Part Twelve: A Question of Intent

Wolf is gone in the afternoon and Marius is once again present at the gate.

She had expected it, in a way. She had seen Wolf watching her from the garden as she watched him from the house throughout the morning and early afternoon, his eyes always seeming to find and hold hers even when she thought she was being clever by using another window. When Wolf had no longer been visible after she completed her afternoon meal with her father, she had assumed he managed to magic his way out of the garden in the same way that he entered it.

There's no logical reason for her expectation that Marius would come to see her in the late afternoon, but it had been there anyway.

She dressed warmly before coming outside, trying not to appear too eager or to arouse her father's suspicions. It had helped that she couldn't see the gate from the house, that she had only her strange certainty that Marius would be there to go on.

And now here he is, standing in front of her again, shivering slightly as the wind whips down the street. His threadbare coat is fastened tight around his lean body, and his beautiful, Wolf-bright eyes shine up at her in pure joy as she walks towards him.

"Hello again, Monsieur Marius." She pauses on her side of the gate, her hands wrapped and warm.

His hands shake from cold as they reach towards the bars that separate the two of them, but he doesn't seem to notice. "Hello, Cosette. I'm afraid that Wolf managed to slip his chain again this morning. Have you seen him?"

"He was here this morning." She wants to reach out toward him, to touch one of the hands that is reaching out towards her. That would be improper, though, foolish, possibly dangerous, and she can't justify that yet. "I seem to be his preferred provider of breakfast."

"You are too kind, mademoiselle. Too kind by far." His hands pull back from the iron bars, finally, disappear into the pockets of his jacket.

Cosette waits a moment, but Marius seems to be at a loss for what to say next. "Are you going to go search for him some more then, monsieur?"

"I suppose I should." Marius' eyes drop to the ground, his cheeks flushing even redder than the cold had already made them. "Allow me to rest here for a moment and savor your beauty, Cosette, before sending me off into the cold."

Cosette finds her cheeks burning, a giddy smile trying to climb onto her face, and turns away abruptly. Really, now, what's getting into her? She barely knows this man. Compliments from him shouldn't mean anything.

"I'm sorry if I caused offense." Marius' voice is soft, lost. "I didn't mean to, Cosette."

"No. There was no offense." Turning back to him, she can't fully suppress her smile. He calms down, a look of panic fading to one of soft confusion tempered by an eagerness to please, and she's struck again by how similar to Wolf his expressions can seem. "I was just startled, monsieur. We don't know each other terribly well, after all, so to hear words such as that from you… I fear I know your dog far better than I do you!"

"We could change that." Marius smiles, and it makes his whole face radiant. "Ask whatever you like of me, Cosette. I will try to answer it. And please, call me Marius."

"All right, Marius." Cosette considers the man for a moment. What does she ask? Does she ask about his clothes? Does she ask about his eyes? No. She doesn't want to frighten him or force him to lie, not yet. "Where are you from, Marius?"

"Here." He answers simply, promptly. "I was born outside the city, but my pa—people—family consider themselves Parisian, and I was raised largely in the city. And you, Cosette?"

"I'm not entirely sure where I was born." She hasn't considered it before. It hasn't seemed important before. "I spent the majority of my childhood in a convent here, where my Papa worked before I said that I wanted to see more of the world."

"And have you seen more of it?" His hand is back on the bars that separate him from her, his head tilted enquiringly. "What have you thought of it?"

"I've certainly seen more than I had when living behind walls." She smiles, a combination of fondness and homesickness for the convent mixing with joy as she contemplates all that she's seen since they left. "We see a great many people at church, and Papa takes me for walks throughout the city. Where do you live, Marius?"

"I used to live with my grandfather, but he and I had a falling out." Marius' head lowers, his shoulders hunching, a posture that is somehow scared and defiant all at once. "Since then I move about, finding lodging where I can. I've yet to find a permanent residence, unfortunately."

"That must be difficult, especially with a beast like Wolf in tow."

