About Face (Wolf Within)

by Amy Lee Burgess

  Glenn Murphy didn’t turn from the window, but I was pretty sure he was listening to the conversation.

  “I’m not Pack First, Ryan.” When I said it, I knew it was true. I did not want our Pack to come out into the open. I wanted what Jason talked about last night. To continue our existence peacefully the way we had been for generations.

  The question was did I want to fight? Did I want to be a Guardian? For one thing, I supported people in the Pack seeking out whatever job they wanted. A college education was not a bad thing and should be offered to more than just a handful of us. Did a high-paying job automatically mean that person was Pack First? Did it preclude membership in the Guardians?

  I had so many questions I couldn’t make up my mind what I wanted to do. All I knew is that I wanted the murders to stop.

  Ryan’s body sagged in relief and his shoulder brushed mine. I knew we both stole small comfort from each other. Pack were very tactile people. Touch made us feel better. I wanted Murphy desperately. The thought of touching him hurt. Did Ryan have a bond mate he missed, too?

  “The Councilor on her way is Pack First.” Ryan’s expression turned dark and brooding.

  I gasped. How would this tribunal work if the Guardians wanted to keep this all a secret and yet invited someone who was Pack First to serve on it?

  “Not only is she Pack First, she’s spearheading the effort to convince the Great Council that Pack First has the right of it.”

  How the hell did he know all this shit? Oh, yeah. His mother was on the Great Council. Nice discretion there, lady.

  My estimation of Etain Feehery sank even lower. I’d spent the day telling her my story, and she’d been sympathetic, friendly and completely disarming, but I did not trust her. Not even if she had been the one who had given Jason the photographs and was playing both sides in the Guardians in order to flush out the traitors.

  Maybe it was like Jason said, Declan and Grandfather Mick were sacrificed pawns. She hadn’t wanted Jason on her territory. Why? So he couldn’t get any of the credit when she unmasked Mick and Declan? Or because she was afraid Jason would discover she was part of a plot to make her cousin Alpha?

  I got to my feet and looked around for a place to ditch my whiskey.

  I paused when I heard footsteps on the slate floor of the entrance hall. Three sets. One man wearing leather-soled loafers, two women, both wearing heels.

  Ryan sprang to his feet before they arrived, his expression stony.

  “Well, Constance, in on yet another death, I see.” Councilor Celine Ducharme strode into the room as if she owned it.

  It had been nine months since I’d last seen her, but the sight of her brought the events surrounding our association into resentful focus. Once again the sting of her merciless interrogation pierced me. We might as well be back in the chateau with me accused of murder again.

  Fury ignited within me and licked through my body. Without a thought or a shred of self-preservation, I let go of my whiskey glass so I could throw myself at her supercilious, stick-like body and batter her smug face to ruins with my teeth and nails.

  However, just as I sprang, a large, hard form collided with me, and my nose connected with Ryan Kelly’s jaw. I saw silver-bright stars and tasted hot blood. My fucking nose was broken, I just knew it.

  “Oh, Jaysus, I’m sorry. Sorry,. I saw you drop your glass, and I thought I could grab it before it smashed. Bloody hell, are you hurt bad?” Ryan had me by the shoulders, his fingers dug into my flesh so hard I knew I’d bruise. “What the fuck are you doing, Stanzie?” he hissed into my ear so only I could hear.

  All four Councilors were frozen in place like statuary. My watery gaze made out Etain’s, Glenn’s and Jason’s expressions—they were horrified, but Celine Ducharme, the bitch, was smirking.

  “My Alpha’s dead and she’s making fucking smart-ass jokes.” My mouth twisted, bitter tears mixed with blood burned my throat. “I fucking hate her so bad. Let me go, Ryan.”

  “Will you shut it and calm down?” He squeezed my shoulders so hard I gasped. “Don’t give her any ammunition. Are you crazy, woman?” He whispered in my ear again. He was furious—every line in his body radiated anger. Not directed at me.

  “Is her nose broken?” Etain Feehery moved quickly across the length of the room to stand beside me. Was she lending me her support, or was I another pawn in her fucking game?

