No Place Like Home

Chapter One

Mateo scooped up another shovelful of snow and dumped it over the other side of the fence. As much as he loved the twinkle and shimmer, as much as he adored helping their son Jonus build snow forts, he hated shoveling the stuff. He paused to rest, taking in the sight of Calliph across from him.

And what a sight Calliph was. The werewolf raised and lowered his shovel with barely any effort, the muscles in his thighs and calves rippling beneath skintight pants. He had cleared twice as much of the walk as Mateo had in the same amount of time. Apparently sensing Mateo's scrutiny, Calliph turned to him and grinned, warming Mateo all the way down to his toes, despite the frigid temperature.

"Worn out already?" Calliph asked.

Mateo chuckled. "You're not the only thing that can exhaust me."

"I'm the most pleasant thing, though, am I not?" Calliph winked and returned his attention to the pile of snow in front of him.

"You are indeed." Though barely a year had passed since they had settled down together in Namicia, to Mateo it felt as if life had always been like this. He had adjusted to being a landlubber far faster and easier than he'd anticipated; indeed, his time aboard the Golden Magnus was now a fond, distant memory, rather than a thing he missed or craved. He'd even managed to find a few hobbies, bird watching—how ironic for a cat—and sketching among them.

Movement by the front gate drew Mateo's attention. Dressed in a black cloak trimmed at the bottom with fur, the newcomer approached the gate and stood waiting for acknowledgement. Tall and bulky, he kept his gaze down and his hands clasped behind his back. The red badge embroidered on the collar of his cloak marked him as someone of status, though of what importance, Mateo didn't know. Mateo flared his nostrils, taking in the acrid scent of an unfamiliar shifter. "Appears you have a visitor, my love."

Calliph stiffened, a faint yellow hue in his narrowed eyes. "He's from my pack; one of my kin."

"Is he a friend?" Mateo mentally mapped the layout of the yard, approximating the number of steps to the door in case they needed to go after weapons.

"I wouldn't go that far." Calliph drew himself up to his full height and stepped in front of Mateo, shoulders squared and chest thrust forward in a display of dominance. "Paular," he greeted, voice tight and hard. Though Calliph took another two steps toward the gate, he stayed well out of arm's reach.

The werewolf looked up. "Cemol. We need to speak." Paular's hawk gaze raked up and down Mateo, and his upper lip curled. "In private."

Calliph shook his head. "My name is Calliph now, and anything that can be said to me can be said out in the open."
"This doesn't concern outsiders."

"If it concerns him it concerns this outsider," Mateo spoke up. Damn werewolves and their infernal belief nothing should leave the bounds of their packs.

"Speak, Paular," Calliph barked. "I've no interest in games."

There was that lip curl again, and the hint of a growl. "Very well," Paular relented. He turned to Calliph. "Rupos has been caught. He has been tried for murder and found guilty. The Council has opted to delay his sentencing until you are present. I've been sent to bring you back to Naolassel."

Calliph glanced quickly to Mateo and then back to Paular. "Rupos is going to die. There's nothing I can do to change that." He raked a hand through his hair; a nervous gesture, Mateo knew.

Mateo looked back and forth between the two wolves. He had no idea who either of these people were—Paular or this Rupos he spoke of—but Calliph's sudden shift in mood spoke volumes.

"Perhaps not. But you can give testimony on his behalf. Influence the manner of his death." Paular's eyes flashed a brilliant light green. "As his alpha, you owe him that."

Calliph balled his hands into fists. "I'll meet you in the town square in an hour."

Paular nodded curtly and turned away with a fluid, swift movement that indicated military training. Mateo imagined he'd heard the wolf's boot heels click together.

Calliph stood staring at the gate for a moment, then turned as well, not quite so fluidly but just as swiftly. He headed back inside, propping his shovel beside the door before he entered.

Mateo frowned. He stowed his shovel as well and followed. He found Calliph in their bedroom, hastily throwing clothing into a worn leather bag. "Are you going to tell me what this is all about?"

