The lock of hair that perpetually flopped over his forehead was now wet and spiked at the ends, but that couldn’t be helped. He pushed it back on his head. He had spent most of his boyhood with a brush cut, just like Miller’s, and sometimes he missed the ease of having his hair that short. On the other hand, he envied the flowing locks that some of the other boys had, although let’s be real. The hair wasn’t the main reason why the girls flocked to them at Ye Olde Taverne.
Thinking of the boys, he hoped they were fine on their own at the Faire. At the very least, they knew to look for Katie, if Rika or Puma couldn’t help them. Katie had really turned out to be excellent for them.
Miller must be wondering what happened to him. He wiped his hands on one of the folded paper towels stacked in a tortoiseshell acrylic holder, turned the knob of the door and stepped out.
And saw Miller standing outside of Blake’s office, with his broad back towards the closed door. He was standing straight with his hands on his hips, his legs apart with his weight evenly distributed.
Something was off.
The expression on Miller’s face was grim.
“Isn’t Blake there?” Simon asked.
“He is.” The older man’s voice was flat.
“What’s going on?” Simon started to walk towards him—
“Stop right there, son.”
Simon froze at Miller’s order.
“Miller, what’s going on?”
Miller wasn’t going to sugarcoat it.
“Blake’s dead.”
Simon’s eyes widened, and he opened his mouth. Nothing came out, as he stood, rigid with shock. Before he could say anything, Miller spoke.
”I’ll take photos and send them to you before calling the police. I’ll stay behind and handle it with them. But you won’t need to be involved, if you turn around right now. You were here, used the bathroom, didn’t see anything, left. You don’t need to see this for yourself and then end up having to answer questions about it. We clear?”
Simon swallowed. Whatever happened to Blake had to be bad. Really bad. Bad enough that if he were to see it, what had just happened in the stairwell would feel like a ride on a merry-go-round.
He trusted Miller’s protective instincts. Simon nodded, turned and ran down the stairs. He was eager to get out into the open air, to the blaring of salsa music promising a world where only good things happened.
“And then he was crying and crying, when I was using his stapler on him.”
Jordy wanted to strangle Billy Bob. After letting him in through the same entrance she had used with Cadmus, Billy Bob insisted on giving a blow-by-blow account about some Realtor he had tortured and eventually killed. Unfortunately, the idiot’s ramblings were out of order, and he kept repeating his favorite bits with details changed.
He was especially bragging about how Cadmus had praised him, saying that he was Great. Just great.
Jordy rolled her eyes.
If she were to go back to college, she’d major in anthropology, because this right here, ladies and gentlemen, was the Missing Link. Or maybe she’d major in Neuroscience, because Billy Bob was missing the part of his brain that processed sarcasm.
Somehow she managed to parse from Billy Bob’s stream of babble that he had gone with Cadmus earlier to a real estate agent’s office, tortured the dude for information, and Billy Bob had managed to stab him in the exact place that brought their Q & Scream session to an abrupt and bloody end. Which earned Billy Bob his prized Great. Just great from Cadmus.
It didn’t help either when they stole the laptop that Dead Real Estate Agent had on his desk, only to discover in the car that during Billy Bob’s excited use of desktop office supplies for torture, the idiot had accidentally knocked over a drink onto the keyboard.
Which, when opened, then spilled out onto Cadmus’ pants. Only reason the motherfucker was still wasting oxygen was that the coffee was no longer steaming hot.
Jordy thought smugly that if Cadmus had brought her instead, Jordy would have gotten to have some fun slicing and dicing, would have incentivized the Realtor into giving up the information they wanted before dying, and she would have a new laptop, after extracting all the data Cadmus needed.
Maybe from now on, Cadmus would think twice before choosing that mouth breather over Jordy for something so critical.
In a fit of pique, Cadmus had dropped off Billy Bob at the Faire, to locate the guy that he was “not supposed to tell Jordy is a man-wolf.” At least Billy Bob had enough wits to realize that was an “oops.”
