About Face (Wolf Within)

by Amy Lee Burgess

  * * * *

  The news of Paddy’s death had spread, and An Puca was crowded with mourning pack members. A steady background of muffled sobs accompanied me as I made my way to Fee’s table in the front. The Alpha table.

  Her face was pulled tight with grief, hazel eyes clouded with incomprehension as she clutched a glass of amber whiskey but didn’t drink it. Murphy sat protectively close beside her, one arm around her shoulders. His whiskey glass was half empty, and his eyes were so dark an involuntary shiver sizzled down my spine.

  His parents, Paddy’s mother and her bond mate, Alannah Doyle, Declan Byrne, a petite woman with long black hair who must have been Deirdre and her bond mate, Colm O’Reilly, were squeezed tightly together around the rest of the table. The red-haired giant took up most of the room.

  When my shadow fell across the whiskey glasses spread across the tabletop, everyone but Fee looked up. She was somewhere else, deep down inside herself. My gut twisted in sympathy. I knew that particular territory with bitter familiarity.

  Declan Byrne’s lip lifted into a sneer, but before he could spit whatever venomous words he had in mind, I raised my voice loud enough so everyone in the pub could hear me.

  “Declan Byrne, by the power entrusted in me as an Advisor to Jason Allerton, who, in turn, represents the Great Council, I hereby charge you with the following crimes—conspiracy to commit murder, conspiracy to depose the Alpha male of Mac Tire and treason against the Great Pack. I hereby command you to appear before a tribunal and answer to these charges.”

  Someone whispered, “Fuuck” and then dead silence.

  “Piss off.” Declan reached out for his whiskey. Murphy adroitly snatched it off the table.

  Declan gaped at him. “You can’t seriously think that twat knows what she’s saying, can you? She’s delirious, Liam. This is just another ploy for relevance, can’t you see that?”

  “Maybe these will convince you I’m not talking out of my ass.” I tossed two of the photographs I’d found in the manila folder onto the table. Despite himself, Declan glanced down, and his whole body convulsed into stillness.

  Murphy snagged one of them and turned it so he could see. Every bit of color drained from his face, and the scent of his fury enveloped us all in an invisible cloud. Even Fee reacted. She turned her head to him, some of the mindless grief evaporating from her eyes.

  I passed out two more to people at nearby tables, and there was silence as the photographs were circulated. Silence and the scent of escalating fury.

  In all the photographs, Declan Byrne stood in a cobblestoned alley with an old man. His right hand was extended, and the object he held was plain to see—a knife. The old man reached for it, and his profile was clear and distinct. Mick Shaughnessy.

  “Grandfather Mick stabbed Paddy,” cried out a young man by the bar. Two nights ago, he’d sat next to Etain Feehery and made fun of Others. “Declan gave him the knife?”

  Growls and mutters filled with air, and Declan paled.

  “This proves nothing,” he sputtered. “This could have been taken anytime. Years ago. It’s not a crime to give somebody a knife. And who can prove it was the knife he used on Paddy?”

  “You’re wearing the same clothes in the photograph as you are right now,” pointed out a red-haired man at a nearby table. His face was thunderous with suspicion.

  “Grandfather Mick was wearing the same clothes today as he was in the picture, too,” added Murphy, his jaw so tight, the tendons were clearly defined.

  “Why? Why’d you do it?” Paddy’s mother stuffed a hand to her mouth in horror.

  “I didn’t! I swear I had no idea what the old bastard was going to do with the knife. How the hell would I know?” Declan’s blue eyes were frantic with fear. He could smell the violence and rage gathering in the pub. One word from me or Murphy could incite a mob who would rip him to shreds with their bare hands.

  Nobody fucks with the Alpha.

  I heard Jason’s words clearly in my head. Know that whatever you decide to do with it, I will support you one hundred percent. I cannot emphasize this enough.

  It was tempting as hell.

