Wulf - Tales of the Chosen by Kayelle Allen

Tarth City, Di Lusso District
Nizamrak Building, Suite 4100
For Women Only Corporate Headquarters
Sumertsag 20, 4659

"Excuse me, sir."

His concentration broken for the fifth time in as many minutes, Luc Saint-Cyr tossed aside his reading and leaned back in his desk chair. "Now what?"

"I'm very sorry, sir." The sixth person he'd hired this month to replace his former assistant stepped inside, shut the door quietly and approached his desk. "I know you didn't want to be disturbed for the next hour, but--"

He held up a hand to stop further apology. "What is it?"

"The gentleman on the holophone said it was absolutely urgent."

He pinched the bridge of his nose. "Who is it?"

"All he would say was that his name was Wulf Gabriel and that--"

"Wulf!" Saint-Cyr shot to his feet, sending his chair flying backward into the credenza. Books on its shelves tumbled to the floor. "Why didn't you say so?" He made shooing motions at the startled woman. "Put him through immediately."

Eyeing him as if he were some wild animal, the woman edged out the door and snapped it shut behind her.

Once alone, Saint-Cyr opened a desk drawer and swept everything on his desk into it. He stepped one foot into the adjoining bathroom, grabbed a brush and dragged it through his short hair. A quick feel of his chin said he didn't need a shave yet.

He strode back into his office, seated himself at the desk and waited for the image to glow into existence. Wonder what he'll look like... Stupid question, old boy. You see him every single day on Imperinet.

Saint-Cyr shut his eyes, envisioning the classic beauty of Wulf's face, the strength of his jaw, the warm whiskey brown of his eyes. On his dresser at home was a picture of himself with Wulf and his parents, taken only two days before Thomas Gabriel's death. Before all their lives unraveled. Before he'd--

Focus.

He unclenched his fists and flattened his hands on the desk. Still no holo-image. The heap of untidy books on the floor drew his attention, but judging by the angle holopics usually took, Wulf wouldn't see them. How would it appear if the call started and he was on his knees on the floor with his ass in the air? Still... He rolled his chair back and pushed them out of sight with his foot.

No image yet.

Saint-Cyr started to press the button on his desk to call his assistant, but hovered one finger above it. What if she was putting Wulf through and mangled the connection because he distracted her?

Folding his hands again, he waited. On the floor by the right front leg of the credenza lay another book. He scooted his chair over and pushed at it with his foot, but it only wedged itself between the legs and wouldn't budge.

The indicator on his desk still showed no sign of a call.

He loosened his collar, flicked at a speck of dust on the desk and folded his hands once more. He rolled his thumbs around and around each other. He tightened his collar.

Muttering curses, he got down on the floor and straightened the damned books, dusted himself off and sat back down.

The door opened and his assistant crept only far enough inside to shut it behind her. Head down, hands clutched in front of her, she wet her lips.

He stood and went around the desk. "You lost him! Don't tell me you lost him!"

"No, sir." She peeked up as he approached. "He told me to forget it. He said he'd changed his mind and it wasn't important."

Wasn't important... Brought up short by those words, Saint-Cyr went so still the motes of dust in the air came into perfect clarity. As if the universe had suffered as harsh a blow as his heart. The first contact he'd had with Wulf in twenty years and it wasn't important.

He turned his back, shoulders rigid, jaw tight. "Did he say when he'd call back?"

"Um, he..."

His breath felt shallow and too, too fast. He stopped himself from turning his head.

She cleared her throat. "No, sir. The call came in on a private channel so I couldn't get a number to return it. I asked, but he wouldn't give me one. I was trying to track it when I realized I should let you know what happened. I'm sorry, sir."

He nodded. "You may go."

"Sir?"

Saint-Cyr pressed his tongue against the back of his teeth. Hands clenched at his sides, he turned his face only enough to show he listened.

"I'll make sure he goes straight through if-- I mean, when he calls back. Is there anyone else I should know about?"

You mean is there anyone else who could tear apart my life just by dropping a call? He closed his eyes. Not trusting his voice, he shook his head.

Behind him, the door opened, clicked shut. Footsteps receded. No outside noise intruded. The lonely silence of the oversized room rang in his ears like a death scream.

He staggered the ten steps to the windows overlooking Tarth City Park and pressed his hands and face against the glass. Sunlight's radiant caress warmed and soothed his skin.

If only it could reach his heart.

© 2006 Kayelle Allen / Wulf