Jordy figured it was another thing Cadmus said, that Billy Bob mangled as he usually did. Possibly a curse that Billy Bob shouldn’t repeat, especially to Jordy.
But the good news was that Jordy now knew there was an individual at the Faire that Cadmus was more than slightly interested in tracking down. Possibly the same one that he had come to the Faire looking for, with the pendulum that had acted like a crazy GPS. Which meant the person could be a performer, member of the staff, vending, or a regular attendee.
Someone who could be found.
By Jordy, the Second in Command of Ops, the one who had a set of keys to the kingdom.
Because not only did she have access everywhere at the Faire — she looked at Billy Bob—she also wasn’t an idiot.
Col, Aylwyn, Barric and Merek had all been assigned different points of the vast Fairegrounds to check out the past few hours. They were to reconvene with their Vixar in a few minutes here, in the central area that marked the Royal Court of Food. Col had sped to this location, studiously resisting the temptation to stop by the Staff Childcare Center.
Where she would be.
The blood surged in his loins at the thought of her, of the night that they had shared, of the absolute wonder that was in the cleaving unto her.
He did not know it could ever be like that, more than the union of two bodies satisfying mutual needs. Or that he would want nothing more than to pleasure her, adore her, possess her and then pleasure her some more. Without end.
It had taken every bit of his sense of duty to wrest himself away from her soft womanly curves, the gentle sighs that escaped her sleeping form as she nestled further into him. But he had done so, to rejoin his Bredhren at the house, and would call upon the same conscience to keep away from her now.
He could not, would not, allow her to become the weakness that caused him to neglect his responsibilities as a Waryeor, to shirk his duty to the War-Pack. And so he hurried to the meeting point, ten minutes earlier than expected.
Tybalt was already at one of the tables on the periphery of the eating area, when Col joined him. The Vixar was sharpening one of his blades. As a staff member on duty, he was allowed to carry actual knives on his person, as opposed to the “peace bonding” and plastic orange tips that were forced upon the reproductions of swords, knives and other weaponry that the attendees wore as part of their costumes.
Col remembered the first time he saw a young child swinging about a mace as if it were lighter than an apple. He had been astonished. The child was no higher than his knee, and he gaped at the witchery of this new world, in which weapons were wielded so easily by creatures barely out of their infancy.
His jaw dropped again, when he learned that in this new world, children were thus amused, by playing with toys that were fabricated of this miracle compound called plastic, resembling instruments that were designed to maim and destroy.
The world was foreign to him then, and in truth, in many ways was still as strange and fantastical to him now.
“There is aught of merit to report,” Col said to Tybalt, taking a seat with the Vixar’s head tilt of invitation. Col was still disappointed that he had not scented his abductor again.
The Vixar nodded. “Well glad am I that you have arrived apart from the others. I would speak with you as to what has been ailing you as of late.” Tybalt placed the blade he had been sharpening on the table, the sun glinting off the hardened steel.
Col set
his lips in a firm line, and squared his shoulders to ready himself. Here it came. Tybalt would tell him at last how Col had become a liability, how Col was now a danger to the War-Pack that the Vixar had been painstaking attempting to knit together since they had awakened.
“I am ready to abide by your decision, Vixar.” He braced himself for the words.
Tybalt raised an eyebrow. “As you should be, when I make it.”
Col settled in his seat and exhaled with relief, feeling the solidity of the wood of the table under his forearms, and the firmness of the bench underneath his large body.
The handsome Vixar looked at him from across the table, steepling his hands under his chin as he chose his words carefully. Passersby kept looking at Tybalt, trying to guess which celebrity he was, or hoping that he was a performer. Col knew that all five Bredhren drew attention, but their Vixar was perhaps the least welcoming of it, especially when they came with obvious, inviting looks from wenches.
“I mean no offense, Vixar.” Col said.
“I know,” Tybalt replied. “Last night, was there a resolution?”