"Hm?" Marius' eyes widen in surprise. "I mean, yes, it is more difficult to find locations that work well with Wolf. We do well enough, though."

Interesting. Could it really not matter that he has a hundred pound beast in tow when he's looking for a home? She debates pushing him farther about that, but she wants him to speak openly with her for as long as possible. "What did you argue with your grandfather about?"

He hesitates again, just for a moment. Then his eyes meet hers, and his expression takes on a firm, determined cast. "We argued about my father. He and his p—friends fought under Napoleon in the wars. My grandfather believes that it was wrong, that my father had no business involving himself in such affairs. At first I agreed with my grandfather, but after meeting my father I believe he was in the right. He found an al—a leader that impressed him enough to make him want to follow him, and he followed. It's what all wo—people do."

He's keeping information from her. He's changing some of his words even as he speaks. But he isn't lying to her, still. That's why she doesn't call him on the changes, why she lets them slip by and accepts the words that he can give her. "Why don't you stay with your father if he's the reason that you and your grandfather are no longer on good terms?"

Marius' eyes drop to the ground, his shoulders hunching, sorrow filling his face. "My father died. I didn't meet him until shortly before his death. He was the last of his pa—people. I have nowhere to go… and I'm not sure if I have a desire to search properly, not knowing how many share my grandfather's views."

"Nonsense, Marius." She reaches through the bars without a second's thought, and after a moment he takes her hand in his. His fingers are rough, calloused, as though he has done a great deal of work with his hands. Or as though he has run on them, but that's a strange and foolish thought. "There are people with many different political views out there, and some with none at all or who seem to change their politics as often as they change their clothes. Besides, your politics shouldn't determine where you would be welcome. You're a handsome and charming young man. You'll find a place to belong."

"Cosette…" Her name is a whisper, half-strangled, and she can see the yearning in his eyes to say more.

He stays silent, though, and after a moment she reluctantly pulls her hand back to her own side of the bars. She tries to think of another topic of conversation that might put him back at ease. "How long have you had Wolf, then?"

His eyes widen in surprise again, though he seems to keep his panic on a tighter leash. After only a few second's delay he answers. "Since I was child. He was a gift from my parents."

"He must be quite old, then." She smiles, thinking of the bounding beast in the garden. He hadn't struck her as old, but she supposes the silver markings in his fur may have hidden some of his true age from her. "He seems healthy and happy enough."

"He is quite healthy and happy. At least so far as I know." Marius shifts uncomfortably, his eyes darting to the left and right but not quite meeting hers. He's lying to her, or at least is coming much closer to lying to her than he had before.

All right. If he's going to lie to her, she's going to press him for more information. "How does Wolf enter the garden, Monsieur Marius?"

Marius takes a step back from her, and for a moment she thinks he's going to run. Then the fingers of the hand that she had touched rub together, and he straightens and faces her again. "It's important to you that you know?"

"There are many other questions I could ask you, Monsieur Marius. I could ask you how the clothes that are on your back have come to be in my garden repeatedly. I could ask why I have never seen you with Wolf. I could ask why you have the same eyes as Wolf. I could ask what words you meant to speak and stopped yourself from speaking earlier." She stops, not liking the fear and sorrow in his eyes, half expecting that he will dart away and that she will never see him or Wolf again. Reaching through the bars, she grabs hold of his hand again. "But I won't. I won't force you to tell your secrets until you're ready. I just need to know if the garden is still safe. So will you tell me…?"

"Here." He doesn't let go of her hand as he steps up to the gate, sliding the fingers of his free hand up and down one of the bars. "This bar slides to the side if you press on it properly. I don't know how Wolf came to find it, but he showed me when I found him here before. Wolf is quite clever at doing things like that."

"This one?" Gently separating her hand from his, Cosette reaches toward the bar in question and pushes. It takes more strength than she imagined, but after a second or so the bar slides to the side, giving room for a thin man to slide through.

