by Kayla Wolf
No. He couldn’t. Looking at Angela’s rigid figure stalking ahead of him like the captain of the prison guard, he knew that he owed it to her to tell the truth.
By the time they reached the council room, the dragons had gathered. Alexander and Samuel were there, side by side, the brothers looking impressive and imposing as they waited. For a moment, he couldn’t tell them apart—but when Angela entered the room, Samuel’s stern face melted into an expression of relief and joy, and he hurled himself at his sister-in-law. Alexander, always more reticent, waited his turn to reach out and clasp Angela’s hands in his. Owen waited in the doorway, feeling like an intruder on this scene.
”There you are, you big weird brute!”
A piercing voice from behind him—Helena, striding down the hallway towards the council room, her golden eyes blazing. Her tone had been joking, but there wasn’t much sign of humor in her face as she approached him. She must have been talking to Art, he thought.
”We’ve been worried,” she informed him as she ushered him into the council room. “Very worried. Angela goes missing in the middle of the night, her room empty, your room empty… well, at first we assumed you were together, of course, but Art said there was something wrong when he saw you both, and—”
”Helena, let him talk,” Angela said impatiently. The dragoness wheeled on her. Owen thought for a minute that she was going to scold her—but instead, the woman just pulled her into a tight, bruising hug. He smiled a little despite himself. There was a lot of love in this strange little family.
The rest of the family joined them soon—Art and Lisa came together, the human woman absolutely dwarfed by the bear but somehow managing to compete with him in terms of presence just with the volume of her voice. She was suspicious of Owen but relieved to see Angela. He could tell they were all surreptitiously checking out their youngest family member, trying to see if she was injured, what kind of damage had been done to her… and Angela was aware of their scrutiny and annoyed by it, too, he noticed, suppressing a smile. He was going to miss this family, he realized. He was going to miss their closeness, the love they bore for each other despite their disparate and strange origins.
Stephen arrived last, and Owen couldn’t meet his eyes. The elder dragon moved to the head of the table and sat there, silent—though Owen didn’t miss the way he glanced over at Angela to confirm her safety, then tipped her a wink when she met his eyes.
“Owen,” Alexander said formally, once they were all seated. “I believe you have something to tell us.”
This was it. The moment of truth. He felt suddenly, shockingly shy in front of the gathering of shifters, their eyes fixed on him. The expressions ranged from suspicion to curiosity, to open hostility—that last from Jessica, who seemed to have come to some fairly awful conclusions in the brief time since they’d been reunited. Fair enough, too. Owen found himself looking at Art, who was sitting (as always) at the back of the room. The bear’s expression was curiously—neutral. Not neutral, exactly, but open. Expectant, without being demanding. Ready to hear whatever it was that Owen had to say. Something about that was incredibly reassuring.
”I don’t really know where to begin,” he confessed. “Probably—probably with who I am. My name is Owen. I had a second name, a long time ago, but it was lost. With my family. My real family. The family I told you about wasn’t—none of that was true. Um.” He tried to take a breath, felt his whole body shaking. “I mean, some if it might have been true. There are no other dragons left like me. They were killed, a long time ago. I was taken in by an organization called the College. Their headquarters are on the west coast.”
His voice was shaking. It felt like his throat was going to close over—all of this was so profoundly wrong, flew in the face of all his training. It was as though he could feel Tarik’s clawed hand clutching at his throat, trying to force his voice back down inside him. It was treason to speak of the College like this. Even revealing the rough location of their headquarters would be grounds for severe disciplinary action, if not death. He found Angela’s eyes. She was sitting next to Art, looking at him with curiosity and thinly veiled impatience. He couldn’t look at her—found himself looking at Art, instead, who made a tiny little gesture with his head—a kind of nod that said ‘okay, go on.’
“They train… assassins, soldiers. They’re a military organization, of sorts, it’s hard… hard to describe. I was valuable for my size, my strength. They don’t just train operatives for combat, they have… intelligence branches, information about shifter societies across the continent. Across the world, even. But I don’t—I didn’t have access to any of that. I was just a fighter, a weapon, a—”
”It’s hard for you to talk about.” That was Alexander’s voice. The dragon king looked sympathetic if still guarded. “We can see that.”
”The training,” he said, teeth gritted. “I can’t—begin to describe. But my eyes—”
”A badge of initiation.” The family glanced around, surprised to hear Stephen’s voice. Owen was surprised, too. “Once trained to the organization’s satisfaction, initiates’ eyes are colored that way. A mark of the obliteration of who they once were.”
“You know?” Owen said stupidly. “You knew?”
”I’ve been around a very long time, Owen.” Why was this dragon so hard to read? His face betrayed only curiosity. And Owen could tell from the way that Alexander was looking at his father that he hadn’t said anything about what he knew before this moment, either. The stoic dragon king was fighting to maintain composure, clearly furious that information had been kept from him. At least Owen wasn’t the only one having a hard time today, he thought with something like amusement.
But that wasn’t even the hard part, he realized numbly. Now he had to tell them about the last few weeks—about why he’d really come here.