  “What were you doing giving that man a knife, Byrne?” Colm demanded. “You know there’s something funny going on with him. Nobody knew where he was, and we’ve been looking for him for months now. How’d you manage to find him, and why give him a knife instead of bring him here so people could know he was all right? We were worried about him, but what’s really been going on is that you and he have been plotting all along to kill Paddy. You know you want to be the next Alpha. Weren’t you just sitting here offering to bond with Fee, for the sake of her wee unborn child? Didn’t you start a campaign to bed her a few months ago as well? So she’d turn to you in her hour of grief? This wasn’t about Councilor Allerton at all. Paddy was the target all along. You plotted this whole thing, didn’t you? Had to have a dupe to kill him for you so you could step into his shoes and be Alpha?

  “Well, fuck that!” Colm knocked over his chair as he lumbered to his feet. Six foot six was very tall, and everyone’s necks tilted back so they could maintain eye contact.

  “You were offering the same damn thing, Colm,” yelled Declan, but he was intimidated. Rank sweat beaded his forehead and his hand shook as he wiped it away. “You want to be Alpha of this pack too, don’tcha? It was between you and me. This was make or break time for you, wasn’t it?”

  “I’m not the one who gave that old bastard the knife, Declan,” shouted Colm, his meaty hands clenched into fists.

  “But your Deirdre’s pregnant, and this would solve everything.” Declan’s twisted smile was full of triumph.

  “Declan.” Alannah’s voice was soft and betrayed. She’d told him. Her twin had confided in him and she’d told her bond mate.

  The petite, black-haired woman paled and I thought she might faint, but she gripped the edge of the table with both hands and managed to stay upright.

  Colm looked at his twin sister in shock.

  “If you take me away, you’d better take him, too. I’ll swear he was in on it with me!” Declan pointed a finger at me. If I’d been closer, I would have snapped it at the knuckle.

  “You can tell the tribunal any fucking thing you want,” I told him. “They’re Councilors. They can tell bullshit from the truth easily enough.”

  His face darkened and made him ugly.

  I looked around the room. “I’m going to need two men to help me escort Mr. Byrne to the safe house. Any volunteers? We’ll need a car.”

  Pandemonium as every man in the pub rushed to get to me.

  Murphy’s father jumped to his feet. “As a representative of the Regional Council, it’s my duty to escort the man into custody.”

  At his words, Declan Byrne sagged in relief. My stomach clenched. Why relief? Because there was less chance of him being murdered on his way to the safe house if there were a Councilor along, or something more sinister—Glenn Murphy was a part of the Guardians and on Declan’s side?

  I wished I knew what Murphy’s thoughts were, but his face was a frozen mask.

  Surely a father wouldn’t help engineer the death of his own son’s bond mate and force him from the Alpha position?

  Then I thought of my father, and all bets were off. Sometimes family meant shit next to personal glory or a so-called greater cause. Was Murphy’s father one of those men? He’d seemed so nice and normal when we’d eaten pie together in his kitchen, but people lied. They schemed and concealed, cheated and plotted, murdered and covered up.

  Glenn Murphy’s gaze traveled around the room and settled on the young man by the bar.

  “Ryan Kelly, you come with us.” I was no longer in charge. The Councilor had taken over.

  The young man came forward, fists clenched. He was extremely attractive with thick brown hair and eyes so dark they were nearly black. His cheeks and chin were covered with dark brown stubble. Wildness lurked beneath his taut body, and I wondered if Declan Byrne would arr
ive at the safe house with bruises and broken bones.

  Murphy took a step toward me, but his father noticed the movement. “You stay with Fee, Liam,” he ordered.

  Fee took hold of his wrist and buried her face in his arm. Murphy sank back into his chair and pulled Fee closer so her head rested on his shoulder. I was on my own.

  Ryan Kelly took hold of Declan Byrne’s upper arm and marched him across the pub floor. People made reluctant way. Someone spat at him, and it struck his cheek.

  “You fucking idiot,” muttered Byrne, and if I hadn’t stepped between him and the man who’d spat, there would have been a brawl.

  Ryan Kelly managed to knock Declan’s head against the wall on the way out the door. It was very nicely done, and Declan’s roar of protest was drowned beneath a groundswell of muttered approval from the pack.

  Some violence was necessary to bleed off the pack’s collective rage.

