Asa

The dull thud of my footsteps echo back off the smooth walls of the dimly lit, narrow tunnel. With the twist of a key and a hard shove from my shoulder, I open one of the heavy steel doors placed every hundred yards or so in this complex warren of underground passages.

Vivian said it took ten years to build the subterranean basement and intricate tunnel system, but I didn't fully grasp the magnitude of the project. Seeing and walking the maze, is a whole 'nother level of awe.

There is no map, and according to Vivian, there never will be one. Only the seethe and our small werewolf pack know of its existence and I swear, even after five months, there are twists and turns I don't think I've discovered. I wouldn't put it past Vivian to have designed hidden rooms on purpose, hence there being no map. The slim dimensions of the tunnel make it easily defensible by one person, denying fighting space and blocking any enemies farther down.

There are hidden stores of weapons, which frankly alarmed me when I saw how old the stuff was. It's like a bomb shelter for an extremist group-except the food stores are sadly lacking. I've come across canned goods, which I bet must have been intended for Rafe and Jon, but I think this place was designed more to confuse an enemy than defend against one. Make them chase their tails single- file underground while Viv and Rafe escaped safely.

A chill creeps up my spine. The cold of the surrounding permafrost never lets you forget where you are. The sub-zero temperature seeps past the two-foot-thick walls, and grasps every inanimate object it touches. I may not fully understand the reasoning behind such an elaborate and expensive design that is off limits to guests, but I can certainly appreciate it now that I need to get around while the sun is out.

It's almost three and darkness won't descend for several hours. The newly arrived Weres plan to gather and strip in the hot tub grotto before transforming to hunt. I grew up where hunters routinely received the license to hunt bear by lottery, so the concept of big-game hunting isn't lost on me, but doing it in animal form is.

After making two more lefts, three rights, and passing through six more steel doors, I approach a metal ladder identical to the other half dozen I've seen. Nothing is labeled. You must learn the means of access by rote memory and not leave a mark when passing. Vivian was quite emphatic on her wishes if we were to start using the network of tunnels. And even though there are no cameras down here, I don't doubt that she patrols them every once in a while to check that her requirements are being met.

Thankfully, I haven't gotten lost yet. Turned around once or twice, but not lost. The humiliation of having to call for guidance has proven a terrific incentive to pay attention when exploring.

Not a trace of dirt or dust is anywhere; a smudge might reveal a location or turn to a pursuing enemy. Who cleans it? Maybe it's one of the tasks Vivian takes on when she's not taking a daily restorative sleep, like I still need to do. I ascend a ladder into a tight tube leading to the surface and open the submarine-like hatch at the top, taking a step down two rungs to allow it to swing inward and settle against the tube's wall. It works opposite as a normal submarine hatch would, which took some getting used to on my part. A thick, wooden trap door lays over the hatch, with no trace of light leaking around the seams.

I press a secret panel to the left of the seam, which triggers a hidden latch on the other side and the lock springs softly open. Easing the heavy floor piece up, I carefully lean it against the closet's interior wall that houses the escape hatch. I scramble up and return it quietly to its original position. Once it's closed and locked I knock on the closet door leading into the cabin.

"Yo! Asa, is that you?" comes from the room beyond the thick wood.

"Who the hell else would it be, Pat?" I say, trying to keep the annoyance from my tone. Sonovabitch knows it would only be me, but he still asks every freakin' time. "Is it safe? Have you dropped the window shutters down yet?"

Unknown to most of the guests and employees, all the cabins are equipped with light-deterring, steel hurricane shutters. To say Vivian planned for every possibility would be putting it mildly.

"Oh yeah, let me do that."

Prick. I'm betting he's hoping to catch me one day to see if I really will burn from the sun's rays.

A metallic whir and the clickity-clack of the descending exterior shades soon follow. A glance over at the fire extinguisher mounted in the closet leaves me wondering what safety precaution the rustic-looking cabins could possibly lack. No vampire, young or old, needs to worry about the sun burning them during the rare hours of twilight the winter does see or, thanks to the sprinkler systems, concern themselves with a candle mishap torching them while they sleep.

"It's cool, man," Pat calls. "Come on out."

I enter the pristine cabin and glance around, once again amazed at how clean the place is. Two beer bottles sit on the table. Eric and Pat are spread out on the couch and recliner like they haven't a care in the world. Sons of Anarchy is paused on the television, the surfer-boy, relaxed-but-messy looks of Jax in black leather are frozen in mid-grin.

No dirty dishes, no open food containers, no dirty socks under the coffee table, just the two beers they are currently drinking. The young men were complete slobs when I left for the Army eight years ago. The government whipped their asses into shape and taught them what it means to be a man-one key point being that you pick up after yourself. You'd never know two guys in their early twenties lived here.