Resolution. There was, but only in one respect. In that he now had even more of a hunger for her. He shook his head.
“Only in the sense that I —my wolf brought me to her domicile. It sought her in a way that I could not deny. And then, I lay with her until it was time to return.” He felt regret that these words were so inadequate for what had transpired. That he wished not to have to lay bare at all what had happened betwixt them. But he knew it affected the War-Pack.
“I see.” Tybalt’s handsome features sharpened. “Have you confirmation that she could be your Destine?”
“Vixar!” The exclamation burst out of Col before he regained his composure. Which was perhaps another sign that Tybalt could be right.
“The agitation that you feel, and to a lesser extent is afflicting the other three, has only started since encountering Katie Cooper.” Tybalt noted. Lily, Col thought silently to himself. She had asked him to call her Lily. To Tybalt, Col dipped his head in acknowledgment and the Vixar continued. “And this agitation will continue to escalate, further diminishing our ability to coalesce as a functioning War-Pack, unless there is some resolution.”
“My lord?” It was now Col’s turn to raise his eyebrows.
“Not much is known about how Destines and mate-bonding take form, or what is required, in this time and place that we now find ourselves in.” Tybalt said gently. “Indeed, not much is known beyond the basics even from our own time, that is, beyond what little is known to Waryeors.”
Col nodded. A Waryeor left such matters to the Mages, the grown females, and the healers. And the closest they had to any of that was Merek, with his healing skills. Simon, the nearest they had to a Mage, knew even less than the Bredhren did, and as for females…verily, that was cause for the haunted look in their Vixar’s eyes, was it not?
“And unfortunately, the only Mage that could tell us more and give us sage counsel is currently lost to us.”
Col gave a start. He had been so wrapped up in his own deficiencies that he had allowed out of mind the fact that there were two more Bredhren out there, who had not awakened with them.
The Mage-Waryeor. The one who had been trained as a priest, and understood the mysteries of Destines and mate-bonding. Without him, they were thrust even deeper into the unknown of this new world, and how the mysteries of their biologies functioned within it.
“So we have to proceed as best we can, with the information that we have.” Tybalt lowered his hands, placing them flat on the surface of the table.
“Yes, Vixar.”
“It would seem from your behavior of late, your wolf’s compulsion, and the agitation of the other three, that mayhap Katie Cooper is a Destine.”
Col’s jaw dropped.
The sounds of the crowds around him faded into dull roar. Surely he did not hear—?
“If it is your fate to have found your Destine in this lifetime, then the Goddess of Abundance and Prosperity surely looks upon you with favor. And I would wish that happiness upon you, mine Brodher.”
Tybalt’s voice was kind, but his eyes were filled with sadness. No doubt he was thinking of the joy that was too fleeting, and now lost to him forever. And yet despite his pain, he only wished happiness for his Brodher.
It filled Col with shame, driving out the desire and yearning at the mention of Katie Cooper.
Tybalt’s next words were as they should be from a wise leader.
“But for the stability of this War-Pack, whether it is to you or another, Katie Cooper must be mate-bonded.”
“Another?” Col’s voice was thick.
“The very presence of an unmated Destine will continue to wreak havoc upon us. And there is too great a danger that she may be used by our enemies against us, whence they arise and learn of her existence. If not you, it must be to one who is affected by her, which leaves Aylwyn, Barric or Merek.”
A low growl rumbled from Col. His jaw clenched, and he realized his teeth had bared. Tybalt laughed and picked up his knife, twirling it before pushing it back into its scabbard by his side.
“I take it that it will be to you, then.”
Col crossed his arms and thumped his chest. “As you say, so shall it be, Vixar.”
He was still uncertain that Katie Cooper was a Destine, let alone his Destine, in the absence of a Mage pronouncing it thus. But he did know that he could not bear the thought of another male mate-bonding with her. Another male that would touch her, bring her pleasure, cleave unto her…
Mine.