A thin man, but even a lean dog with shoulders the size of Wolf's wouldn't fit through the gap.

She looks over at Marius, her eyes full of the questions she wants to ask.

After a moment he sighs, looking down at his hands. "If I said that I could explain everything, but that it is something that must be kept secret, would you agree to meet with me?"

"Where?" A thrill runs through her at the thought of sharing a secret—something important enough to explain how Marius has been behaving, something strange enough to explain all that has happened. She tries and fails to imagine what it could be, all of the possibilities that occur to her impossible fancies and dreams. "When?"

"Here." His eyes are grave and determined as they meet hers. "In the garden. Tonight. Come out alone, after midnight, and I'll show you something that will answer all of the questions you have."

It's dangerous. She barely knows Marius.

But she feels like she's known him for far longer than she has, and she likes what she's seen and heard of this man.

It's foolish. He could hurt her, in various ways.

But her father will be in the house, and she's quite capable of screaming.

Smiling as she reaches through the bars once more, she grazes her fingers across his. "I'll be there, Marius. I look forward to learning the answers to at least some of your mysteries."

"I hope you find the answers to your liking, Cosette." Marius pulls away slowly, his expression now equal parts worried and determined. "For both our sakes, I truly hope you do."

XXX

Courfeyrac comes home to find Joly curled, wolf-form, across the softly snoring human body of Grantaire, sprawled gracelessly in front of the fireplace. Though Joly lifts his head and flips his tail a few times in greeting, Grantaire doesn't stir at all. Given the scent of alcohol permeating the entire front half of the house, Courfeyrac isn't terribly surprised.

Rubbing at the back of his neck, Courfeyrac tries to decide who he should accost first to try to get some idea about what happened.

"Joly left Grantaire alone at the university for a few hours." Bossuet bounds down the stairs and rests his head against Courfeyrac's shoulder from behind, watching his mate with a mixture of fondness and exasperation. "Apparently Armand, Geroux, and Paquet all decided it was a good chance to find out what exactly our pack is up to. Grantaire's response was to drink himself into a stupor."

"And now Joly feels responsible." Rubbing his head against Bossuet's, Courfeyrac sighs. "He shouldn't. I'm sure you've told him that?"

"I have. Enjolras has. I'm certain Musichetta will when he gets home, too." Bossuet shrugs. "Joly's gotten quite attached to the stray. He wants him to feel safe when he wakes. I think he's actually having some protective instincts kick in with regards to Grantaire, though it's always hard to tell with Joly. He tends to just like taking care of people, and from what he's told me he and Grantaire had a good conversation right before Joly left him."

"We're going to have to keep Grantaire away from other packs until we've settled the matter of his status." Walking over to Joly, Courfeyrac kneels down and strokes the other wolf's head. "You couldn't have known, Joly. And you brought him back home. You've already done all that could be expected of you."

Joly's eyes turn to Bossuet's, his ears flicking back and pinning themselves to his head.

"Actually…" Bossuet frowns. "Enjolras brought him home. Joly didn't know until two hours later that anything had happened."

Well, then. Enjolras brought their stray home. Had that been what he ran out of class so quickly to do? How had he known that Grantaire needed him? How had things gone with the other alphas, if any had been there? Armand and Geroux at least tended to be among the more reasonable alphas in the area, and Paquet generally didn't start trouble, though if Grantaire had initiated something none of the alphas would have any trouble reciprocating.

Running a hand through Grantaire's hair and over his face, Courfeyrac doesn't see any evidence of fresh injuries and just earns a slightly louder snore from the prone man. The only thing wrong with the wolf is that he reeks of alcohol, in a way Courfeyrac's only ever smelled Bahorel and humans stink before.

How well had Enjolras taken Grantaire's inebriated status?

Returning to stroking Joly's head, Courfeyrac tilts his own in inquiry. "Are you all right staying here?"