  Jason was a doctor, but he simply stood there and didn’t come over to me. Was I to infer from his inaction that he was angry at me? Well, fuck him. Who wanted his help anyway?

  Celine Ducharme fluffed her straw-yellow hair and sauntered toward a chair. A pair of Louboutins graced her feet. Nude pumps with glittering crystals embedded in the low heel. They perfectly complemented her beige wraparound dress. So goddamn Parisian I wanted to bite her.

  “Let one of the servants tend to her, Etain. We need to talk.” Her tone was dismissive, and a slow flush crept over Ryan’s cheeks. Etain Feehery kept her cool, though.

  “I’m afraid we haven’t got servants, Celine.”

  “Am I expected to make my own bed and do my own laundry?” Celine’s smile was pure malice.

  “Of course not. Someone from Mac Tire sees to the rooms and catering, laundry as well.”

  “Servants,” said Celine with a Gallic shrug. She settled herself on the chair, glanced around the room with its heavy furniture and Celtic tapestries and wrinkled her nose as if she smelled something bad on the bottom of her Louboutin pump.

  “Can you get one of them to bring me a glass of white wine? Slightly chilled, you understand, not almost frozen. And the sight of blood nauseates me. Please, take Constance somewhere and deal with her. You’ll find, if you haven’t already, she’s quite a lot of trouble. Everywhere she goes, misery follows. Mostly in the shape of death.” She pushed a lock of hair behind her ear and reclined gracefully against the back of the chair. “Isn’t that right, Constance?”

  I curled my lip, but Etain Feehery spoke before I could. “Constance has been instrumental in bringing our Alpha’s murderers to justice. I’ve found her most helpful. Not troublesome in the least. You’ll have to set aside your prejudice, Celine, in order to serve fairly on this tribunal. She’s a key witness and is integral to the process. If you find the idea too much for you, I’ll be glad to bring you back to the airport and book you on a flight for Paris.” Etain directed a very diplomatic smile in Celine Ducharme’s direction. How cool Councilor Feehery was when she talked about Paddy’s murderers. If I didn’t know better, I’d never have guessed they were her blood relatives. Is that what being a Councilor meant? Being so in control family ties were ruthlessly cut if it served the greater purpose?

  Councilor Ducharme let out a trill of mocking laughter. “Oh, you won’t be rid of me so easily as that, Etain. Someone with sense and clear vision needs to be on this tribunal.”

  “So you’ll be going back to Paris then?” I snapped and Etain Feehery gave a snort of laughter. Even Jason’s lips quirked. Ryan Kelly squeezed my shoulders again, and I pinched him hard as I could in the side. There wasn’t much excess skin to work with—the man was built like a fortress—but I saw his eyes glaze over with pain.

  “You ought to watch what you say, Constance.” Councilor Ducharme’s eyes narrowed aggressively. “Key witness or not, I will not tolerate insubordination from a mere Advisor. Tread carefully around me. Jason Allerton cannot protect you from me, so if you think you’ve got a shield, think again.”

  “I don’t—” I began, incensed, but Ryan shook me and startled me. My fucking nose protested violently against the movement, and I saw stars again.

  The next thing I knew, I was being dragged across the slate flooring.

  “My wine, please,” requested Ducharme, and I didn’t hear Etain Feehery’s hopefully snarky response because Ryan kicked the door shut behind us.

  “What the fuck are you doing taking on the most powerful person on the Great Council, you feckin’ idiot?” Ryan all but shoved
me into a small bathroom and kicked that door shut as well.

  “I don’t give a shit who she is. She’s a fucking bitch, Ryan!” I pushed his hands aside as he attempted to examine my bloody nose.

  “You know her?” Ryan ducked down and retrieved a towel from a cupboard beneath the sink. He ran it under cold water and tried to staunch the flow of blood from my nose.

  “She’s the whole reason I’m bonded with Murphy.” I snatched the towel from him, because he had all the finesse of a construction worker, and applied it gently to my nose. Biting pain swelled up and I growled low in my throat.

  “Well, isn’t that—wouldn’t that be a good thing?” Ryan stared at me with his soulful brown eyes, and I cursed beneath my breath. “You were forced to bond? Is that why he came back without you? But the way he acted and avoided everyone, we all thought he was brooding because he loved you. Maybe you didn’t want to bond with him? But how in the hell can someone, even a Councilor, force you to bond with somebody else?”

