Mortal Sins by Eileen Wilks Page A

heir’s portion of the Nokolai mantle for many years now. His father held the main portion, of course, for it was the mantle that made him Rho, just as it made Nokolai a clan . . . and its members more than a hegemony broken into beast-lost packs.
    Rule wouldn’t speak of mantles to the press. But he could speak of clans—warring clans that were moving to mend their differences.
    He smiled slowly. The press would eat it up.
    His mind clicked over possibilities, complications, consequences . . . and the consequences could be large. But he could do it, yes, and in addition to possibly sparing Toby, it would be excellent press for his people.
    Did he have the right? He’d be revealing Leidolf’s existence to the press, and Leidolf’s Rho had made it clear—back when Victor Frey was conscious and capable of clarity—that he did not want Leidolf to go public.
    Rule paced to the sliding doors, staring out at the thousand shades of green in the tidy backyard. He’d have to decide quickly. If he chose this course, he needed to set things in motion right away. That meant calling Alex Thibideux, Lu Nuncio for Leidolf. He’d call his father, too, for he owed his Rho notice . . . notice, but not obedience. Not in this. The Nokolai Rho had no say in this decision, for it was Leidolf business.
    Rule’s mouth twisted, acknowledging the irony. Leidolf, the hereditary enemies of his clan, who’d tried to assassinate his father less than a year ago. Leidolf, whose Rho now lay comatose, slowly dying, having lost the treacherous toss of the dice he’d made when he tried to kill Rule last December.
    Instead, he’d ended up making Rule his heir.
    Traditionally, a clan’s heir held little real authority—but traditionally, the heir was also Lu Nuncio. A Lu Nuncio enforced his Rho’s will and could at times speak with the Rho’s voice—because a Lu Nuncio did not act against his Rho’s decisions. Ever.
    But an heir who was not also Lu Nuncio . . .
    Yes, Rule decided, he could act against Victor’s avowed policies. He was not Leidolf’s Lu Nuncio. Victor Frey was not his Rho, and he owed him no obedience.
    The other mantle in his gut, the one forced on him six months ago, stirred. Yes, Leidolf’s mantle seemed to whisper. Yes, you must lead. You have the right.

SIX
    FBI agents tended to see themselves as the top of the law enforcement food chain, an attitude that did not endear them to local law enforcement. Lily knew how annoying that attitude could be, having been one of those locals until last November. She also knew a number of ways the locals could make life difficult for the big, bad feds if they wanted to, so she made a point of getting along with locals whenever possible.
    But cops, of whatever stripe, were more territorial than the average lupus, so some clashes were unavoidable. She didn’t see any way she could have ducked the one with Deacon, but she wasn’t sure what to do now. She still had to work with the man.
    Maybe that was why she headed for those golden arches before her meet with the DA: to remind herself of her law enforcement roots.
    She could have stayed at the house and eaten a much better meal. Rule cooked, and he was good at it. But sometimes a woman wanted junk. Junk was familiar. She’d eaten a lot of fast food in her cop car.
    Of course, her cop car hadn’t been a Mercedes. She pulled into the parking area and got in the drive-through line for the familiar foodlike products.
    The car’s interior was spotless. Rule was nowhere nearly as tidy as she was, but he kept his cars clean, even a rental like this one. He was so damned perfect—wealthy, sophisticated, sexy enough to wake a woman from a coma. It was reassuring to know that, under it all, he was still very much a guy. Never mind making the bed, but for God’s sake don’t get crumbs on the leather seats.
    He was fussy about his appearance, too. Lily smiled as she inched forward another car length. A touch of vanity there. Maybe he saw a