Joly huffs out a soft sound of acquiescence and settles his head down protectively on Grantaire's chest. It's harder to read Joly than it is Combeferre or Enjolras over the pack-bonds, because Joly isn't tied to him by a mate-bond and Enjolras is the one the pack-bonds all converge on, but Courfeyrac can still get a sense of contentment and determination.

Joly isn't upset about what happened. He just intends to be there when Grantaire wakes, because he's fairly certain Grantaire will need to see a friendly face.

Leaning forward, Courfeyrac kisses the space between Joly's eyes and scratches behind his ears at the same time, earning a whine of pleasure from Joly and a frantic swishing of his tail.

Standing, Courfeyrac claps Bossuet on the shoulder. He's not surprised when Bossuet settles down next to his mate, opening the book he had been carrying and leaning back so that his head is resting on Joly's stomach before starting to read aloud.

Perhaps the words will register somewhere in Grantaire's mind despite the overlay of alcohol, and he will learn about their current property laws and what the pack would like to change while he rests. Even if all he does is sleep, though, he'll wake to two friendly, non-threatening faces. After having faced down three alphas, Courfeyrac has no doubt that's what he'll need.

Turning away from Grantaire and heading deeper into the house, he follows his pack-bond with Enjolras towards the alpha's room.

He needs to see how much damage Grantaire has done to his own case, and what, exactly, Courfeyrac can do to fix it.

XXX

Courfeyrac lounges in the door to Enjolras' bedroom, waiting semi-patiently while Enjolras tries to finish the sentence that he's working on. For Courfeyrac patience involves not trying to actively disturb someone, but he's still moving almost constantly, examining his fingernails, switching from leaning on one side of the door to the other, rifling through his bag as though he doesn't have memorized everything that's in it. His mind is similarly busy, and though he doesn't actively send anything across their pack-bond his proximity and volatility still make his concern and eagerness to have Enjolras' attention a distraction.

Giving up on writing anything more coherent in the article that he's been working on since he got home, Enjolras carefully puts his pen down and turns to his gamma.

"Permission to distract you?" Courfeyrac grins as he speaks.

"You know it's granted." Enjolras tries to sound exasperated, but it's hard to maintain exasperation with Courfeyrac. It helps that Courfeyrac doesn't normally interrupt his work unless he feels that he has something important to talk about.

"How are you feeling?"

It's not the question Enjolras was expecting, and he hesitates for a moment, taking a quick self-inventory. "All right. Still stretched a bit thin, but much improved from last night. By tomorrow I expect I'll be back to full strength."

"Good. I'm glad to hear it." Courfeyrac moves over to his side, the female keeping his head tilted down, submissive. Reaching into his bag, Courfeyrac pulls out a small book. "My notes from this afternoon. I think you'll find the third case the most interesting. A travesty of justice still occurred, but the original judge did lighten the sentence due to extenuating circumstances. A decision that was made useless later when the convicted was deemed a recidivist, but the precedent is still there."

"Thank you, Courfeyrac. I'm sure I'll find it fascinating." Enjolras takes the proffered notes. "What is it that you really want to talk to me about, though?"

"I really wanted to talk to you about your health, you know." Courfeyrac pouts, clearly put out that Enjolras knows there's something more he's hedging up to. "I worry about you. Especially because if anything happens to you Combeferre and I will be left with the pack and your work, and though we would certainly do the best we could…"

There is suddenly the scent of fear in the room, subtle but unmistakable.

It's a scent that doesn't go well with Courfeyrac's cheerful smile, but Enjolras can see the truth of the fear through their pack-bond. Courfeyrac doesn't even try to hide his unease, as most dominant wolves would. He accepts it, embraces it even, his concerns that Combeferre's mind would find holding their hodge-podge pack together a greater strain than it could handle, that even if they kept the pack together and continued their work a broken-hearted alpha and beta with a demoralized pack wouldn't manage to get very far.