  Alannah Doyle sat stiffly in her chair. She’d made no protest when her bond mate had been dragged away, and as I left the pub, I looked back at her. Still frozen in place, her cheeks were bright with either humiliation or anger—I wasn’t close enough to smell which.

  She caught my gaze, and her expression sharpened into vivid hatred. I’d made an enemy today.

  * * * *

  Three hours later I sat across from Jason Allerton at a small table set beneath an arched window in his suite of rooms at the safe house. Before us on the polished mahogany surface were plates heaped with pork chops and mashed potatoes. A bottle of wine, half full, sat directly between us and made it difficult to look at each other’s faces.

  He ate while I moved food around my plate and waited.

  Once in Glenn Murphy’s car, I’d called Allerton and told him we had Declan Byrne in custody. He’d directed us to the safe house but advised us to stop for clothes along the way. We would all be required to stay at the safe house for the duration of the tribunal.

  Ryan Kelly turned out to be Glenn Murphy’s Advisor. He’d seemed furious enough at Declan Byrne on the long ride to the castle safe house, and I wondered if both he and the Councilor he served were Pack First. Perhaps that was why Murphy had not wanted to discuss his father or his possible knowledge of the conspiracy. If Glenn and Paddy had been on opposite sides of it, of course he would be the last person Murphy and Paddy could turn to for help.

  I’d tried to call Murphy to let him know I wouldn’t be home for a few days, but my call went directly to his voice mail. I ached for him to call me back. I had my phone on the table. It bothered Jason, I could tell by the glances he directed at it, but I didn’t move it.

  The first thing I’d done, after throwing my suitcases on the massive carved oak bed when we’d arrived, had been to run a bath with lavender Epsom salts.

  The water had turned Paddy’s dried blood on my arms and face liquid again. I’d watched the swirls of his red blood slowly dissipate into the bathwater and turn it a murky reddish brown.

  Each crimson spiral had fascinated me. My last physical connection to my Alpha. My friend.

  Now I’d never know if his wolf’s eyes were two different colors when he shifted. I’d wished I let him tongue-kiss me at An Puca when I’d had the chance. I’d wished I’d stayed with him. If I had, I wouldn’t have been sitting in a bath of his blood.

  I’d tried to cry, but the tears wouldn’t come. They were blocked somewhere deep inside me. My wolf scratched and snarled to be free. She wanted to howl her grief and run so fast it would be left behind. But instead I’d pulled the plug, watched the last of Paddy’s blood gurgle down the drain and dressed for dinner.

  Now, outside the arched window, sunset washed over the gray lake and the trees crouched around its perimeter. Beyond the lake was a vast field of heather. The slanting sun turned the field into a burnished glow of dark purple that hurt my eyes if I stared at it too long. I looked at it a lot.

  “If you won’t eat, at least drink some wine.” Allerton nudged my wineglass closer, but I ignored it and him.

  My wolf clamored for release. She wanted to roll in the heather, bite it, taste it, feel it beneath the pads of her paws.

  “Excuse me,” I said abruptly and shoved back my heavy wooden chair.

  Halfway down the stone corridor, I started to run and kept running until I was out the castle door, down the front stairs where Etain Feehery had watched Mick Shaughnessy stab Paddy, and past the gravel drive into the manicured gardens.

  I stripped off my clothes as I ran. First my blouse, then my skirt. My bra and panties went next, and I was down to my shoes, which I kicked off contemptuously.

  I remembered my bond pendant just before I fell to the ground and managed to put it near a clump of clover.

  The shift boiled over me like an assault, and I gasped with the pain of it. My fingers stiffened, then curled, hair sprouted in my palms. My legs twitched and arms flailed. My spine gave a terrific crack as I arched up like a Halloween black cat and then, just as the agony was too much to bear and I thought I would rip apart, I blinked out to complete the change in the soundless, black dimension that only appeared to me midshift.

  Tonight instead of blackness, the light was silver, and it glowed. It seemed I hesitated there a fraction longer than usual, enough to make my heart seize, and then I was back.

  Four legged and furry now, I lifted my nose to the setting sun and let out a mournful howl. From somewhere in the distance behind me, perhaps the guardhouse, someone howled back in perfect, grief-stricken understanding.

  Then I ran.

