by KH LeMoyne
Yet if Vendrick had taught him, then the ancient also knew the possibilities. She lifted a brow hopefully. “Are you allowed to make up new rules?”
He canted his head and stared at her for several seconds until it was all she could do not to squirm. “We’ll see.”
“What of the person who framed me for…Gauthier’s murder. Will they be here?”
The fierce red gleam sparked for a second in Deacon’s eyes. “I’m counting on it.”
It should have made her feel better, reassured. Instead, a claustrophobic sense of dread worked its way around her heart. Deacon’s phone chimed as she started up the path toward the doors and, on impulse, found herself racing for the exit.
A full-on charge drove her as a rush of heat washed across her skin. Lights flickered behind her eyes, a disorienting flicker back and forth between her human vision and that of her beast. The bear spurred her on at an uncomfortable speed. She took no notice of direction or anything around her, all rational thought lasered in on the tightness in her chest, the scent of her mate, and the flicker of her clan’s constellations in her mind’s eye.
She’d passed through Deacon’s backyard, headed for the wood boundary as searing pain lashed down her back. Determination with equal parts dread engulfed her.
Breslin!
In a split second, she shifted. A long, mournful howl bellowed from deep inside her. Suffocated by a cloying in her throat and blinded, she crouched against the ground, trying to make sense of the deluge of emotions. A crack in her vision split before her, and all she could see was fire.
She howled again and scrambled backward.
No. Her mate was the other direction. Twisting, she crawled again toward the woods, to the border and the threat that wanted her mate.
“Rayven, please stop.”
She spun her head, hearing Callum’s voice, but still in the thrall of shock, she lumbered again toward her mate. Her limbs swam in slow motion as if through quicksand, making no headway.
“You don’t need to reach him to help him.” Callum crouched beside her, just out of reach. “I know what it’s like to experience a mating that isn’t complete, but you marked him. You have the power to reach him. To help him.”
“Pain. Fire.” She ground out the words even in her bear form. She sent a frantic glance toward the woods. Her human half understood that whatever Breslin was experiencing, she’d never make it there in time to help him. But the bear… Her bear wanted him safe and whole, the need to protect made stronger by the wave of alpha power that rippled in spikes around her.
“You can feel him, and while you can’t reciprocate with thoughts—”
Angered at the incomplete mating bond, her bear swiveled her head and bellowed again.
“Remember he’s alive. The others can get him out of the wildfire. They have a plan.”
She railed, her paws swinging. Callum fell backward and lay there, not bothering to move himself safely away from her claws. “You can send him feelings. Support. Gillian and I used to do that.”
Could she? If that was true, then all she was sending him now was her compounding terror.
“You have other tools to help him, Alpha,” Deacon said softly, crouching behind Callum with one hand on the man’s shoulder. “Lena says he has one of the clan children with him. Can you see her? Can you reach her?”
What the hell? Her butt thumped on the ground as her bear, stymied by the inability to manipulate the alpha power, allowed Rayven to take hold and shift back into her human form. With a shiver, she closed her eyes and sought the lights in the constellation. No one had pledged to her, making the idea of finding a child absurd.
“She’s born to the clan, Rayven. Until they pledge, all children are tracked by the mantle and shine for you.”
Okay, logic. She could deal with logic.
“If she’s with Breslin, you’ll be able to tell.”
Lights twinkled and flashed, whether from her own panic or unfamiliarity with the constellation, she wasn’t certain. But the sea of lights coalesced in places, creating clusters. Before, Breslin had beamed gold, but if the pain she’d felt were his injuries, then the snowflake of gold, increasingly faint, must be him.
“Lena and your team are sending a signal, an ongoing jackhammer. A rhythm he should be able to feel. He may not trust it. Can you reach the girl?”
A tinier rose-colored pulse moved beside Breslin’s light. A flutter, pure and buoyant, flitted beneath her skin. Rayven reached out, brushing softly against the fragile color. “Little one. Can you hear me? I want to help you.”