Enjolras doesn't remember moving. All he knows is that Courfeyrac is now in his arms, the other female hugging him tightly in return. He stays like that for a few seconds, waiting for Courfeyrac's fears to settle down, and then holds the other female out at arm's length. "Black night, Courfeyrac, it was just a bit of exhaustion. It was nothing—"

"Not this time. Maybe not any time." Courfeyrac shrugs, a lopsided, sad smile on his face. "But we can't know that. It's what you're trying to impress upon the stray, isn't it? What we're doing is dangerous. Any or all of us could die. And if you died, Enjolras… White Lady, if any of us died it would be a terrible blow, and I don't want to say your death would be more terrible than any other, but it would make things… difficult. It would put stress on Combeferre and I that other deaths wouldn't. But that's not what I wanted to talk to you about."

Courfeyrac hadn't intended Enjolras to see that, to see his silent worries, his unspoken fears. But he wasn't one to back away even from a painful truth, so once Enjolras had seen a bit of it he allowed all of it to come forth. He would really appreciate it, though, if his alpha would stop reading his soul for a moment and instead focus on his words.

"Apologies." Smiling ruefully, Enjolras lets his pack-bond with Courfeyrac slip through his mental grasp, his awareness of the other female's emotions fading back to the level that the rest of the pack is currently at. Releasing his physical hold on Courfeyrac, as well, he returns to his seat. "Had there been something else you wished to talk to me about?"

"You know what my favorite object of conversation has been for the last few days, Enjolras." It's Courfeyrac's turn to give a rueful smile as he perches on the edge of the desk, careful not to disturb any of the books or papers there. "What happened with our stray today?"

"Some of the other alphas became aware that he was unescorted and decided it was a fine time to approach him with questions about our pack. From what he told me, Armand and Geroux spoke with him before I found him, and Paquet was there when I arrived." Enjolras frowns. "He wasn't really capable of explaining more fully, and having seen several of you drunk before I thought it best to wait for him to sober up somewhat before questioning him further." A quick check of his pack-bond with Joly reveals the other wolf still content by the fire. "Unfortunately he doesn't seem to have moved since we came home. Joly said he'll come tell me when Grantaire's awake."

"I'm certain he will." Courfeyrac's foot kicks against the base of the desk a handful of times, the other female's expression considering. "How did you know where to find him or that he needed you?"

"Ah. A pack-bond keeps trying to snap into place with him." Sighing, Enjolras rubs at his eyes with his left hand. He forgets, sometimes, that Courfeyrac hasn't been with him for as long as Combeferre. The three of them work so well together that it sometimes seems as though he's always had them, his beta and gamma. Courfeyrac hasn't seen him traveling, though, hasn't seen the way his power attempts to draw people to him if he isn't careful in controlling it. "I've trimmed it back again, because he needs to ask and the pack needs to vote on the matter before I bring him in properly, but that potential is how I sensed his distress. He's what distracted me during class."

Courfeyrac is silent for a moment, considering, and Enjolras forces himself not to reach again for their pack-bond. Courfeyrac will say what he wants to when he's ready. "And you and Paquet didn't have any kind of altercation when you retrieved him?"

"No." Shaking his head, Enjolras leans back in his chair. "Though we may not always agree, Paquet's too smart to risk engaging me in an alpha struggle. Besides, all I wanted to do was get Grantaire out of there before more trouble occurred."

"It was kind of you to bring him home." Courfeyrac stills, a sign that he's thinking carefully about his words. "And it's good of you to say that you'll invite him into the pack. It must even be something you want, yes, if the pack-bond potential is already so strong?"

"Courfeyrac." Enjolras frowns at his gamma. "Just say what you want to say."

Heaving a long-suffering sigh, Courfeyrac stands and begins pacing. "I was trying to subtly find your opinions about the stray, especially since you seemed to have some reservations last night. I should know better than to try subtlety with you, though. Sharp and clear, straight to the point, that's the alpha that I love, so to be perfectly frank: what are your opinions of Grantaire, what fears do you have about adding him to the pack, how badly has he sabotaged himself today, and what can I do to mitigate your fears?"