Col growled again, but the Vixar only dipped his head. If Katie Cooper were indeed a Destine, her mate-bonding would cause her to no longer rile the bond-less males as she had been doing. Her effect on them, and Col, had been growing to an unmanageable point. And if she were Col’s Destine, it would explain why he had been at the mercy of his senses coming alive, threatening to overtake his rational, disciplined side, the side that had made him so valuable as a Waryeor.
Mine.
At the same moment the Vixar’s phone rang, with the special sounds that indicated it was Simon’s, the other three Bredhren found them. They made quite a sight, all large, broad-shouldered males with thickly muscled bodies.
Tybalt spoke into the device, and then looked up, his eyes grave, surrounded by the other four mighty Waryeors.
“We must needs make haste to return to the house. Simon has news of import.”
Chapter Thirty
As large as Simon’s office was, it was filled to capacity with the five Waryeors, Miller Armstrong and Simon himself within it. There was only enough seating for three, but many of the Bredhren preferred standing, or as Col was doing, pacing.
Col was still reeling from the conversation he had with Tybalt before the Bredhren showed up, and they hastened back to the house. But each step that he took seemed to drive the words deeper into his mind. Destine. Mate-bonded. Another.
Could it really be?
But without a Mage, Female Shiftwere, or Healer, it was unknown if Katie Cooper was definitively a Destine, or if the mate-bonding would be enough to restore Col’s control of his Waryeor sensibilities.
And if Katie Cooper were a Destine, it was still unclear if she was meant to be his Destine. That she would choose him. In this new world, after all, he had seen the wenches that clustered around them, almost caring not which of them they were with. He had even seen some of the females with Merek one night, Barric the next, or perhaps with Aylwyn. Although the time with Katie Cooper had been as close to divinity as he had ever felt, mayhap it was not so with her. Mayhap that was why she had asked him to “take it slow,” which he had respected.
And in the meantime, Col was still finding it difficult to concentrate on the task at hand, unlike the others who were grimly focused what Simon was showing them.
On the monitor were images that Miller had taken with his phone after Simon had left the Realtor’s office. Simon had sh
ared the photos, in the event that any one of them might recognize the pattern or methods of brutality that had been visited upon this male. The signs of strain were evident in Simon’s drawn face; he had considered this savaged male a friend.
It did not look like the work of a Waryeor, with the careless violence on the body, nor did it look to be of ritual design. Yet Simon was certain that there was a connection somehow. And, it was evident that a large laptop computer of some sort was taken.
Miller had photographed the top of the desk, in front of where Blake Rickert had been seated whilst he was being tortured. The splatter of coffee had distinctly outlined the straight edges of something that had blocked it from seeping into the papers underneath.
Something that mayhap contained what Blake’s assailants were in search of.
Simon could not bear to look at photos of the body, and Col was reminded again that as brave as the young man was, he was no trained Waryeor. He could only admire Simon’s determination to get to the bottom of this, especially as it was likely to be the same person who had been looking into the ownership of Simon’s properties.
These were the properties that had been left to him by his parents, the Diviners, the ones charged with the care of the Bredhren throughout the long sleep. The Sorceress of Plenty had explained it to her faithful wolf soldiers before they succumbed to her spell. She had used up much of her power to defeat her former lover, The Dark Warlord, and put him to sleep for a thousand years. She was not able to kill him, even in his slumber – once, in her innocence, she had lent him her magic and in doing so rendered herself incapable of ending his life.
But she knew that when her former lover finally awoke, he would wreak destruction on the world, yet again.
Rivers of blood. Oceans of terror and pain and sorrow. He feasted on dark energy, on negative emotions; that was how he amplified his power.
Seven Waryeors were chosen to be put into a thousand year slumber, so they would awaken in the same years as The Dark Warlord. She gathered a group of faithful servants, the Diviners, and charged them, and their children, and their children’s children, with guarding the Waryeors. And then she used the last of her magic and her life force to send the Waryeors into their enchanted sleep.
Col: His Destined Mate Page 21