Cutting Ties

by C. M. Torrens

  Baardsen eyed him suspiciously. “Why?”

  “There’s a clan council planned in England.”

  “Yes, I’m aware.”

  “Also… a pack gathering in France.”

  Baardsen sighed heavily and sat back in his seat. “The Council is just going to say it’s a Pack problem, and getting them to believe Eveline is awake will be like pulling teeth from a crazed shifter.”

  Odin stifled a wince. He was really going to have to talk to Baardsen about the way he phrased things. “A couple of the alphas are coming to claim breach of treaty.”

  Baardsen hummed thoughtfully and sat up in his seat. “Really? The fleabags have proof, do they?”

  “Baardsen,” Odin reprimanded. “No reason for comments like that, is there?”

  Baardsen shrugged and sipped his wine.

  Odin shot him a dark look before continuing. “They have proof. Not much, but maybe enough.”

  “Are you standing for them?”

  “Yes.”

  Baardsen hummed again and finished his wine. “Well, I have been on this island a long time. A change of scenery wouldn’t hurt. I suppose I should be flattered you just want me for my brain.”

  Odin was suddenly uncertain if he was relieved to get Baardsen’s help, or if the mini-Nephilim would be more trouble than he was worth. “Thank you.”

  “When do we leave?”

  “Tonight.”

  Baardsen groaned. “I swear, Odin—”

  Odin smiled and tossed a passport and plane ticket onto the table for him. “Relax, I came prepared. I’ll meet you at the airport.” He got to his feet.

  “I swear, if you try to hold my hand, I will gut you in the terminal.” He flashed Odin a sweet smile, but his eyes were dark with serious threat.

  Odin chuckled. He didn’t doubt the little shit might try. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

  DESPITE HIS need to get back to England, Odin’s stomach clenched at the thought of seeing his father again. Sitting near the window, he stared out into nothing as the plane made its final descent into the airport.

  “You haven’t said much the whole trip,” Baardsen said softly.

  “Shimon’s here,” Odin whispered.

  “Gods, why?” Baardsen gasped.

  “Because he knows I’m going to be here. And he probably knows why.”

  “What are you going to do?”

  That was a good question. Explaining to his father why Eveline had to be put to death wasn’t on his list of things he wanted to do, ever. It wouldn’t end well. He knew it. He could feel it in his bones.

  “Endure like I always do. There’s nothing else I can do,” Odin said.

  “That mad one needs to be burned to dust and scattered,” Baardsen said, glaring across the plane. He drummed his claws into the armrest, and they cut little rivets into the plastic fabric.

  “Yes, when you figure out how, let me know.”

  “You know how,” Baardsen said softly.

  Odin shook his head. “Of course I know how, but practicalities of getting into such a situation where I’m able is another story entirely. The Voice kills me every time. You’d think after so long things would change, but they never do. I take brief moments of freedom when I can and thank the gods I was able to spare Velasco from ever ending up in his icy grip.”

  “You paid heavily for that one.”

  “Worth every ounce of pain suffered. I’d do it again if I thought I could get away with it.” Odin rubbed his hand over his face and tried not to think about it. Some things were worth doing even if the price was unending. “I still pay for it.”

  “You don’t learn your lessons well, do you, old friend?”

  “No, I suppose I don’t.”

  Baardsen shook his head but thankfully let the subject drop. He shouldn’t have brought the old man up anyway. There was nothing Baardsen or anyone else could do about the bastard, especially when he had a hard time letting go himself.

  They stepped off the plane a few minutes later, and he turned his phone back on. It rang almost immediately. Dante.

  “I need to take this. It’s one of the alphas.”

  Baardsen made a face. “Remember to keep them on a short leash.”

  Odin rubbed his temples. Maybe Baardsen wasn’t as good of a choice as he had hoped. “I’ll meet you at the clan house,” Odin told Baardsen and looked the mini-Nephilim over a moment. For such an innocent-looking little thing, he could be a real bastard. “You can make it there all by your little lonesome, right?”