"I think he's the worst candidate for our pack that's been presented so far, especially by you. I think he's a drunkard, a man whose mind and soul have learned cynicism more strongly than any other I have touched, a man who will find it very difficult to fight for the ideals that we intend to fight for and, as you said, possibly, maybe even probably, die for."

Courfeyrac's face is a study in dismay, the pack-bond between them suddenly bright with a thousand permutations on denial and sorrow and consternation.

"I also think there's hope for him." Enjolras smiles, opening his mind to his gamma once more, allowing him to see both the reticence and the potential that Enjolras feels when considering their stray. "He listens. He has a clever mind, when he allows it to work. He's kind, and he fits in well with the pack—all those who have spent time with him like him and intend to have him accepted."

Courfeyrac relaxes, a tentative smile appearing on his face. "I will admit, that's rather more what I was hoping you'd say."

"He's not the wolf I would have chosen. But he needs us, in a way that no other wolf has. Turning him away because of his politics, when it's something that we may be able to teach him…" Enjolras closes his eyes, reading the contentment from both Joly and Bossuet as they watch over the sleeping Grantaire. "As for what you can do… tell me that having him die for my causes, having him die for me, is not unjust. Tell me that placing him in danger that I fear—that I know—he doesn't understand is not an abuse of my power."

Courfeyrac's arms wrap around Enjolras' shoulders, Courfeyrac's lips gentle against his neck as the female nuzzles him. "He knows there is danger, Enjolras. He told Jehan what we're doing is dangerous. If he chooses that danger for friendship and a home rather than ideology… is it really so different from the rest of us? Combeferre is your oldest, most devoted follower, and he certainly shares your beliefs, but I also know he would gladly die for you in unrelated endeavors. I know I would die for you or any other in the pack, whether the danger comes from our cause or from an unrelated source."

Enjolras' hands tighten on Courfeyrac's arms, his mind filling again with Courfeyrac's well-tread fears. They mix with his own musings on their mortality, the questions that he ponders in the quiet of the night when no others should be awake to sense the tumult it causes.

They are his wolves. They are his responsibility, and his priority should be to keep them safe.

They are not safe, though. There is no way he could keep them safe. Their world is fraught with dangers that should not be, injustices that cannot be allowed to stand, and the only way to truly make them safe is to change everything.

They agree with him. They stand with him. They may fall with him, of their own volition, and he hopes he will be strong enough to take the mental scars of having their souls ripped away from his with his sanity intact.

"Ah, Enjolras." Courfeyrac's arms are tight enough around him to bruise, but neither of them wants to pull away. "We need to not tread so often in such dark places. Thinking so much of death is asking the Black Night to pay a visit."

"He would find this a rather inhospitable place right now." Forcing his hands to relax their hold on Courfeyrac, setting his mind to start scanning the pack-bonds in order to push away all else, Enjolras rubs his head against Courfeyrac's. "The revolution won't be tomorrow, unfortunately. And between Joly and I and the fact that most in the pack are mate-bonded it would take a great deal to kill one of us. I would say it's time to table thoughts of death and dying, at least until they can do something productive."

"Agreed." Courfeyrac straightens slowly. "Also, since the revolution likely won't be tomorrow, perhaps it shouldn't weigh so heavy in your mind when thinking of Grantaire."

"There are other concerns, you know." Turning so that he can see Courfeyrac, Enjolras pushes dark blond curls hair away from Courfeyrac's eyes. "What will he do with the pack? Will he study? Will he work? Will he assist us with our revolutionary work?"

"I think he'll try to do anything that we ask of him." Courfeyrac shrugs. "What he'll have an aptitude for, we'll see. Does that cover all of your fears?"

"All of the important ones. It does leave the drinking, though." Enjolras wrinkles his nose once more in displeasure. "He's far more prone to drinking than any wolf should be, and it affected his behavior today. He tried to nuzzle against me in public. He submitted blatantly, without any pretext at humanity, when I first entered the tavern where he was. Incidents like that could be dangerous. We want to control when the humans find out about us, Courfeyrac."