  * * * *

  This is grief. This is pain. This is feeling bad, so, so, bad it hurts me. I want the pain gone. My Alpha! Mine! And I was his! Now, gone, all gone. Run? Run for him. Run for all the dead ones that cannot come back.

  Hate. This is hate. This is fury. This is wanting to tear apart the things that hurt me. That hurt him. I want the hate gone. Run? Run? Yes! Run faster than everything and it will all be gone.

  * * * *

  When I emerged, naked and in human form, from between the small copse of trees near the gray lake, I saw Allerton. He sat on the small patch of clover, patient, not the least bit concerned with grass stains on his Armani pants.

  He’d gathered all my clothes, including my bond pendant, which he silently handed me when I approached. He stood back while I dressed. He did not stare, nor did he avert his eyes. I pulled on my clothes but didn’t rush. Let him get an eyeful. The moonlight illuminated the clearing almost as brightly as if it were day. What did he care? He’d seen me naked before, and we were both Pack.

  He helped me fasten my bond pendant and plucked bits of grass and leaves from my tangled hair. Neither of us spoke.

  When I was fully dressed, we set out for the castle. It loomed, ghostlike and huge, in the darkness. Some of the arched windows were lit, others dark and desolate.

  “Which side are you on? I have to know.” He’d matched his stride to mine and didn’t falter at the bitter suspicion in my tone.

  “The same side I’ve always been on,” he replied, and I wanted to tear his handsome face to shreds with my fingernails. “I am against the Great Pack revealing itself to the Others. Against it with all my will.”

  I squeezed my eyes shut, and the bright moonlight disappeared. I used my other senses to guide my feet. Wind rustled in the trees to my right, whistled above the flat expanse of the gray lake behind me. The good, clean smells of grass, flowers, and night sky filled my lungs. The earth was firm beneath my bare feet. Everything seemed normal, but wasn’t, the cold dampness of the grass, the small puckers and indentations of the uneven ground, the steady beat of my pulse.

  Jason put a considerate hand to my elbow. I wanted to shake him away, but I knew he wouldn’t leave my side, so I ignored him.

  The same side as Paddy and his father before him. He was a Guardian. He was a part of it, and by extension, so was I.

  “Which side is Etain Feehery on? Glenn Murphy?” I opened my eyes so I could see his handsome pro
file in the moonlight. He was calm, composed, but even so the thunder of his heart was loud as it pounded beneath the expensive linen of his Italian dress shirt.

  “You don’t know, do you?” I guessed. My resentment and fear were huge inside me. My own heartbeat drowned his out. “Someone had to have given you those photographs. That person must be on Declan Byrne and Mick Shaughnessy’s side.”

  “Must they?” Jason’s tone was neutral, but his fingers on my arm tightened.

  “Oh, Jesus,” I said. My head hurt. My heart hurt. Everything hurt.

  “I found the folder underneath my jacket in the scrub room. Anyone could have put it there.”

  “So you really don’t know? Murphy’s father could have helped plan Sorcha’s murder? Are you sure?”

  “I’m sure of nothing,” he ground out. “Except where I stand. Against revealing the Great Pack, but I do not and never will condone murder.”

  Even though I was relieved to hear him say that, I still didn’t believe he was telling me everything he knew. Why did he always leave something out? Didn’t he trust me? “You must have an idea!”

  “The Guardians in favor of killing to get their way are not in the habit of advertising their fanaticism. Do you really suppose any of them have ever approached me to confess they’ve helped murder members of the Pack?” He turned his head so he could look me in the eye. His face was the perfect diplomat’s face. It made me want to trust him. Vote him into office. Help him save the fucking world.

  “All I know is both Etain Feehery and Glenn Murphy believe the same things I do. They’re Guardians. We’re supposedly on the same side.”

  There went my theory that Glenn Murphy was Pack First. In a way, things were now worse.

  “At least one of them helped Declan and Grandfather Mick murder Paddy. Helped murder Sorcha.”

  “It seems likely but not necessarily true. Byrne and Shaughnessy could have acted together on both schemes without the help of a Councilor.”

  “Then who took the pictures, and how did they know to take them?” I demanded.