Calliph did not respond; just kept tossing things into his bag like a man possessed.

Mateo went to him, laid one hand on his arm, and closed the bag with the other. "You owe me an explanation. Who is Rupos?"

Calliph pulled his arm away and took a step back. He looked down at the bag in front of him, then back up at Mateo. Scrubbing a hand over his face, Calliph heaved a sigh and lowered himself onto the bed heavily. "Rupos is my brother," he revealed. "My twin."

"You have a brother?" Mateo's eyes widened. Calliph had never spoken of his past, other than to say he couldn't bear to, but to not even mention he had a brother—a twin—struck Mateo as unbelievable.

"He's not like the other werewolves. He's insane," Calliph explained.

"How did he get to live this long?" Wolf packs were like panther prides—they culled their herds early. And often.

"It wasn't obvious at first. Our parents noticed it when he started to talk. He couldn't master words like the other cubs, couldn't remember things from day to day. His body seemed to grow, but not his mind. By rights, my father should have killed him. But father adored my mother, and she loved both her children, so he let her keep Rupos." Calliph paused, his brows knit together in thought, a deep frown pulling at his lips.

"But my parents didn't know how to care for Rupos," he continued. "So when he got older, they committed him to a sick ward, but that turned out badly. We went to visit him one day, and found him covered with bruises and welts, unfed, and unclean. The healers had beaten him because they found him in the yard, cuddling with a dog."

Mateo shrugged. "So he liked dogs."

"Not platonic cuddling." Calliph blushed. "He didn't understand the difference between werewolves and pet dogs."

"Oh." Mateo wrinkled his nose.

"They expelled him from the sick ward, and when word got out of why . . . ." Calliph trailed off.

"The pack took it out on you." Mateo closed his eyes briefly. He'd seen that scenario play out time and time again among his own kind—somehow the stronger sibling ended up forced to carry the burden of the weaker's shame.

"Tenfold."

"He couldn't help it, after all." Mateo laid a hand on Calliph's shoulder and squeezed.

Calliph nuzzled into the touch. "And I think most of them understood that. But my people are a proud race, they take great umbrage to anything or anyone which casts a stain on them."

"And he's recently been charged with murder?"

"Not recently, no. Rupos went on a killing spree after I was captured during the war. He murdered several humans, an elf, two wolves, and"—Calliph winced—"a mother werecat and her two kittens."

"There is proof?" Mateo asked.

"Overwhelming. He wasn't careful; he left things behind, bragged afterward. And there were witnesses. Rupos made them watch." Calliph looked away. He emptied out the rumpled contents of his bag and began to neatly sort and fold them.

"I see." Wasn't much use arguing Rupos' innocence. But Mateo recalled what Paular had said about Calliph influencing the manner of Rupos' death. "You plan to speak on his behalf, then?"

Calliph nodded. "The best I can hope for is to have him swiftly executed, instead of tortured first. Perhaps I can spare him that."

"Will they even listen to you?" Werewolves were a stubborn bunch, after all.

"Honestly? I don't know. But Paular was right; I owe him this."

Mateo watched Calliph's agitated movements as he repacked his bag. Clearly, his wolf meant to make this journey alone. Mateo moved to the closet. He retrieved his own bag and started packing.

"What are you doing?" Calliph gaped at him.

"Going with you."

"No." Calliph shook his head. "Absolutely not. I need you to stay here and watch over Jonus."

"Jonus can stay with Deglarine. She's kept him often enough." Calliph opened his mouth to speak, but Mateo held up a hand. "There's no point arguing with me. I'm going with you whether you like it or not."

"And if I refuse to take you?" Calliph folded his arms across his chest and quirked an eyebrow.

Mateo copied the stance, folding his own arms and tilting his head to the side to emphasize how ridiculous the confrontation was. "I will follow you on my own. I may not be an alpha, but I'm no omega either. I won't be ordered around by you or anyone else."

The right side of Calliph's mouth turned up into a smirk. "You, my love, would most definitely be an alpha in any race." He nodded. "So be it."