Lycan hubris allowed me to make it to the airport outside of Grayville. I had a ticket to Rio. The flight was long and being a lycan on an airplane is a maddening experience. I had to battle my primal side to keep from shifting and biting someone. Ele had given me access to a numbered account from the Bahamas. She felt devastated to know that she could not help me with anything, besides being my benefactor. I never told her my plans for her money, neither did she ask.

Rio was wonderful and I had taken just enough time to dye my hair black. I put in blue streaks. I also had access to some very lovely cream that worked like body lotion. With said cream on my skin, I smelled completely human. Back in Grayville, they would demand to have something of mine to use to track my scent—good luck finding anything. I had burnt everything I did not take with me. I already had little catches of supplies squired away in many cities I planned to visit.

I had five years to prepare for this eventuality. Anyone who thought that I was just closing my eyes and praying for the best, is sorely mistaken. If lycan males wanted to threaten war on Ele, then I would give them a war they had never seen before. My rebellion for one started now. Rio was just my first junction point.

Watching my Canadian drivers license burn, along with the clothes I had been wearing to the airport, I finished applying the lotion. I quickly dressed in a black leather skirt and a navy-blue tee-shirt with a British flag and a skull in front of it. I put on a pair of high-heeled leather boots and I finished the look with a nose ring. If I were human, this would have swollen my nose for several days, but it did little more than sting for a few moments.

Now, I looked like a London punk kid. My pass-port alias I was using for this leg of my travels was Jerica Holliston. I was a nineteen-year-old Uni student at Kings College in London. Victor had helped me establish the identity. He had even been stocking items for me, using this alias for purchases. I had an electronic record that made it look as if I had been living in London and was now returning from holiday to Rio. Any lycans placed in jobs that granted them access to national databases or face recognition searches, would only find a British punk girl. Even if they took note of the striking appearance, they would be able to see that this alias had a long history, not something you could forge overnight.

In essence, Camila Moss ceased to exist. Jerica Holliston was now my identity. It had been a long and involved process, learning to change my accent at will. One good thing about being a born shape-shifter, your body is more flexible to adaptation.

I handed the flight attendant my ticket and my ID. She gestured for me to take my seat.

I am totally taking a few days off once I hit London! I promised myself.

So far, nothing had been flagged with my alias. I was told that Victor had a few friends in the NSA that "owed him big." Whatever they did to forge these documents, they had done a world-class job. His friends were lone and no threat to me. If I understood his arrangement with the lones, he might be granting them fringe status in Grayville, as a thank you. That is one of the highest demanded requests in our community. With Ele's current policies and distrust for the other packs, she is not accepting nearly anyone. Being allowed free roaming in lycan utopia is a pretty damn clever way to ensure the lones do not develop loose lips. I truly wish that Clay appreciated just how amazing his second is! (Highly unlikely.)

Victor had sent me several texts on my burner phone. I had replied in vague manners and destroyed the first phone. (Paranoid? Me?) He knew all the numbers, no one else could reach me now. Victor was my sole link to my old life in the pack—former pack. My chest burned with pains of grief at the realization. I was now a lone alpha female. No one at my back, no pack to help me. Now it was all my teeth and claws, along with any weapons I had tucked away.

The flight into London was long and noisy. I had been seated near a pair of screaming twin infants. Their poor mom looked red in the face and constantly apologetic by the time we hit the ground. My canine instincts wanted me to swear off any further air travel, but my tiny rebellion would never permit such a luxury.

As I departed the plane, I held my head high and rolled my shoulders back. My posture exuded the utmost confidence. I reached the main security check point and I swore under my breath. Saw a group of four lycan men holding photos and wearing airport security uniforms. They were subtly sniffing the air and scanning the faces of the passengers.

Thankfully, the man at the metal detector was human, so after a quick sweep of his hand-held metal detector, he let me pass. I strode right between the closest pair of lycans. I would not show fear, they could not scent my presence now, so I had no reason to let them scent the chemical fear. They might scent human on me, but if they became suspicious enough, they very well might try to detain me.

That was faster than expected. I guess London is the leading pack of most of the world for a reason.

Southern England is considered nearly as precious as Grayville. The convenience of the city and surrounding human communities, but the country sides near enough to drive between London and some outlying sleepy village. Many sects of the main UK pack have communities in several hamlets in this region.

My target however, is inside the capital. I was now going to plot an assassination in the most digitally secure city in the entire world. No pressure! CCTV covered all of London and it would be a hat-trick to take out a cautious alpha and leave no digital footprints. Not to mention, I would also need to escape the area and lay low until making my way to Paris.

Victor warned me that this bold first mission would set the pace for my trip. If I could not shake the English pack, then I would likely be screwed. They would—no doubt—be enraged and on high alert. Their leader might be a son-of-a-bitch, but he was still their alpha. They would respond exactly how you would expect any of us native to Grayville to respond if someone killed Ele.

I already have kill orders on my head from several packs, so I was dead either way. If found, it is just a matter of who kills me. I did not have time to confirm how many alphas I dropped on my exit, but I am sure that their packs at least, have issued bounties for my capture or execution.

It was not the first time I had killed, but I still hate the way I did it. My primal instincts are to use my claws and fangs, not guns. I had to push that aside, since survival is about more than honor, or preference. I am nothing but a filthy killer, so I will just have to learn to embrace what I have become. We are often made—reformed—into whatever is needed of us to survive. We do not typically, have the luxury of being what we dream of, just what we must become.

Anyone who wishes to judge me, or punish me can do so once they have been turned into a walking sex slave. Though I will likely die on the road, I will hold on the first eighteen years I had in Grayville. I will never forget my sister alphas, nor their painful lessons in survival. My heart will weep for them forever, but I will press on.

I cleared the last of the lycans, but as I passed him, he grabbed my arm in a death grip. I let out a girlish sound of pain and anger. I pushed at him with less than lycan force and I squirmed against his grip.

"Get off you bloody perv!"

I could hear the growl beneath his voice.

"Let me see some ID girl."

"I haven't done anything! Let me go, you're hurting me you damned bastard!"

"Hey, Ren, she isn't the girl." The new arrival leaned in so that on they could hear each other—or so they thought.

"She smells human you dunce. Use yer bloody nose more Ren! You're gonna scare off the real one, if she comes through here!"

"Fine..."

Without further preamble, the man named Ren let me go and I pushed weakly on his chest, keeping my persona intact.

"The hell is this, coppers out of control, yeah!"

The older and "smarter" of the two motioned me on and said, "Get along then love."

One final glare and a parting, "I am not your love pig!"

My disruption at the airport had made twitter. Victor was about to blow a gasket, but I called him on my way to the small cottage he had set up for me. I supposedly inherited this two-bedroom house on the edge of London proper. It was located near the English Channel, so I could slip across if need be. Lucky for me, being a lycan meant I could swim it if needed.

Escape routes into the city were in place and Victor had set up several cash and weapon stock piles in the city and one in the basement of my cottage.

I would lay low for a few days and I would work on a second look, as not to burn my alias.