Rayven waited through the silence and after a long moment, a shot of emotion thrummed back. “Can you feel the noise? Like a drumbeat.”
A steadier pulse returned.
“Good girl. Breslin needs to follow that noise. It will lead you to a safe place.”
A soft, silky sensation of stroking fur slid across her hands. Another pulse drifted through her as if seeking assurance, and she brushed her hand over a soft patch of clover, sending the sensation and scent back. “I think she’s got him listening.”
“Help is waiting for you, little one. I’ll be here with you until you’re safe.”
“Alpha Rayven.” Callum had crawled closer on his knees and sat holding out a handkerchief. A drop hit the back of her hand, and she realized tears coated her cheeks.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—”
He shook his head with a smile, leaned closer with the handkerchief, and placed it gently in her hand. “He’ll get out. He always does. Any minute now.”
“Callum. Don’t make promises,” Deacon said.
Callum’s phone jingled, and, keeping his head bowed, he still managed to give her a wink before he turned, stood, and walked toward the house to take the call.
Too worried to move, Rayven looked at Deacon. How badly had she messed up? The run in bear form all the way from the assembly building must have blown her cover. Not that she could help it or would have done anything different. She could feel Breslin still. The pain and sensation of smoke was gone, though she suspected he was blocking her once he’d realized she could reach his young charge. The precious experience still resonated along with her worry for the child’s safety. “How many people saw what I did?”
“None,” he responded, assuming a seat in front of her and bracing his arms over his knees. “I was able to cover your escape, and no one can enter or see into the grounds surrounding my home without my invitation.”
Right. Smart and well-planned actions. Unlike her manic rampage and complete loss of control. But she didn’t even have the heart to move. Not until she knew Breslin had made it out alive. His flagging energy beat at her, but no new pain erupted over their fragile bond. She’d take heart in that. “What next?”
“You’re done with training.”
“I certainly have more to learn, or does that mean there’s no hope?”
He leaned closer, moving slowly as he lifted his hand and cupped the back of her head bringing her closer until they were eye to eye. “You need help navigating this trial. And while your instincts are raw and untrained, don’t ever doubt that you were born to be an alpha.”
Callum ran back, a hopeful look on his face. “He’s out. They’ve got both of them.”
Deacon released her, and she managed a nod, not ready to get up.
He stood and headed toward the house. “Put your mind at rest, Rayven. For I need you fresh and ready once all the alphas have arrived.”
23
Tribunal Day
From her position at the base of the assembly hall, Rayven eyed the men and women approaching her. All the alphas had finally reached Black Haven late yesterday. After a night spent tossing and turning, her emotions were raw, but every movement, facial expression, and rise and fall of the conversation amplified inside her with crystalline clarity. The bubble of her extended awareness would burst at some point; she just hoped it wasn’t before she finished here. But she’d achieved one goal
, her biggest. Callum, Brindy, even Lena all confirmed that Deacon and several of his allies were involved in finding those responsible for drugging the children in her clan and in others. They’d committed to finding a way to reverse the effects as well.
Now all she needed was to survive this inquisition.
Power advanced before the alpha board members in a formidable wave, cresting over her with a friction that burned before the first even stepped into her personal space. Her beast balked at the effrontery, and if not for Deacon’s tireless training with her before the crisis with Breslin, she’d have lost control as it clamored for the freedom to shift and confront the group.
Instead, she replayed the sensation of Breslin’s arms holding her, and drew in a shallow breath. The fleeting memory helped her maintain her shields and project calm.
“Create your own illusion, a veneer to freeze your expression, your body language, and, most importantly, fluctuations in your scent and heartbeat. Never let them see the real you.” Sounding more like a coach for a runway contestant than an alpha preparing his defendant for a murder trial, Deacon nonetheless didn’t break a smile. He remained dead serious about the fine line she must walk. There would be no second chances for failure.
