There was no greeting from the man on the other end. It was short and to the point. “We’re going to be at the Long Horn farm in an hour.”
He was startled that it wasn’t Tristen calling. An hour gave him very little time to shower the Hill from his skin. It gave him even less time to process his experience with the faeries and to hide the collar.
SEVEN
The heady scent of sizzling bacon fat drew Mercer down the staircase. He threw his shirt over his head and straightened it, then ran his fingers through his wet hair. It was good to be surrounded by the familiarity of the farm, but there was a filter that kept him separated, like he brought something back from the Hill besides the smoke he inhaled.
“Mercer, are you feeling okay?” Patience asked.
He blinked, finding himself standing in the kitchen doorway with Patience at the stove, his guests at the table and his trusted circle of betas lingering against the counters. All five brothers were now present with comparable features and yet very perceptible differences.
He forced a smile. “I’m fine, thank you.”
Sadie gave him a wink, which deterred his direction from the table to the counter. Patience caught him midstride, forcing a loaded plate with breakfast food, into his hand. Despite the aroma his stomach didn’t growl. He should’ve been hungry. Instead, he picked up the toast and took a bite, playing it over his tongue and finding it unappealing.
“It’s true then, you went into the Hill? I guess Wyatt was right about the faeries,” Briley said. When he wasn’t needed on the farm, he spent his time at an animal rescue reserve.
“Medicine over mythology,” Wyatt said. He sipped his coffee and kept a neutral face.
The brothers passed each other sidelong glances. Mercer knew when he first took over as alpha that Wyatt had an obsession with faeries, but he didn’t know how far that extended into his personal life. This was a delicate topic, something that Rider and Axel had never openly shared about their childhood, though he was aware of the pack’s history due to Hota’s personal records on every pack. He’d ask Wyatt about his mania on the topic, but the first born brother spent most of his days working on his medical internship and very little time on the farm unless needed.
“I need to find someone named Wolffey, stick the collar on him and the queen is willing to take me to Chancellor’s,” he said. He shoveled eggs into his mouth. They were moist and perfect, but without an appetite, they didn’t quite sate the buried spark of need within his gut.
“When do we leave for the Bird’s Nest?” Wyatt asked.
There was relief in knowing Rider had already filled them in. He’d never been at a loss for words, but with a heavy mind and heavy heart, even a few words were tiring to speak. He sat the plate down, ready to discuss the details when the sound of car doors shutting, rocked the tranquil setting.
The hair on the back of Mercer’s neck rose in response. “Betas with me, everyone else, go upstairs,” he ordered. All but Sadie and Eva started moving. “Rider, would you get the door.
Rider nodded in the doorway, before disappearing into the living room. Eva slid from her chair a little quicker than Sadie, both dragging their feet to show they weren’t afraid of him. When the full moon hit, they would challenge each other and him to show their place among the pack. He’d have to resort to stronger measures to make sure they knew they weren’t wanted before anyone on his farm got hurt.
“Do you really have the time to throw your weight around?” Sadie asked, folding her arms. In her six inch heels, she’d be easy to throw off balance. She wasn’t challenging anything more than his authority, and patience wasn’t his virtue today.
“I will have the both of you in the car and on your way out before tonight,” he told them.
Eva openly laughed, short, clipped and loud. “Alpha, it looks like you’re busy trying to manage your life. We’ll see who is placed where, soon enough.”
On that note, they walked out, Sadie’s shoes clipping hard against the tile floor, singling her exit. Eva was right, things were hectic. He could only focus on one problem at a time, and though they were unwelcomed, they weren’t the biggest issue he faced. A pronounced headache was starting to make his temples pound.
The group that formed in his living room wasn’t loud, but their presence was deafening. Five of the six mission leaders waited in their black suits and ties looking like they were present for a board meeting, not pack business. Each was accompanied by their first general and a handful of their betas. The room wasn’t large enough for that many people, leaving many of them squished and a few of them outside on the porch.
Rider had his brothers pulled back towards the staircase. Mercer knew the drill from following Hota to his meetings. He was allowed to have his betas present, but if they got in the way, they would be killed.