”The College sent me up north a few weeks ago,” he said now, bracing himself. “Their services can be hired, for a price. A band of white-eyed dragons with a settlement just past the Canadian border.”
Helena gasped, her hand flying to Art’s forearm. “Seriously?”
”They wanted me to come to you,” he said steadily, hoping to get through this as quickly as he could. “They wanted me to steal an artefact, and to kidnap a princess named Angela. So I flew down, invented a cover story, came to live among you. Espionage was part of my training,” he said, apologetically.
”You—you didn’t run away together,” Jessica broke in, her eyes blazing. “You kidnapped her. You stole her! Like they stole Helena! You were going to sell her to those bastards like an animal—”
”Jess!” Angela snapped—Owen realized Jessica was on the brink of shifting, the flesh rippling strangely under her skin, her silver eyes shining with the magic of transformation. When she spoke again, her voice was distorted.
”Why shouldn’t I kill you? Right now? You’re the worst kind of traitor—“
”Because he brought me back, you idiot,” Angela said angrily. “He brought me back, and he’s telling the truth! Let him finish!”
“She’s right,” Owen said numbly, shaken by the wolf’s fury. “I was going to—just leave her, with those dragons. Accept the College’s fee. Return to my work.”
”But you didn’t,” Angela broke in. She seemed angry with him, he realized, but not for the reason he would have expected. Surely, she should be with her sister, furious with him for infiltrating them, for betraying them, for the harm he’d brought to their door. “You didn’t leave me. You saved me from all of them, and you nearly died flying me back here! Tell that part!”
”It doesn’t matter,” Owen said blankly. “I was the reason you were there in the first place—”
”You’re useless,” Angela spat, exasperated. She got to her feet—he caught the way she swayed a little, still exhausted from the magic she’d done—and marched to the front of the room, shoving him aside with surprising force and turning to the council. “Listen!”
”Angela,
I think you should let Owen speak—” Alexander started, but Angela was having none of it.
”He’s not going to tell you what actually happened because he’s decided to be a pathetic martyr about everything,” Angela said fiercely. “The College, he was trained to be a ruthless killing machine, blah blah blah alright. Nobody disagrees that all of that was really terrible. But the part of the story I’m interested in is the part where instead of selling me into slavery, he killed a hundred people and brought me back home.” She spun, staring around the room. “He did that! Nothing made him do that except his own conscience. He saw that I was going to get hurt, and he changed his mind, and he almost died fighting everyone, and then he actually did die halfway home, but I brought him back because I figured out how to do blood magic—Stephen, we have to talk about that later—and now he’s here, instead of running away, but he’s going to tell you all the bad parts and leave out all of the good parts, so it’s a good thing I’m here!”
There was a ringing silence. To Owen’s surprise, he could see an expression on Stephen’s face that was almost like a smile.
”Owen,” Alexander said finally. “What will happen to you when you return to the College?”
”They’ll kill me.”
”Eventually,” Stephen said softly. Owen looked up at the old dragon, nodding reluctantly—it was true, the mercy of a swift death was never extended to traitors. Stephen seemed to know a lot more about the College than he was letting on. He’d be interested in that if he had the spare energy.
“You betrayed them, then, by refusing to leave Angela with the northern dragons.” Alexander’s eyes were keen like his father’s. For the first time, Owen could see the resemblance.
”Yes.”
”You rejected your training.”
He shrugged, taken aback by the question. “I had to. They were going to—”
”And you are rejecting your training here, now, by speaking to us. Telling us the truth about this organization, about what they made of you.”
”Yes.” What was Alexander getting at?
”I have a question.” That was an unexpected voice. Art was looking at him, his dark brown eyes thoughtful. “Do you remember who you were, before them?”
Owen shut his eyes. He’d been hoping to avoid that question. He could feel his body tensing up, feel the walls at the innermost core of himself beginning to tremble. Not a good question. He’d prefer to talk in detail about what he’d done at the College, about the terrible things they’d asked of him. All the bloodshed and killing… that was easier to confront than what Art was asking of him now.
”What does that have to do with anything?” Angela demanded to know. But Stephen hushed her.
”Let him answer,” the old dragon said, his eyes bright. Owen remembered the strange conversation they’d had, only a few days ago—it felt like an eternity. Can you be strong enough, the old dragon had asked. Was this what he’d meant?
”I was born in a peaceful community of dragons who lived by the ocean,” he breathed, and it felt like his voice was coming from somewhere else entirely. “We were there for generations. Our history stretched back to the time of the dinosaurs. We were friends with the wolves in the area. We knew the native humans, before the invasion. We—” His voice was trapped in his throat. “There are no records left. They took care of that. Just me.”
There was a long silence. Then there were voices. Owen couldn’t hear them, couldn’t make out what was being said. He’d never felt so tired in all his life like he’d dug out something very significant at the core of his being and the rest of him was trying to cope with the new excavation. When he looked up, he caught Art’s eye. The bear was smiling at him. So was Stephen. He shook himself a little—tuned back into the argument that was building up in the room.