Everything from the time Grizz had brought her to Deacon and Lena’s home was still a blur from the constant practicing of instantaneous shifts to periods of maintaining deathlike stillness as one after another of Deacon’s team attempted to enrage her into action. A difficult task, since she and her beast now considered most of Deacon’s team to be nonthreatening, if not all of them her friends. But her growing assurance that none of her trainers would turn on her soothed her bear in a way she’d never experienced and worked to keep her calm. Grizz and Lena’s guard, Hansen, shifted with fangs and claws at a moment’s notice. Rayven had become used to them if not exactly immune to the instinct to defend herself.
Callum, Shanae, and Brindy took no part in those games and instead fed her details on the individual alphas, historic records of tribunals and advice. Both exercises bolstered her strength.
Deacon had been persistent during her brief training. If she was to be an alpha, she must embrace the consciousness of a ruler. Nurture the heart and resilience of a survivor, exercise the quiet strength and defiance of a defender, and foster the ferocity of a predator.
She’d learned these lessons before her first shift, but hearing confirmation that was what her people needed bolstered her pride and confidence. Her people deserved no less than an alpha who would sweep them from the blackness of her father’s rule and offer them new opportunities.
His message never changed. “Don’t let anyone provoke you. No matter what they do, keep yourself hidden.”
“They’ll know eventually.”
“They’ll suspect immediately,” he said with a nod. “However, your resistance to provocation denotes strength, not weakness. As the newest and youngest of the alphas, your first impression will be the one they judge you by forever. When this trial is done, you want none of them to consider you weak, or your clan will be vulnerable until you earn a new reputation by surviving pointless challenges.”
It made sense, but she suspected he had another point. In her short time in Black Haven, she’d learned Deacon always acted for multiple reasons. Layers. He operated that way, as did Breslin. Their journey had taught her to look for layers of opportunity and not settle for easy answers. “I’ll keep the element of surprise for whoever framed me.”
“Your enemy has been clever, but not powerful. They could have just taken you out with your father. Or long before. They also have no way of knowing what I add to your defense.”
She noted his certainty, her instincts warning her he’d acquired more experience than most. Every kernel of wisdom he passed her way, she took and stored like a squirrel with precious nuts. The day would come when she needed his advice and she might have only these talks to help her weigh options. Oddly, she felt no competition with him, despite his determination to test and tax her.
“The rumor that your clan considers you incapable of calling out your beast is valuable,” he said, his tone unapologetic. She appreciated he didn’t sugarcoat her problems and placate her. He treated her as he would a peer, though they both knew she was a fledgling in his shadow. “That and your quick grasp in controlling your alpha powers will lull the perpetrator into complacency now and sway the alpha board members later.”
As she stood buffeted by a sea of mixed scents, she struggled to sort through them: wolf, feline, and fur she couldn’t recognize—badger? Something else leathery with an underlying hint of woodsy musk? She’d read through the files Callum and Brindy supplied on the reigning alphas. But while she could tell a lion shifter from a wolf, and a bear from a fox, gorilla shifter, Tasmanian devil, and various distinctions of feline weren’t obvious to her from smell. And while she only needed to see the beast once to associate the animal with its scent, no one here was going to show her their secrets.
A shudder rippled over her as a slender, petite woman with long midnight hair and perfect porcelain skin strode to the edge of the group. She met Rayven’s gaze with a cool one of her own but didn’t join in with any of the animated pockets of conversation. Alpha Ping.
Before Rayven could consider the woman further, the first alpha from the herd stalked toward her. He was wiry, well tanned, and of medium height with a full head of hair the color of burnished walnut and eyes to match. Sinewy muscles flexed beneath his silk polo shirt as he bent his head toward her neck.
She held her breath as he inhaled with an exaggerated hiss too close to her ear. He paused inches from her neck, then snapped his sharp teeth.