"Haven't you seen this episode already?" I ask, knowing they have watched the entire series at least twice.

Eric nods and picks up his beer. "Yeah, but there's nothing better on, and we needed to kill time before the gathering."

"I'm really surprised you're not hanging out with your old pack-mates," I say while heading into the room. "Jon was smiling and grinning like a jackass over something he read about cheerleader chicks."

"They're hot as hell, sure," Pat says. "But they want nothing to do with us." He lets out a gut-wrenching burp. "Stuck-up bitches."

I look to my brother, who proceeds to shrug his wide shoulders. "I think he's just bitter they shot him down... over and over again."

A smile lights my face as I join Pat on the couch, forcing the younger man to sit up and make way for me. "You were with Romeo's pack, like, what-two months? You couldn't help yourself from hitting on everyone there?"

Pat flashes me an indignant look. "No, not everyone."

Eric laughs, "He managed not to hit on the guys or Elsa, Romeo's wife."

"Glad to see you have some sense," I say.

"Fuck off, both of you. One of them might've said yes." He sniffs and looks back to the TV. "And hell, you don't know unless you try."

Typical of most guys, our conversation peters off after the ribbing is over. We watch the rest of the show in silence, each lost in our own thoughts. The peace of being near my brother never ceases to soothe me. It was never like this with our other brother, Justin. Our mom poisoned him to us long ago, using him to shield the world from her many flaws. He grew up being her staunchest defender, but was still too young to escape her selfishness when she took him and fled the country.

It's been ages since I've thought of him. Hell, before this winter I didn't think I'd ever get to see any part of my family again. If someone had told me last year where I'd be at this moment I'd have thought they were smoking crack.

My attention drifts from the show I've already seen, to the modifications made on the resort for the werewolves this summer. We've got an outdoor shower area set up in the hot tub grotto to wash off the bloody hunters fresh in from the chase-with strict orders from Vivian to not allow any wet wolves into the main building while in their furry form.

My nose wrinkles in slight distaste. It would be hard to get their distinct odor out once they shook like wet dogs all over the carpet and furniture.

Pat thumps his bottle on the coffee table. "I'd offer you a beer," he says with a sneer in his voice. "But you being a bloodsucker and all, you couldn't enjoy it."

I allow my fangs to descend and smile menacingly at my old friend. "I could drink it if you opened a vein to mix in."

Pat pales and launches from the sofa, masking his unease by turning the movement into a stretch. "Not funny, dude." He flips me off and downs the rest of his drink. "Shouldn't we be heading out soon?"

Eric glances at the clock and brings the recliner to an upright position.

"What did Jon tell you guys to do during the hunt expedition?"

"We're to hang back and not interfere," Eric says. "Even though we know the wolves attending this first week, we're no longer a part of their pack and need to respect their limits while in animal form."

I nod, already aware of Jon's instructions, but wanting to hear it straight from them. Well, straight from Pat, truth be told-or at least within his hearing with a witness. He could very well pretend to not remember later if it suits his needs.

"Do you miss the larger pack?" I ask.

Pat barks out a laugh, "Aww, hell no!" He pulls off his shirt and tosses it on the couch. "Lots more willing ladies here." He smiles as his own irony hits him. "Who woulda thought I'd be saying that about Alaska?"

Eric shakes his head and likewise, starts to disrobe. "More like the women in the pack just didn't want to be with 'puppies'. We have better chances here, with the single female employees."

"Assuming they don't mind when you shed," I add with a grin.

He smiles one of his rare full-toothed smiles, revealing a jagged tooth he's been self-conscious about for years, and reaches for his waistband. "Yeah, there is that."

Wanting to get the hell out before they're both buck-naked, I make my way to the closet. "Don't forget to open the door this time before you shift." I don't hold my laughter in. Damn, it was funny as hell when they had to dive through a window after a change last month.

Jon didn't find it too amusing when he first found out, but it has gradually become an event to razz them about. Vivian was not pleased when she heard. She gave them both a terse look and said, "Plan better next time."

Needless to say, there hasn't been a reoccurrence-yet. They've been changing more, several times a day, to be able to master the skill. Apparently, the frequent transformations require a lot of energy, and they've each been eating like a family of six on an all-protein diet. And damn, that's a lot of food.

As I shut the tunnel hatch behind me, a soft whine and scrape meet my ear. Eric must be scratching at the closet, following my scent. While the idea of howling wolves running through the tunnels sounds cool, and straight out of a movie, I'm betting the ladder would be a difficult obstacle to overcome. I knock twice to let him know I heard him and slip into the tube to head back to the main building.