  Baardsen smirked. “Fuck you.”

  Odin chuckled. “I’ll see you later, then.” He watched Baardsen disappear into the crowd and pulled the phone to his ear. “Yes?”

  “We found a lone hybrid some miles outside my territory last night. A hunter found him, actually.” Dante’s voice was rich and deep as it drifted through the speaker. The man could tell him the world was burning and still keep his voice calm and controlled.

  “Oh gods, please tell me we aren’t dealing with their kind now,” Odin grumbled.

  Dante huffed. “Not if I can help it. He got what he wanted. He shouldn’t be any trouble. The hybrid he found was already dead, though. Might kill two birds with one stone if the hunters start hunting them.”

  “That would be the first good bit of news in a while. Hunters have been in the shadows lately, but there is always a group that pops up from time to time with a bloodlust for anything nonhuman.” He picked his way through the crowded airport, following the signs that would lead him to his bags. He shouldn’t have bothered to pack anything, but it was sometimes hard to say how long he’d be staying in places.

  “How many are you bringing to the gathering?” Dante asked.

  “I couldn’t say. It depends on the impact you make at the Council meeting and how many I can sway after.” Odin wove through the mass of people, trying to find the right carousel as he entered the claim area.

  “Well, pick a small number. I’m going to have to fight to get any more than two speakers into the Hall, but that will also happen after the meeting. I’m thinking pick five. I’m sure I could probably manage that without drawing blood.”

  Odin wasn’t sure if that was an idiom or if Dante would really have to do battle by force to get his voice heard. With the way shifters ran packs, it was impossible to tell which without simply asking, but he didn’t want to offend the alpha.

  “Uh, okay.” He tossed the thought away as he grabbed his bag and adjusted the phone on his ear. “When do you arrive?”

  There was a brief pause and a shuffling of papers before he spoke again. “Nine p.m. London time, the day after tomorrow.”

  Odin’s eyes fell on a short broad-chested man with long blond hair and a scar across his face from a time well before he was made. Caleb was his father’s youngest son and general lackey.

  Odin winced and rushed to wrap up the conversation with Dante. “I’ll see you then, and we can talk more. I gotta go. Something’s come up.” He hung up before Dante could respond and watched as Caleb strode through the airport to meet him.

  Pocketing his phone, he wondered if Caleb would ever leave Shimon. Caleb seemed stuck to their father, not that he knew Caleb all that well. Odin remembered a time when he was like that, but that changed a long time ago.

  “Father wants to see you,” Caleb said.

  Odin felt the uneasiness in his stomach grow into an icy pit. He forced a smile and tossed his bag at Caleb. “All right, then, lead the way.”

  Caleb caught the bag and raised his brows with surprise. Odin motioned Caleb ahead of him and followed Caleb to a waiting car.

  How was he going to explain this to his father so the Ancient would understand? Eveline couldn’t be allowed to keep doing this. With every year that passed, awake or sleeping, she grew more and more dangerous. And now that she was awake, she was repeating the same pattern that had forced his hand so many years ago.

  His father never forgave him for betraying her and never would
. But too many people were dying and he certainly wasn’t about to let that happen again.

  “You’re in an odd mood,” Caleb said.

  “Why do you say that?”

  “You haven’t cursed the old man once.”

  Odin stared out the window, watching traffic pass and countless humans wander, oblivious to the rest of the world around them. They didn’t know how quickly their lives could change.

  “Rather just get it over with. Besides, I have to talk to him,” Odin said.

  “He’ll be glad to hear that.”

  The city gave way to countryside as Caleb drove. Tall buildings faded to small houses and rolling hills as they left London behind. The closer they got, the more intense the sense of his father became until Caleb finally pulled up to the old stone house that had been there for centuries. The Cotswolds hadn’t changed either, the same beautiful place, seemingly untouched by time. A shame such serenity was marred by unpleasant memories of his last visit when his father found out about Velasco.

  “Do you live out here with him?” Odin asked.

  “Mostly,” Caleb said.

