. It actually seems kind of neat. But like you said, it's a huge thing... I'd be willing to think about it? Would that do what Agent Lang needs?"
"At the moment, yes. We just need to show that there are people considering finishing the necessary trinity for Mr. Justice's... organization." Tapping his finger against his leg, Edgeworth frowns at Wright. "Any others that the three of you know who we might want to bring in on this? Who might actually want...?"
After a moment Phoenix shakes his head.
Athena follows suit. "The only people I'm really familiar with and would trust are pretty much all involved already. Or probably don't need this heaped on their plate in addition to other things they're dealing with."
Trucy folds her hands together behind her back. "I could see if Jinxie—"
"No one under eighteen." Phoenix's voice is exasperated. "And no, you cannot think of asking Mayor Tenma, either, he's already got enough attention focused on him. What about you, Edgeworth? I imagine that you'll want someone else to help Klavier who knows...?"
Phoenix's tone is hopeful, his hesitant smile too wide to be entirely genuine.
Edgeworth sighs. He had suspected it would come down to him choosing new people to bring into the fold. Who does he ask, though? Simon Blackquill? The man is brilliant and clever and far too good at keeping secrets, but he is still busy trying to put the pieces of his life back together. It is far too easy for Edgeworth to imagine Blackquill... fracturing, if he attempts to assimilate yet another personality in the form of a moon-driven wolf.
Sebastian DeBeste? The man is good friends with Klavier, but with everything else that Sebastian has been through in his life, Edgeworth doesn't feel right foisting this off on him, too.
(There is no way Edgeworth could become a werewolf. The very thought makes his skin crawl, every time he considers it, and Lang has been clear that such a reaction greatly increases the likelihood of something going wrong during the transformation.)
Perhaps considering other prosecutors is a mistake, anyway. It's going to be difficult enough making sure the schedule takes into account Klavier needing to be off-duty all the days of the full moon.
Someone not associated with the prosecutor's office at all, then? Kay Faraday might accept the proposition—would certainly be ecstatic to learn more about how the world works—but Edgeworth already has enough trouble keeping the private investigator out of places he doesn't want her to be. How much worse would it be if she could turn into a wolf at any moment? It wouldn't be quite as bad as Kay having wings, but it would be bad enough. Plus Edgeworth has a hard time imagining her as anything other than an alpha for any pack she is part of, and having to find Justice a third and Kay two followers would just exacerbate the problem.
Raymond Shields is someone Miles can imagine as a wolf easily enough, but he's older than both Justice and Gavin, perhaps to the point where that could cause issues given Justice's dominance.
(Justice could be as dominant as Lang. There is something special about Justice, Lang had said, but from all that Edgeworth has learned about Lang over the years, the idea of Justice being more powerful than him is rather horrifying.)
People that Gavin and Justice know are likely best, anyway. Who does that leave Miles with, though?
Only two, really. One that he promised he would tell as much as he could to, and one who has proven time and again his loyalty, though Edgeworth will have to make sure the man understands exactly how secret this secret needs to stay.
"You've got some ideas." Phoenix grins. "I can actually be happy about you having ideas in this situation."
Rolling his eyes, Edgeworth marches towards the door. "We're stopping at my office so I can contact certain people for permission. Then there are two people we need to pick up on the way to visit our friends and colleagues and hopefully come up with a more coherent plan for tomorrow."
XXX
Apollo stands in wolf form, his head down and his ears pinned back but his tail held high, glaring at what was an end table until his wolf form missed a turn and careened right through the legs.
"It's all right." Juniper speaks calmly, stretching into her human skin with the ease of long practice. She misses her fur as soon as it's gone, the touch of the air cooler, her human mind a bit better able to comprehend that Prosecutor Edgeworth will be upset about this than her wolf mind.
Apollo's head rises, his little fur tufts wobbling as he huffs out a frustrated noise.
"I know you didn't mean to. It's fine." Juniper edges toward the shards of broken wood, careful not to meet Apollo's eyes in a challenge. Though they had been playing just minutes ago, the humiliation of tripping and any aches and pains that haven't healed yet might make him a bit more taciturn right now.
Klavier bounds up, his lanky gold form flinging itself over Apollo. His muzzle nuzzles at Apollo's chin and throat, his front legs splayed awkwardly over Apollo's back, checking his alpha for injuries while also laughing at him.
A turn, a playful nip at Klavier's front leg, and the two of them are off, Apollo chasing his pack-mate back toward the kitchen.
Juniper sighs, settling down to gather up as many pieces of the end table as she can. Thankfully there doesn't appear to have been much on it—some papers, a book that looks suspiciously like a superhero novel, a glass paperweight that seems to have somehow survived the collapse of its surroundings intact.
There's no reason for her to be jealous of Klavier. It's good, that he and Apollo are settling so easily into their wolves and their little pack. It's not even like Apollo is being aggressive with her—in wolf form he's been as playful and companionable as two alphas can be, and in human form he's been far more kind and forgiving than she's a right to ask.
"Everything's going to be all right, Junie." Robin kneels down next to her, skin still twitching from the after-shocks of changing, and puts an arm around Juniper's shoulders. "The Chief Prosecutor won't care about his tables, and the way those two are learning, you'd think they were born-wolves. No one's going to be able to get too mad at you tomorrow."
Juniper can feel her cheeks flushing, heat rising to turn her face bright red. "I-I wasn't worrying about the meeting tomorrow."
It's both true and not true. She has been constantly worrying about the meeting tomorrow, a dull ache of dread in the pit of her stomach and the back of her head. Right now, though, she has let something else—something silly and trivial—take precedence over what should be her main concern. If something happens to her, Robin and Hugh will be in trouble, too, so she has to—
Hugh's hand reaches across her field of vision, picking up a table leg to add to her stack. "Mating season's ten months away. That gives you plenty of time to figure out how you want to court him."
"I-I wasn't—!" Juniper had been certain she couldn't blush any harder. She had clearly been wrong.
Robin giggles, a bright, cheerful sound, and slings her arm across Juniper's shoulders. "He is pretty cute. If not for the whole more-dominant-than-you thing, I wouldn't mind having him in the pack."
"And he does have a remarkable record for a defense attorney, even if his methods are a little... unorthodox." Hugh grins, one hand reaching up to adjust his glasses. When his fingers find nothing, as they always do when he has just returned to human form, he flushes before shrugging and offering them a myopic little smile.
Affection surges through Juniper, and she drops the wood in her arms, throwing herself onto her pack-mate and knocking them both to the ground. Hugh yelps, a sound of surprise rather than fear or pain, and allows her to pin him down, tilting his head up in submission.
Nuzzling at his neck, at the scar that she gave him years that seem like an eternity ago, Juniper inhales his scent—Robin's scent, too, the young woman practically bouncing in place next to them.
Opening her eyes and sitting up straight, Juniper smiles at her pack-mates. "You guys are the best. You know that?"
Robin laughs again. "We are pretty good. And it is a full-moon night again—if we can't make you happy today, we're really failing at our job."
"You guys make me happy every day." Crawling off Hugh, Juniper once more begins collecting pieces of the broken table together. "Come on, let's get this all to the back door before Prosecutor Edgeworth brings our new confidants in."
Her pack helps her without complaint, and when they are done the three of them fall back into fur, joining Apollo and Klavier in a game of chase while they wait for their new potential werewolves to arrive.