  By making the alternative worse.

  “I love Liam Murphy.” I’d wanted it to come out forcefully, but the damn wet towel muffled my voice and made me sound pathetic.

  “Then I don’t understand,” Ryan said with an exasperated sigh.

  “Who asked you to try?” I gave him a belligerent glare, and he backed away, hands in the air, the universal signal of surrender.

  “Can I look at your nose?”

  “What a goddamn strange question,” I snapped. “You broke it, now you want to admire your handiwork?”

  “I don’t think it’s broken. I’d know for sure if you let me look at the damn thing, Stanzie. Jaysus God, are you always this frigging annoying?”

  Grudgingly, I lowered the towel. Of course the damn thing was broken. It hurt like a bitch.

  “You’re not even going to have a black eye out of this. Just a bloody nose.” was Ryan’s prognosis.

  He was such a liar. “Are you kidding me? It hurts. How can something not broken hurt so much?”

  “Women are pussies with pain, that’s why,” said Ryan. I threw the towel at his face and he slapped it away, but there was a roguish gleam in his eye.

  I swung to the mirror to examine my nose and make my own damn decision.

  The bastard was right. The traitorous thing wasn’t even swollen, just bloody. Ryan got me another towel, and I gingerly began to wipe the blood away. It wasn’t even bleeding much anymore, just a small trickle.

  “Listen, you’re going to have to tone it down around Councilor Ducharme.” Ryan’s voice turned serious, and I grimaced at his reflection in the mirror. I looked like a gargoyle.

  “I will if she will.”

  “No. You just will. She’s a Councilor, she can be as bitchy as she wants. You have to sit there and take it.”

  “Who are you, my life coach?”

  He sighed, and the room filled with the scent of his frustration.

  “I don’t know what sort of feud you’ve got going with her, Stanzie, but can’t you concentrate on the tribunal? On getting Declan Byrne, the bastard, settled? That should be your top priority, not some contest of wills with a Councilor. I know you didn’t know Paddy that long, but he was a good Alpha, a good man, and he deserves—”

  “You don’t have to sing Paddy’s praises to me.” In the mirror, I watched my face drain of most of its color. Furious grief made me tremble. “You don’t know the first thing about how it was with me and him, so shut the fuck up.”

  Ryan sucked in his breath, and for a moment such stark misery shone in his eyes I had to look away before I burst into tears. Not fair. So not fair.

  “I’m sorry. I thought you just met him,” he whispered.

  “Well, I didn’t. He was there for me when nobody else was, including Liam Murphy, and he was my Alpha and nobody better question my loyalty or my grief. I’ll fucking kill you, Ryan Kelly, I swear.”

  I swung around and tried to hit him, but he took me in his arms and instead of fighting him, I collapsed into him. We both burst into scalding tears and held each other up because if we hadn’t, we would have fallen to the floor.

  * * * *

  By dinnertime I’d managed to get myself together. My nose was tender but, without all the blood, looked perfectly normal.

  I put on a long black skirt and white t-shirt with a black vest, settled my bond pendant prominently against my chest, and pulled up my hair into what I hoped was an artfully messy knot.

  Flat silver sandals and a pair of hoop earrings finished my ensemble, and I hurried down the carpeted hallway to the stairs.

  The dining room was on the main floor and was, predictably since this was a castle, huge. Stone walls, mullioned windows, and a large rectangular table with an impossible amount of chairs around it made up the décor. An ancient Oriental rug took some of the chill from the slate flooring.

  Beeswax tapers in elaborate iron candelabras sent out a soft aroma that did not clash with the food.

  Celine Ducharme presided over the head of the table, and the rest of us spread out on either side. We didn’t have nearly enough people to make someone sit at the foot—at least not and still be in conversational range.

  Jason was impeccably attired in one of his Armani summer suits. It was cool enough inside the stone castle for him to keep his jacket on, and once again I marveled at how handsome and influential he looked.

  The seat beside him was empty, and when I approached, he gallantly got to his feet to pull out the chair.