Ajani, the Mission Leader for Africa, Tamerlane, the Mission Leader for Australia, Pembroke, the Mission Leader for Europe, Junipero, the Mission Leader for South America and Dichi, the Mission Leader for Asia, stood, expectant. The only one missing was Hota to represent North America.
Despite the anxiety their presence brought, his stomach twisted for Hota. Did this mean he cared more about the old man than he thought?
To his surprise and relief, Tristen stood between two guards, unharmed. It meant a great deal to him that Hota’s first general was still alive. He had his doubts when it wasn’t Tristen who called to tell him the Mission would be at the farm in an hour.
“Mercer Long Horn, you were listed as Hota Long Horn’s replacement as the North American Mission Leader,” Ajani said. The man kept his hands pressed at his side. It provided a false sense of calm. “Due to recent circumstances, your position within the Mission will be held.”
“Did you know that Hota listed you as his replacement?” Tamerlane asked.
He was careful not to catch Tristen’s eyes, least someone read into it. He didn’t have to over think the question. Spare the details and answer it as directly as it had been asked. “I didn’t.”
He wanted to mention the bots Axel found in the fire, but he didn’t want to field the questions. Hota’s reaction to the mention of faeries was violent enough that he didn’t want to go through that with the Mission.
“I can confirm that Hota didn’t call Mercer until we were in town,” Tristen said. The general crossed his arms. “They confirmed where they were going to meet over the phone. Hota insisted I stay behind and he waited inside the bar.”
“Waited for how long?” Dichi asked.
When Tristen didn’t answer, Mercer cleared his throat. “Maybe twenty minutes. The street was already blocked off by the time I got there. My beta, Axel was there with the fire department.”
Axel stepped forward when directed and reported. “The fire was contained between three buildings. I’d never seen anything like this before. We weren’t able to enter.”
Mercer held his breath, waiting for a word to slip that he’d be responsible for explaining. He hadn’t coached his betas on what to say if questioned, and Axel was careful not to look at him as he gave details only on the fire. He slowly let his breath out when Axel stepped back with the others.
“Where were you last night when Hota called?” Ajani asked.
Mercer swallowed. He expected this question, had mentally prepared himself for it, but being the center of attention in a full room left his mind blank. Discussing his personal life wasn’t an option.
“If you’re asking for an alibi, I don’t have one.”
“So you weren’t at the farm last night?” Ajani pressed.
Mercer kept his breathing steady, refusing to let his anger get the best of him. He’d always felt under scrutiny after Hota had caught him with another male pack member. He refused to explain.
“No, I wasn’t and there is no one that can speak for me. You will have to take my word on it. I’m not responsible for the fire,” he said. A coward would kill from behind. If he wanted to challenge Hota, he’d have done it in
a moon circle with witnesses, like he had with Giordano, the original Texas alpha.
The Mission Leaders remained unreadable. If they wanted him dead, there would be no trial. He’d be hung on the spot, or ripped apart. He wasn’t thrilled with either option.
Ajani stepped forward. “Mercer Long Horn, you are under detention for suspected murder.”
“Don’t let them do this, Mercer! You can prove you’re innocent,” Fallah screamed.
He threw a hand back, not daring to break eye contact with Ajani. “Fallah, stay out of this.”
“Does she speak for you, Mercer?” Ajani asked.
“She’s a guest in the house. She doesn’t speak for the pack or me.” Fallah had been without a pack, she didn’t know the dynamics.
The Mission betas stepped forward and the hairs on the back of his neck stood on end. They outnumbered him, but he wouldn’t allow his people to get involved.
Fallah dug her feet into the ground, fighting to get free from Rider. Desperation was clear in her tone, though Mercer refused to turn and look at her. "You have to show them what was found at the bar. You aren’t responsible for this."
Mercer's stomach clenched. “Briley, take her out of the room.”
Fallah left quietly with Briley, but the damage was done. Junipero leaned into Dichi and started whispering. The voices were extremely low, but the suspicion was there. Ever since the mysterious murder of General Ezekiel and his unit, no one really trusted him.
