"Almost two hundred," Daryl said. "Usually they don't live past a hundred and fifty—as a Packmaster, anyway," he added. "We can live to around two-ten, two-fifteen, otherwise."
I didn't want to ask him what the life expectancy of a Grand Master was. No way. We made it back to the house about an hour before dawn. Weldon had called in some other security and now there were two new werewolves waiting beside the door. "This is Emmett and this is Kipp," Weldon introduced the two dark-haired werewolves. "From the Fargo Pack. They'll be extra daytime security."
"Don't call her a leech or you won't get cookies," Daryl offered.
"She makes good cookies," Weldon agreed.
Emmett and Kipp stayed outside, Weldon, Daryl and I went inside. "We'll be having a hunt in two days," Weldon informed me before I headed off to bed. "It's a way to blow off steam before the meetings begin. Daryl will be running with me, so you can stay here and bake cookies or do whatever you want," he grinned. "Emmett and Kipp will guard the house."
"Watch out, Bambi," I said dryly.
"Exactly," Weldon laughed.
Emmett and Kipp got chocolate chip cookies before we went out on patrol the following evening—somebody had made a run to the store. The kitchen was filled with all kinds of food and the fridge was stocked up, too. Weldon placed six cookies in a sandwich bag and took them with him. I'd made a double batch since I knew Weldon and Daryl could polish off a batch by themselves. Weldon stopped by a tent and handed the cookies off to a man there. Well, werewolf would be a better description.
"You learned to bake?" the werewolf teased Weldon as he accepted the bag. He had dark hair, brown eyes and an easy smile.
"Nope. Lissa here baked them. Don't worry, Daryl and I have already eaten a dozen apiece. They're safe."
"A vampire that knows how to bake and is willing to do so?" the man was smiling at me.
"Hey, I've only been vampire for less than three months. I've been baking cookies for thirty years." I probably shouldn't have opened my mouth, but I did.
"Lissa, this is Martin Walters, the Fresno Packmaster," Weldon introduced me. Martin Walters held out his hand first, so I took it and shook.
"Nice to meet you," I said. He bit into a cookie.
"These are good," he nodded at me. "Want to sit?" he turned to Weldon and pulled out a campstool for the Grand Master. Weldon sat.
Emmett and Kipp left us after a while. They needed to sleep—they'd been guarding all day. It was Daryl's and my turn, now. Another werewolf walked up, causing Daryl to growl low in his throat.
"Just passing by," the man held up his hands and went on his way.
"Look out for that one," Daryl told me as I watched the man walk away. I would. I had his scent, now.
"What's the deal?" I asked.
"That's Lester Briggs. He opposed dad when he and the Head of the Vampire Council hammered out the peace agreement between the Vamps and the Wolves. It's been in place for about twenty years, now. Before, it was all-out war. Some of the Wolves don't like the peace—they still want to kill you guys. The truth is, we were headed for extinction, vampires and werewolves. Our numbers are down to about a third of what they were before. The peace is going to allow everybody to rebuild the races."
"Holy cow," I said. "Was it really that bad?"
"Yeah. Trust me."
"Daryl, how old are you?" He looked to me like he was in his twenties.
"Forty-eight," He grinned.
"Geez Louise, you're older than I am, but not by much," I said.
"Dad told me you were forty-seven," Daryl said quietly. "Here comes Bart Orford, he's one of Lester's supporters and runs the Wichita Pack. Lester is the Santa Fe Packmaster."
"Did you say there's a Vampire Council?"
"Based in London, but they have eyes and ears everywhere," Daryl shivered a little. "And they have Enforcers and Assassins. If any vampire gets out of line or goes rogue, they don't last long."
Great. Something else to worry over. I made a mental note to ask Daryl later if he could tell me what constituted a rogue or what stepping out of line entailed. The terms Enforcer and Assassin weren't something that set my mind at ease, actually.
Weldon talked to Martin Walters for about an hour and had coffee and cookies with him before getting up to go pay other visits. Again, we walked until close to dawn and stopped many times, just like the night before. I noticed that we didn’t stop to talk to Lester Briggs or Bart Orford, although we passed both their RVs. I saw somebody in Lester's vehicle peeking out the window as we went by.
"You know, Daryl," I said when we'd walked maybe five minutes after passing the RVs, "I want to check something. Give me a minute, will you?" Weldon had found someone else to talk to, so Daryl just nodded. "I'll be right back," I said, taking off to the left and going through rows of tents. Daryl might fidget before I got back, but I wanted to make sure there wasn't any funny business going on. Finding a tree in a dark area, I went up it in a flash and turned to mist as quickly as I could. Someday I was going to have to time myself, just to see how long it took.
I misted to the two RVs, hovering around them and listening.
"They'll expect us to raise the question," I heard someone say.
"During the meeting," somebody else agreed.
"I think we've got enough support, don't you?"
"We will have."
That was the most I got and it was pretty inane, actually. I figured they wanted to raise the whole issue of the peace agreement and whether enough of the werewolves wanted it or not. I had no idea if this was a democracy or even something close. I also didn't figure Daryl or Weldon would be happy to answer my questions about werewolf politics. I misted back to the tree, turned to myself and went to find Daryl.
"Anything worthwhile?" Daryl asked when I got back. Weldon was still at the same spot, talking.
"They were just saying they intended to raise the question during the meeting and that they thought they were going to have enough support."
Daryl sniffed. "No way. At least two thirds of the Packmasters are on dad's side. The peace is stable. On the vamps' side as well."
"Good. We don't need war to break out again, just as I'm surrounded by five hundred werewolves."
Daryl grinned over that. "Who'd make cookies?" he asked.
"Not me, if they rip me to shreds," I replied with a shrug.