  “Why?”

  Caleb shrugged, turned off the road, and parked the car in the drive.

  Odin sat a moment, not wanting to move quite yet, and Caleb got out, grabbed his bag from the trunk, and set it by the car door. “I’ll be down the pub.”

  Odin watched him go and took a deep breath. It was better to just get it over with. Bracing himself, he climbed out of the car before grabbing his bag and making his way toward the house. He hesitated at the door before knocking and checked the ward to see if he was still welcome. Thankfully his hand passed through the invisible barrier without incident.

  “Father?” Odin called, pushed open the door, and peeked inside the old farmhouse.

  An older man stood in the living room. His dark hair was peppered with age, and he stared hard at him with pale-gray eyes as Odin stepped into the house. He didn’t look very impressive at first glance, in his late forties or so, short and stocky and a little thick around the middle, but his father was deadly and more than a little mad. He hadn’t always been that way, though, but it was hard to forget the past sometimes.

  “Will you be staying?” Father asked.

  “No,” Odin whispered, watching Shimon carefully. It was so hard to judge his moods. They changed faster than the tides.

  Odin dropped his bag in the nearest chair but didn’t sit down. “I wanted to talk to you about something.”

  “I’d heard you’ve been spinning rumors,” Shimon said. His hard gray eyes bored into him, and Odin fought to keep a shiver from creeping down his spine.

  “They aren’t rumors.”

  Shimon pinned him with a hard look. “They are.”

  Odin looked away and glanced around the room. A heavy broadsword still hung over the fireplace, the leather polished and clean. Every night he’d had the habit of cleaning it to keep it strong and ready for service over the years.

  He leaned against the back of the chair and shook his head. “You can’t protect her forever.” He picked at the brown cloth, pulling the fuzz free and dropping it on the floor. “You know she’s mad, right? I mean, she was crazy before, imagine what she is now—”

  “I will not listen to you speak about this.” Shimon turned his back on Odin and moved to look out the window.

  Odin struggled to come up with some way to make the old man talk—really talk this time—about Eveline. But it was hard without triggering his anger. He didn’t want to hurt his father, and he certainly didn’t want to incur his wrath, but there were issues that needed to be addressed.

  He cleared his throat and ran his hand over the top of the wingback chair. “You know, I loved her too. Before… everything. She was my elder sister, she knew so much, and I was a sponge and wanted to know it all. But that changed when she did. I clung to the person I thought she could be again for many years and watched things only get worse. I let too much happen the first time. I knew she was crossing lines she shouldn’t be crossing, and many died because I did nothing to prevent it before it got too bad.”

  Shimon spun to face him. “Eveline is not your responsibility—”

  “No, she isn’t. She’s yours.” He breathed heavily and looked his father over. “My sister died well before the first war, and putting her to sleep didn’t cure her. If anything it made her worse. She’s awake now, and putting her back to sleep shouldn’t be an option this time.”

  “Watch yourself, boy,” his father growled, and Odin took a half step back, uncertain if he’d pushed his father too far. Shimon’s anger was a vicious thing.

  Odin held out his hands in peace. “The Packs are coming to claim breach of treaty at the Council meeting. They’ll want her burned and scattered. You can’t blame them. I worked hard to make this treaty work. I’m old. The fighting makes me sick. All that death, and for what? Nothing. One is right, one is better? No one’s better, no one’s right. We’re all wrong. Without peace we’ll kill each other until there’s no one left but the things that need to stay under rocks. You do what you want. I came to tell you I can’t let this stand this time. I can’t.”

  His father narrowed his eyes. “You’ll do as you’re told.”

  Odin nodded and held his father’s gaze a long moment. “I will. I obey my father’s voice like any child, but you know I’ll find a way around your commands.”

  “You would kill your own sister?”

  Odin took a deep breath, trying to keep calm. It wasn’t something he was looking forward to, but it had to be done. For her sake and everyone else’s. “Mistakes were made. You can’t let them keep you from doing what’s right. How many people have to die before you realize that Eveline isn’t there anymore?”