“Explain what was found at the fire,” Ajani ordered.
Mercer weighed his options. He could dismiss what Fallah said, but Ajani’s stern glare said otherwise. They were looking for any reason to hang him, though he was innocent on both Ezekiel and Hota’s account.
“Axel, bring the box into the room,” Mercer said.
Axel was gone a brief second, returning with the box of broken devices. The profound stench of burnt metal filled the living space. It made his head throb harder. From the way the others started shifting, they found the scent no more pleasing than he did.
The firefighter stood just behind him, until Ajani motioned for him to step forward. The rest of the Mission leaders circled around the box. A few reached in and pulled out the small devices to examine. Ajani took one look at the stomach of the device in his hand and tossed the bug back into the box about the same time as the others. They recognized the marking.
Mercer’s chest tightened.
“You found these at the fire last night?” Tamerlane asked.
“Yes.” Short, sweet and to the point. Axel knew the drill.
Tamerlane rubbed his hand over his suit with disgust. “It’s the Tri-Hearts or someone pretending to be the Tri-Hearts.”
They recognized the symbol. That should’ve brought relief, but the anxiety remained. It bought him time, but it did nothing for Hota. The North American Mission Leader was still in danger.
“I believe Hota is still alive. Do you know how to get to them?” Mercer asked.
The stony looks thrown at him were less than inviting. It was Pembroke who answered. “No one gets to the Tri-Hearts. They aren’t on the same realm as us.”
“Enough Pembroke, he isn’t a Mission Leader until he’s sworn in,” Ajani said. His attention flickered to Axel and the others just behind him before his attention returned to Mercer. “This is a private matter. You are to remain on the farm until your name is cleared.”
“Until last night, I didn’t know the Tri-Hearts existed. I’m not responsible for the fire,” Mercer said. It took a great deal of patience to keep his voice calm. The anger boiled inside him.
Ajani’s eyes darkened. "Don't try to run, Mr. Long Horn. We will track you down if you do.”
“I have nothing to run from. I’m innocent. I didn’t start that fire and I’m positive Hota wasn’t one of the bodies found. You find the Tri-Hearts and you will find Hota,” Mercer stared him down.
“That might be, but you will remain on the farm,” Ajani warned.
Mercer stood back and watched them leave. Rider was the first to join Axel and him.
“I can go to the Bird’s Nest and see if I can find this Wolffey,” Rider said.
“I’m not going to passively sit by and watch others do what I should be doing,” Mercer said. Before anyone could argue, he was climbing the staircase to get the collar. He had to find Wolffey and it had to be tonight.
oOo
Wolffey jolted from the obscurity of unconsciousness, gasping for air. The piercing cold immediately stole every shallow breath he drew. He clasped the edge of the tub. Brown water and ice slid over the smooth porcelain surface onto the dingy yellow tile.
Memories collided, forcing his thoughts to form a conclusion. He sat in a tub, filled to the rim with ice cubes bobbing on the surface of the water. He moved his frozen fingers under his shirt. There were no open wounds beyond the scratch. The vampires didn’t steal his organs.
The air popped and Rufus appeared. His wings shimmered in the dim bathroom light. Wolffey forced his eyes open; not realizing that he’d closed them again and was sinking back into the stupor.
“Thank Gaia, ye’re finally awake, laddie.” Rufus hung in the air inches from his face. “Ye were sleeping in ice water.”
Wolffey’s cheekbone and jaw ached. He opened and closed his mouth to make sure his jaw was only stiff and not broken. When he was sure he could talk, he groaned. “I don’t think my body is willing to move.”
“Hurry, Wolffey. This is nary good for ye’r temperature and I can’t help ye,” Rufus encouraged. There was no wind and no energy that living things emitted. The tiny faerie was no better than a vivid hallucination.
“Alright,” he groaned, grasping the edge of the tub and forcing his stiff muscles into obedience. The movement forced his brain to acknowledge the different levels of pain, acute in some areas and a dull ache in others.