  Celine watched with amusement as she toyed with a glass of white wine. Ryan, Etain Feehery and Glenn Murphy sat across from us as if we had squared off into rivaling teams.

  My stomach knotted. Somehow I doubted this would be a hospitable affair.

  Celine Ducharme picked at her salad as if it offended her. It was a basic salad. I’d eaten several just like it in France so I knew she was being willfully difficult.

  When the main course, lamb shank cooked in red wine, was served, she sighed.

  “At least it is not, how do you say it, bangers and mash,” she muttered, and Etain Feehery grinned.

  “This is a traditional Irish dish, Celine.”

  Celine looked doubtfully at a forkful of lamb before she ate it.

  “I think it’s delicious,” I declared, and Ryan shot me a warning look, but Etain Feehery beamed.

  “Thank you, Stanzie.”

  So far, Jason hadn’t said a word, but now he lifted his wineglass and looked across the table at Etain. I tensed, wondering how they would interact with each other given their history.

  “How are the pack members reacting to the idea that this will be a closed tribunal?” He took a sip of wine and set his glass down.

  Etain Feehery shrugged. She didn’t seem rattled at all to be in the same room with him or angry either. Then I remembered they had served together on the Great Council for at least ten years and decided this wasn’t their first face-to-face interaction.“Frankly, they’re so overwhelmed with their grief that if we do this quickly enough, they won’t think to protest.”

  “Why does it have to be a secret?” I asked, and Councilor Ducharme gave me an indulgent look as if I were a child. A not very bright child.

  “Would you have the whole of Mac Tire discovering the fact that there is a matter of great importance being debated among the Councils?”

  Debated? What an interesting way to put it.

  “People are dying. It’s hardly a debate. People don’t get murdered during debates.”

  Beneath the table, Jason put a hand on my arm, but I was sick of being ordered around blindly by Councilors.

  “You think everyone in the Pack should know and take a side in this issue? How naive, Constance, but then I wouldn’t expect anything else from you.” Celine Ducharme set down her fork and pushed her plate away. She’d eaten three bites, the bitch. It was no goddamn wonder she was so stick-thin.

  “The ones who have no idea what’s going on are doing most of the dying,” I pointed
out.

  “And knowing would make their deaths easier?”

  My fingernails itched to claw the condescending smile off her face. “All knowledge would do is create discord and more violence. The common Pack member hasn’t the necessary tools to understand the concepts or appreciate the greater picture.”

  “If you think revealing us all to the Others is a good idea, I doubt you have them either,” I snapped.

  “Constance,” remonstrated Jason.

  “You chose poorly in this Advisor, Jason.” Ducharme’s smile was brittle, just like her bones and overtreated hair. “Usually you are so conservative and calculated, but this time you made a grave mistake, I think. You cannot control her.”

  “Our Advisors are just that, people we choose to advise us, to keep us grounded and in contact with the Great Pack. They are not supposed to be carbon copies of ourselves, nor should we treat them like slaves, Celine.” Jason’s tone was mild, but his irritation was evident in the disdainful way he looked at her.

  “Well, you explain to her why we need to keep this debate between the Councils. As it is, some of our Councilors have taken a very dark route, and this is why we are here tonight, no? Because one of you is a traitor?” She fixed Etain Feehery and Glenn Murphy with her beady, brown gaze.

  Councilor Murphy had been doggedly applying himself to his meal, but now he set down his fork and gave her his full attention.

  “Declan Byrne is the one on trial,” he said and Celine’s mouth curved into a sardonic smile.

  “Yes, and hopefully during the course of this tribunal, the truth will come out and he will identify the person who planned this.”

  “You think one of us plotted to assassinate Councilor Allerton? But we’re all Guardians.” Etain Feehery’s sherry-brown eyes were cold.

  “Jason Allerton has begun a campaign against his own side. He has ruthlessly exposed several peripheral people, mostly among the grandmothers and grandfathers, but there has been more than one Regional Council member who has also gone down. If he were removed, someone like you, Etain, could come to the forefront and champion the Guardians and direct them at your discretion. Perhaps you approve of the murders.” Ducharme played with the stem of her wineglass, her face alight with malicious pleasure.