”We clearly have a great deal more to discuss,” Alexander said stiffly. “Owen—Angela—you should rest—”
”No way,” Angela snapped. “I’m staying.”
”I’ll take Owen to his quarters. Keep an eye on him,” Art said softly, rising to his feet. Owen wasn’t too far gone to understand what that meant. Stop him from running. Stop him from doing any more damage. Alexander nodded, his jaw tight. The king had a big decision ahead of him. Owen didn’t envy him.
Art walked him down the hall in blessed silence. When they reached the door to the room that had been assigned to him, he looked up at the bear, not sure how this was going to go. Was his guard going to sit in his room with him, make sure he didn’t make a false move? But Art just stretched—then sat down, cross-legged, by the door.
“It’ll get easier, now,” was all he said.
Owen hoped that was true. He certainly couldn’t imagine it getting any harder.
Chapter 14
The meeting went much longer than Angela had expected it to go. She was still so tired, but part of her knew she had to stay there—had to bear witness, be a voice in the room on Owen’s side. He hadn’t exactly done a great job of explaining himself, after all, though she felt that (with her help) the important points, at least, had been covered. She stuck to her guns even after he left, clearly shell shocked.
”Why are you defending him?” Jessica demanded after half an hour of fruitless arguing. Her sister was absolutely furious. She wanted Owen banished, or killed, or chained up in the basement, or something—her position seemed to change every few minutes, she was so riled up. Even Samuel couldn’t calm her—the dragon kept putting a steadying hand on her arm, and she just kept shrugging it off. Angela understood, of course, she did. They’d had a history together, she and Jessica. She’d been through something like this before, with Angela being held captive, used to manipulate her… it was natural that she was reacting like this. But nothing bad had happened this time. “You’re acting like he did nothing wrong!”
”Of course he did something wrong, but he fixed it!” Angela exploded. “He fought for me, Jessica! You weren’t there, you don’t know how—how bad it was. He was ready to die. He—“
”He should’ve died! Why didn’t you let him?” Jessica snarled. “You said you did—magic or some stupid thing? How could you be so reckless? What if you’d died out there?”
”We were in the middle of nowhere! I couldn’t just leave him to bleed to death. He was trying to get me home—”
”—after kidnapping you! Angela! You don’t even know this guy! Everything he’s ever said to you has been a lie—”
”Not everything,” Angela said softly. “Not everything.”
”I can’t talk to her,” Jessica said, throwing her hands up in furious rejection of the whole conversation. “He’s brainwashed her or something.”
”I don’t think that’s it,” Stephen put in gently. “I think Angela’s thinking very clearly.”
”Enough of this,” Alexander said finally, clapping his hands. He’d been sitting, watching the argument unfold, a frown on his face and his fingers steepled together. This was how he tended to make decisions, their stoic king—he’d spectate on the arguments, not taking a side, occasionally interjecting with questions or requests for clarification… then he’d deliver a verdict. But he still looked troubled. “I’ll admit, I’m not sure what to do.”
Jessica threw her hands up. Samuel put his arm around her, but she shrugged him off. Angela knew the look in her eye. She’d be inconsolable for a day or two at least.
”It’s true that Owen’s crimes are serious,” the king continued. “He deceived us all, found a place among us under false pretenses. And whatever your defense of him, Angela, he did kidnap you.”
She clenched her jaw.
”But,” he continued. “By the same token, he did bring you back to us—and in doing so, by your report, dealt a significant blow to a force we didn’t even know was still extant. A group who clearly bore a significant grudge against us, and was scheming against one of our number—” he glanced at Helena, who nodded stiffly. The dragoness hadn’t said much—just that she was glad to hear
the white dragons had been destroyed. The situation had clearly brought up some unpleasant memories for her. “They were clearly in search of revenge. And he brought you home, at great risk to himself, and came forward with what we assume is the real truth.”
”It is,” Stephen said simply. Alexander nodded, and Angela felt a burst of curiosity. Was it just that Alexander trusted his father’s judgment, or was there something else to the elder dragon’s ability to discern who was lying and who was telling the truth?
”A lot of awful things nearly happened. But in terms of actual harm done—it’s minimal.”
”Minimal? He nearly sold my baby sister into slavery—”
”I’m not a baby any more, Jessica!” Angela snapped. “Stop treating me like I’m a kid!”
”You are a kid,” Jessica snarled. “You have no idea what you’re talking about—you fell for this guy, and now you think he can do no wrong—”
”Didn’t you think Samuel was the enemy when you met him?” Angela demanded. “Didn’t stop you from trusting him, did it?”
”That was different!” Jessica snapped “He was my mate!”
There was a long silence, then. Angela felt the weight of curious attention from the shifters around her, felt her cheeks burning. Then she turned on her heel and walked out of the council room. She needed space, needed distance, needed—above all—something to eat. She’d been starving since they’d gotten back that morning, what felt like a million years ago but could only have been a couple of hours. Let them keep bickering about what to do with Owen. She’d said her piece—they could sort it out themselves. She just hoped her stupid, stubborn, over-protective sister would listen to reason.