Within ten minutes, I close the heavy steel door in the north wing of the basement. The large concrete foundation runs the entire length of the large T-shaped hotel. We constructed six rooms and still have a huge amount of unutilized space under two of the wings.

The conference room won't get used much with most of the seethe away. This summer I could have occupied Paul's safe room during the day, but I chose to make a bedroom suite for myself out of two of the other unused rooms. It felt nice to personalize the space and make it my own.

Easy access to my rooms and the SCIF is another reason I'll be glad to get the new entrance into the kitchen storeroom completed. The spiral staircase in the large closet next to my bedroom will be much simpler than trekking through the owners' apartment.

One time of walking in on Rafe and Viv getting busy is enough for my entire undead lifetime, thank you very much. Not like I had the right to tell them they shouldn't be doing the nasty in the living room-after all, it is their apartment. It felt like I walked in on relatives-kind of creepy and very uncomfortable. Made me want to bleach my eyes afterward.

I settle into a swivel chair in front of the large command center desk. A press of a keyboard button reveals three views of the hot tub grotto, courtesy of a few of the cameras we installed all over the property before the hunt this past January.

Four LCD computer monitors each have the ability to show six different views at once, rotating between camera locations on the screen. The system lets an observer quickly scan an area or monitor a preprogrammed set of views, like outside entrances, for example. Not sure how helpful the cameras will be once the wolves venture into the raw area of the property, though.

The sun won't set for about four hours, allowing the werewolves to get the joy of hunting in daylight and darkness on their first trip out. The plan is for me to help with manning the grilling area when darkness hits. Eric and Pat did a good job with setting up the outdoor kitchen. And with the dust from the construction project it was probably a good idea they moved the kitchen.

The regular day shift cook, Stephanie, left to go visit her family once the high season ended, as did a lot of the regular employees. We're down to less than half staff right now, about fifty, but that's not bad considering Vivian normally likes to have more people here than I think are truly needed.

A silver-gray wolf, with a white left foreleg, bounds into the monitor's view of the grotto. I'd recognize Pat's playful manner even if I didn't know his markings well. Eric meanders in a moment later, his larger form and charcoal tones blending into the sparse greenery better. Jon's reddish-brown coat comes into view and the alpha nips playfully at the heels of Pat, sending the younger wolf into a yapping whirl. The three of them seem to get along well, and I haven't noticed any overt clashing from either side.

In another minute the clearing between hot tubs explodes with furry forms. With the crowded and chaotic movements, I can't be sure if the whole pack is present or if maybe one or two bowed out from this first excursion.

From what Jon told me earlier, the Weres will head off into an undeveloped portion of the property and see what trails they come across. According to my research, it still seems a little early for there to be anything worthy of a wolf pack this far north, maybe a stray caribou and that's about it.

Do they perhaps just want a place to run that is different than their own territory? Could they be here to scout the terrain for real hunting later on in the season? Jon seemed a little baffled by it as well. I hope they find something to make the journey worthwhile.

Four or five smaller wolves circle Jon, nudging him to join them when the pack begins to head out. One or two lick his jaw and rub shoulders with the larger male. Huh. Wonder if this could be some elaborate set up from Romeo and Elsa to find Jon a suitable bitch. After Jon reviewed the files, he said it looked like they brought every eligible female they had in their pack.

Poor guy is in for it if those ladies are looking for an alpha to start a new pack. I can't believe Vivian would go for this. I wouldn't put it past her to hand-pick Jon's mate herself. She must not have any idea what his old pack leaders are doing. Hell, I'm seeing it right on the screen in front of me, and I'm still having a hard time believing it. Match-making for a werewolf? Poor bastard. Then again, he might get laid this week, so it's not all bad.

Finally, after much tail wagging and what appears to be happy yips, the remaining wolves race out. I toggle the screen and watch the group tearing down the paths toward the empty family cabins. The group splits and before you know it, there are three groups barreling through the trees into the wilderness.

I spent some time this winter researching wolves and watching lots of nature films. Observing these wolves with human intelligence is downright scary. I notice an almost military precision with how they move and spread out. Not quite the same as the natural wolves behaved on TV, and rightly so since they aren't real wolves.

Their forms sprint across the screen and within minutes, I run out of cameras to monitor them. I toggle quickly between all the viewpoints in the region, but come back blank. Damn, I'll have to keep switching and hope something comes into view.

I reach for the phone, doing a mental calculation in my head. Should be close to ten p.m. in Argentina right now. I wonder what Drew and Paul are up to?