Her pulse jumped, though not with fear as it once would have. Struggling, she kept her gaze aimed toward the floor. Her beast disliked having a strange male—any male—close to her skin. But one glance toward him and he’d surely detect the golden-red alpha gleam in her eyes unless she could quell it.
Fury boiled her blood. The need to make an example of him about the importance of proximity and civility stretched her patience to brittleness. But she didn’t break protocol. Expressionless and still, she concentrated on the tiny scrap of Breslin’s shirt in the sleeve of her crisp white cotton blouse, her one lifeline. She risked bringing it, given the highly attuned senses of all the alphas. But since Breslin worked for Deacon and had brought her here, the fact that his scent lingered in the room was unlikely to garner any interest.
More importantly, she needed the reminder that he believed she was innocent. It might be her imagination that he’d whispered those words to her. Yet she refused to believe she’d misheard him.
Unlike the obvious distrust from most of the alphas gathered before her.
A stocky man with curly blond locks hanging over his forehead strode in front of her and bent his head toward hers. “You failed to ruffle the murderess, Estevan.”
“I merely primed her for you, Barnabas.”
She braced as Barnabas’s moss-green eyes locked on her with impending violence that froze her blood. Before she had time to prepare, his palm slashed toward her, his claws fully extended and prepared to dig deep into her arm.
“No matter what, don’t respond.” Deacon’s instructions rang in her head as she closed her eyes and crushed her retaliation. But his claws never pierced her skin.
She blinked and slid a sideways glance toward him. Barnabas remained rooted in his position, his wrist held in check by a much larger man with eyes that gleamed like silver diamonds and blond hair nearly white.
“Black,” Barnabas snarled as he tugged at his arm while fixing her with his glare. “I will challenge you for this offense.”
“A waste of your time, since he isn’t the one who stopped you from breaking my tribunal rules.” Rayven stared over Barnabas’s shoulder at the monolith-sized man behind him who’d spoken. It had to be Vendrick. Impeccably attired in a gray silk suit, black shirt, and blood-red tie, he looked more like a true corporate board me
mber than any of the others, with the exception of Alpha Sheridan. However, his barely contained energy, pulsing throughout the room, carved him out as something out of everyone else’s league. “No. Touching.”
To be fair, she’d half considered Breslin’s recounting of his teenage training to have been a result of youthful exaggeration. Memories recounted from a time long ago when he’d endured so much trauma that he’d reconstructed his mentor into someone larger than life.
She’d been wrong.
Vendrick was everything Breslin had alluded to. And more. He didn’t mute his power as the others did. It shimmered across the space between them, his magic playing along her nerves like a fine symphony. By comparison, the other alpha exhibitions ranked at the level of wily circus entertainers, though, she quickly reminded herself, they weren’t. Power and strength killed equally, with or without lovely nuance.
“She murdered an alpha,” Barnabas insisted as he tugged on his hand. “A test to measure her anger is warranted.”
“Do not bring your past to bear in these proceedings,” Vendrick said softly. Then he raised his voice for all to hear. “Ms. Karndottir is accused, not convicted. I repeat. No touching.”
Barnabas’s hand trembled, but his claws disappeared as he clenched his fist and jaw. “Fine. Enough.”
“Agreed.” Vendrick released him and nodded her way before turning back toward the boulders. He didn’t bother confirming that Barnabas had not only backed off but trailed behind him. A forgone conclusion, she figured, when one was the highest-ranking apex predator in the room. And the chairman of the international alpha board.
However, she noticed that of the others, the women showed no fear of Vendrick. The delicate-looking Alpha Ping bowed to him, and he did the same to both her and her composed but deadly-looking mate. The female alpha of Western Europe, Octavia, didn’t bother to hide her ravenous examination of him either. Her gaze should have melted the clothes from his body. And yet he offered her a deferential nod before proceeding with her to the highest seats in the alpha section.