Chapter 2

His father’s will left everything to Billy. Fortunately, he made no provision for the circumstance of Billy’s death. Despite his many flaws, Billy still loved his brother, and his will left everything to Ian. That however, left everything in probate, and Sal still wanted his money.

He really needed the new job, and he was going to have to do all the work himself because he couldn’t afford to pay a helper and still pay off Billy’s debts. He also needed the money to live on for two months and pay the loan shark. He wondered how he was going to eat.

As he threw dirt on both lowered caskets, inwardly, he cursed his brother for his stupidity and himself for not leaving his father’s business and striking out on his own three years ago when he first came out. If he didn’t get the job tomorrow, they would be digging his grave next, because he wouldn’t become Sal’s boy toy. 1

Saturday, Last Week of April, Early Morning

Ian pulled up into the alley behind the address his father left. The house was huge. Ian surveyed the five stories plus a walk out basement. He desperately needed this job, and he didn’t think he had the chance of a snowball in hell once they found out there was only one painter instead of three.

His father paid him a pittance for the work Ian did for him. Most of the jobs the painting contractor bid on, they received because of Ian’s skills doing textured walls and custom paint. Ian wasn’t a martyr, however, and had been secretly collecting reference letters from customers who saw how hard he worked and watched his father treat him like shit on his shoes.

He had almost enough money to move out and had put out resumes to find other work before they both died, and now he was sucked into taking care of their affairs. Billy’s stupidity left him with no leeway. He had to get this job.

Gazing up again at the house, Ian sighed. Working by himself, the job would take him twelve to sixteen weeks if the house was empty and he could work twelve hour days, six days a week. And that was only if they wanted plain paint. If they wanted textures or faux finishes, it could take longer. He hoped like hell they didn’t want anything special and weren’t in a hurry, or he would surely lose the bid and maybe his ability to work if Sal Ferrara’s goons got him.

* * * *

Rémy Clavier, the new second in command to the North American Council of Werewolves, sat in his new minimally furnished mid-Victorian townhouse on Columbia Heights in Brooklyn waiting for the painter. He bought the house when his friend the Chief Alpha of the council for all of the North American werewolves, Armand La Marche, requested that he take the position of COO of Garou Industries to replace the disgraced La Farge who was probably painting outhouses in Siberia at the tender mercies of the Russian council. So now Rémy, instead of commuting to council meetings from his pack lands in the Catskills for one week a quarter, had to be in New York City at the Garou corporate headquarters two weeks out of every month necessitating a city home.

When Armand first asked him to take the position, he told him, “Please, Alpha, I don’t want it.”

“That’s exactly why I want you to take it, my friend,” Armand said. “You’re not power hungry and will do the best job you can for our people rather than line your pockets and favor your own pack over the others.” Since Armand was one of his dearest friends, he acquiesced.

Armand had found his true mate, Sean, an Omega with the gift of The Voice. Sean and Armand were visiting all of the North American packs where Sean helped the bitches with childbirth because weres had difficult pregnancies and many stillborn pups. Sean’s gift eased the problems the bitches experienced with pregnancy and the birth. The Voice was the reason for most of the live births in the North American packs and the pups, once born, thrived.

Sean was a gifted potter, and he planned to study Native American pottery on their trip from pack to pack so Armand was basically on a yearlong honeymoon and when he returned, since he had a mate, he wouldn’t want to put in all the hours he used to work leaving Rémy to pick up the slack.

Rémy wished he was touring with them instead of staying in the Catskills and Brooklyn. He longed to find his true mate, and he thought touring the packs was the best way to find him.

“You can find your mate at anytime, anywhere,” Armand assured him.