"Humans will forgive just about any odd behavior if alcohol is involved." The grin on Courfeyrac's face makes Enjolras wonder what stories the female has that he hasn't shared. "And I know you don't understand why we occasionally do it, but Joly and Bossuet and Bahorel also drink, and you don't seem terribly upset when I join in with them."

"I also don't sleep with any of you when you have been. I don't like the smell or the way it muddles your thoughts and emotions. It makes the pack-bond feel… off."

"He hasn't ever been this drunk before." Courfeyrac's gaze moves to the wall, as though he could see down to the fire and the stray in front of it. "Something must have upset him greatly."

"He was afraid of them." Enjolras speaks quietly, remembering the distress and helplessness that had first called his attention. "It was… a strange thing to feel."

"It'll be better, once he's pack." The cheerful grin is back on Courfeyrac's face. "He'll have the rest of us to defend him. There are some alphas even I wouldn't want to meet in a dark alley, and being a submissive stray… I can understand why it frightened him. But I am glad that you'll let him be one of us, Enjolras."

"It's what the pack seems to want. It's what he wants." Turning back to the article he had been writing before, Enjolras tries to reclaim his train of thought.

"And you?" Courfeyrac's hands are gentle on his shoulders, massaging. "Is it what you want, Enjolras?"

He pauses, considering the question. He has his doubts, still. There are always doubts before something is done. But underneath the doubts, leaving aside the fears…

"Yes." He smiles, closing his eyes as Courfeyrac's fingers work. "Yes, it's what I want."

It's the answer Courfeyrac had been hoping to hear, fearing he wouldn't, and the burst of exuberant joy that floods through their pack-bond and into Enjolras is enough to keep him smiling until Combeferre comes to collect him for supper.

XXX

Marius circles the block where Cosette's house is situated, trying to keep moving, trying to keep warm despite the wind and the clear sky.

He shouldn't go this evening. He shouldn't have ever made the offer in the first place. What does he think it's going to accomplish, giving this human so much power over him—over his people?

She wants to know, though. He suspects she may know already, or at least have a guess, though her rational mind will tell her that it's impossible foolishness. Their status as myth and legend, something that educated, civilized men don't believe in, has been what's kept their people safe for the last century. It was part of why his grandfather had been so furious with his father. How dare the man take Pack members into battle? How dare the man risk his life and the lives of his pack and the safety of the whole Pack for a human?

For the longest time Marius had agreed with him. His grandfather was alpha, after all, and Marius' mother had apparently felt it too dangerous to follow his mate, instead returning to his father's pack with his young pup in tow.

He wishes, once more, that he could talk with his mother about it, that his mother hadn't died when he was too young to understand the complexities of the situation. Had he left because he didn't accept Marius' father's plans, or had he left because he had a pup that was still too young to do without at least one parent? Had he intended to return to Marius' father when the wars were over?

Marius doesn't know. All he knows is that when finally he met his father, the man was magnificent, an alpha to be followed and respected even in his dying, and the words he spoke had struck Marius to the core of his being.

Why shouldn't wolves respect an alpha just because he was human? Why shouldn't wolves be able to fight and live and die for who they wanted?

Why should he be afraid to tell this human, who has shown him nothing but kindness in both his forms, who he is?

He knows why. He knows the danger it could bring to the Pack if she handles it badly. He knows their history, how the streets have run red with their blood, with human blood, with the blood of everyone who is even a tiny bit different whenever the humans became too frightened of the creatures that might lurk next to them in the night.

She is female, at least. Humans seemed to find it difficult to respect or trust their females, locking them away, ignoring or silencing their voices, so even if she reacts badly the chances that others will trust her about what he is are slim. He can simply disappear back into the night, find somewhere else to hide from his people as well as hers.

Hunching his shoulders against another gust of frigid wind, Marius prays to the White Lady that he isn't making a very grave mistake.