His movement sent more water rolling over the side, adding considerably to what gathered on the floor. He could picture Dyckran dropping him haphazardly into the tub. It would explain the not so dull ache at the back of his skull. The punch in the face accounted for the throb in his cheek.
Wolffey managed to get his feet underneath him, but he couldn’t lock his kneecaps and stand. Instead, he fell over the side of the tub, landing hard on his right shoulder. The impact spread through his body and he curled, trying to breath past the pain that centered on the core of the Beithir wound. He’d been bit once, by a Red Cap, and despite the long painful recovery, the Beithir scratch was instantly worse. It felt like someone twisted a large needle in his cut.
“Get move’n, Wolffey.”
The sound of his name kick started the need for survival. He reached for the towel overhead, unable to clasp the fabric due to his stiff fingers. It loosened enough at his insistence, and finally fell over his head. The thin, overly washed fabric and diminutive length was little help keeping his body heat in. It was time to get moving, to strip out of his icy clothing and survive until the bitter end… which would be coming soon enough.
Mayda had not even bothered taking his shoes off before dunking him into the icy water. As grateful as he was to still be fully dressed, there was a great deal of discomfort in wearing cold cling to him. He pulled his fingerless gloves off and pressed his hands into the towel until he could bend his fingers. He kicked off his shoes and stripped; something he rarely did in an unsecured room, but he had to get warm.
He glanced around the cramped bathroom with all its imperfections; cracks in the off-yellow walls, and tiny tiles missing from the floor. It was a dive, but it eased his anxiety. The gypsies didn't move him, which meant the Bird Nest was still down the street. On the other hand, by not placing him somewhere secure, it meant that Grand Master Bohu didn’t find him a threat. That left him uneasy, but it wasn’t enough to detour him from his mission. He always had a hand in risky undertakings, this wasn’t much different.
“Ye were bit by the Beithir,” Rufus said.
“Scratched
,” Wolffey corrected.
He wrapped the towel around his waist and used the cabinet to stand. The dim light gave his skin a flushed hue. His eyes burned with fever, making both the lavender rings and his pupils dilated, enveloping the golden brown of his irises. A bruise bloomed on his cheek bone under his right eye, a long purple and black mark. His damp hair clung to his face, making his usual sharp features appear sunken.
He pulled his hair back, and ran his fingers over his neck, not trusting the reflection in the mirror. There were no tender spots on his neck, but he traced over his skin again, pressing. The gypsies had left him with nothing more than the bruise. That was considerably lucky, since Mayda was right; he had let his guard down.
“It looks bad,” Rufus said, landing on the edge of the counter and clicking his tongue to show his disapproval.
Wolffey brushed his fingers on the outer perimeter of the Beithir scratch. The explosion of pain set his teeth on edge. He took shallow breathes, digging his fingers into the counter until it felt like his nails would bleed. Slowly, the throbbing cleared from his mind, but it lingered in his gut in the form of bile. The wound was the size of a dime, but the deep purple bruising around it filled the space of a half dollar.
There was nothing he could do with the amount of venom released in his system. No amount of alchemy was going to straighten this. He had to move fast while he could still think straight and had full use of his body.
He slid his emergency kit over and dug into the bag until he found the plant salve. The ointment had a sharp rotten milk smell, unpleasant though he used it often. He took a spot of it and dotted his skin. He growled, determined not to surrender to the urge to sit down.
“Nothing is going fix it. Lad, I don’t suggest this lightly. Ye need to get to Aire’Si,” Rufus said.
Wolffey’s breath hitched and he swallowed hard, holding his air until the quiver was gone. He had tried hard not to think about the state he left Aire’Si in; the way those midnight blue eyes engulfed everything about him. Within seconds, he knew his mentor had a list of ways to get out of the golden net he was stuck in, yet he didn’t attempt it. Aire’Si watched him, waiting out the situation, calculating his circumstances. And all Wolffey suddenly wanted from the situation was a kiss. Aire’Si would kill him when he caught up.
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