“Who pays them?”
“We have boards that run the wulfan interests in each country.” Josh popped the last bite into his mouth and chewed. He took a swig of what I thought was pineapple juice, judging by the scent—my ability to discern such things improved daily. Then he seemed to prepare himself for a lecture, sitting back and fixing me with a stern stare.
“It goes without saying that none of this gets out to the human population. Ever. You’re entitled to know because you are now, or soon will be, one of us.”
I nodded.
“As far as we know, wulfan evolved in Russia and spread into Europe. Once modern humans migrated through Europe, it pushed the wulfan through the Ukraine and into Romania. Over time, we learned to live alongside, and even within, human communities—peaceably, though the early integration didn’t always go smoothly, which is why many ancient cultures have stories of shapeshifters. Most became rumor and eventually myth, as the wulfan culture became better at hiding in plain sight.”
He looked to see if I was still interested. When I lifted an eyebrow at him, he continued. “In ancient times we all lived in family groups, each run by a dominant pair, like real wolves. But the families became too big to control. And alphas are born, not made—the new alphas challenged the elders and even each other. So, sometime in the seventeenth century, young alphas were permitted to start their own families. Now our structure is much looser. A council of elders runs each continent—large countries like the United States subdivide into several boards that report to the council. Canada’s population is low enough to have only two: Western and Eastern. The Prairie Provinces tend to be low-key—most wulfan live in British Columbia, Alberta, and Northern Ontario.”
Josh paused to take another sip of juice. “The boards fund a certain number of enforcers. When there’s an opening, the wulfan candidate is nominated by their peers. You have to have a unique combination of characteristics to be an enforcer—defending those who know nothing of us and would likely kill us if they did, not to mention the physical and mental fortitude required—and few wulfan are willing or able to take it on.”
I stared at him. And they think I’m cut out to be an enforcer?
Josh sighed. “Enforcers can sit for days or weeks with nothing to do. But when crap happens, they put their lives on the line. The three in Brandon aren’t just responsible for that area. Manitoba has ten enforcers altogether, scattered across the province. Something big goes down, they come together to deal with it. Especially uprisings.”
I thought about it. “How often do wulfan slip up? I mean, how many wulfleng are produced every year?”
“Hard to say.” Josh stood to clear the table. “There are those whose mates turn out to be human, which means they fall in love and together decide to risk the infection. There are accidents between friends or general carelessness at the wrong place and time. And there are the infections through violence, which is where the enforcers step in. If they catch the newly infected fast enough, enforcers prepare the initiate for the change. As you know, that can be an all-consuming process.” He turned from putting dishes in the sink to see me watching him. “Get your ungrateful ass off that chair and help me with the dishes,” he ordered.
I complied.
As I gathered the plates, he continued. “It’s impossible to say exactly how many wulfleng there are, but I can tell you one thing, you’re the first in this region in years. Alec came from Northern Ontario, so he doesn’t count. But it sounds like something’s cooking in Brandon now. I hope they get a handle on it.” Josh opened the dishwasher and gave me a pointed look. I started inserting dishes after he rinsed them—it appeared he was one of those who prewashed. Perhaps the routine distracted him from worrying about Chris.
“What else do enforcers do, if there aren’t any wulfleng for them to guide?” Somehow, I kept forgetting that this was a life-or-death gig. If I didn’t make it through the change with my humanity intact, Chris would have to end me. I couldn’t get my mind around it, not only the ending part, and me being the endee, but Chris being the ender. How do you work so closely with someone and then have to kill them?
“Compared to the old days, wulfan don’t have as many rules to follow, but enforcers”—he paused, and his eyes darkened—“well, they answer to a board and must carry out their wishes, regardless of their own opinions.” His voice had hardened by the end of the sentence. “And if someone is doing something stupid that could expose wulfan to the human population, they step in to put a stop to it. If necessary, with lethal force.”
With lethal force . . .
“That’s what happened in Texas, isn’t it? Chris had to kill someone he didn’t agree needed killing?”
Josh hesitated. “There was more than one reason for us to go. The Canadian boards are not as rigid as those in the United States. There are some—particularly those in the southern areas—that are archaic in their views.”
“They’re old-school in a lot of ways, I take it?”
He sketched a smile and nodded. “By that time he’d met me and we were happy to leave. The board up here guaranteed our citizenship, and Chris went into training with the RCMP. When an enforcer position opened, he took it, although his job meant he couldn’t do it full time until he retired.”
“How did you guys meet?” The question slipped out before I could stop it. “Sorry, you don’t have to tell me that. I’m being nosey.”
“It’s okay.” He sighed. “My father is a doctor in southern Texas. I was in med school, being groomed to take his place.” He paused and glanced at me, forcing a smile. “I wanted to write even then, but it wasn’t in the