  “You don’t know that. Have you spoken to her?”

  “Father, if I had spoken to her, either she or I would already be dead.”

  “You can’t kill her.”

  Odin froze and stared at his father. “Is that a command or warning?”

  “Just stay away from her.” His voice was dark and threatening but didn’t quite carry the hint of command. Yet.

  Odin studied his father nervously. There was a glimmer of worry in his father’s eyes, though he couldn’t be entirely sure who it was for. It turned stony and hard a few seconds later, and Shimon turned to stare off out the window.

  He picked up his bag from the chair and bowed low to his father. “I’m going to go have a drink with Caleb, and then I’m going to the clan house. Can I have Caleb drive me there, or do I take a cab?”

  His father waved at him, his eyes still on the hills outside. Odin wondered what he saw out there. Better times, perhaps. He waited a moment longer to see if his father had anything else to say, but he’d clearly been dismissed. With a heavy sigh, Odin shook his head and left the house.

  He found Caleb in a pub about a half mile from the cabin and sat down across from him. He ordered a pint, propped his feet up on the spare chair at their table, and studied his brother.

  “What’s wrong with the old man?” Odin asked.

  Caleb shrugged and sipped his pint. “He’s been like that for a while.”

  “How long?”

  “I don’t know. I don’t keep track of time much these days. A decade or so, I guess,” Caleb said. “He’s grown subdued over the years. I’m not sure why. I swear, some days I think he’d walk into the sea if I weren’t around. His madness was always unpredictable and vicious, but that’s changed. Now it’s more… internal, I guess. Grim and dark.”

  “Suicidal?”

  “Some days are better than others. He’s old. You can’t be that old and stay sane. It’s impossible. Too many mistakes, too many regrets. They pile up after a millennium or three. There comes a time when you either start lashing out, or you get ready to jump.” Caleb sipped his drink. “I didn’t really know him before he went mad. Was he a good man once?”

  Odin shrugged. “I’m not entirely sure there’s su
ch a thing. A man can go out and give gold crowns to the poor, and then go home and bleed his children dry. Kill an entire village and for some odd reason spare one infant out of a dozen and deliver that child to the care of a childless mother. Or rape a dozen women only to save a different woman from the same fate. Times were different too. The world was such a different place then. Darker, maybe. Definitely more dangerous for the common folk.”

  Caleb stared off into the distance. “Are you a good man?”

  “If you think a man like our father could raise a good man, you are as mad as he. I like to think I’m better than I was, but like everyone of a certain age, the regrets start piling up.” Odin frowned into his drink before downing the rest. The pensive mood seemed to be contagious. “Why do you stay with him?”

  “I loved him the day he made me. I will always love him no matter what.”

  Odin knew that feeling all too well. He wondered if that would ever go away or if that was the natural state of parent and child. Or maybe it was just the curse of Shimon’s children to bear.

  “Are you still his lover?”

  “Not anymore.”

  Odin frowned and stared down into his empty glass. “I’m sorry.”

  “Yeah, me too.”

  Another drink was definitely in order. Something to break the grim mood they put themselves in. They ordered another round and drank in silence before Caleb drove him back to the London clan house.

  Baardsen met him outside and watched as Caleb drove away. “You look in good health for a dead man.”

  Odin hummed his agreement. “Things change when you’re gone a couple of centuries. Come on, we have work to do,” he said and led the way into the house.

  Odin stepped into the mansion, and a half-dozen others turned to stare at him. He didn’t come often unless he had something to say. In fact, the last time he was here was when the peace treaty between the packs and clans was signed over a hundred years ago.

  “Odin,” called a familiar voice from the main room.

  “I’m busy, Morgana.” Odin made his way through the mansion to the staircase.

  “You’re always busy,” she shot back, and he heard her footstep race to join him as he headed upstairs. He ignored her and pushed open the door to his private room on the third floor. No one entered behind him, not even his children. He went directly to his desk and pulled out several books.