by RJ Blain
Amelia drew her breath as a gasp. “You wouldn’t. You can’t. That’s—”
“Silence, witch,” Anderson snapped, spinning on a heel to face the old woman. “James, if she utters another word without permission, silence her.”
“Only if my Lady allows.”
Once again, the Shadow Pope’s eyes settled on me. “Victoria, change if you can. It is time for you to pass judgment for the death of your witch.”
I closed my eyes and was haunted by the memory of Samantha scowling at me. Could I change back?
Did I even want to?
Fear and uncertainty warred within me. If I changed back, I would have to once again rejoin the Inquisition, acting as Amelia’s personal hell, a hunting Inquisitor seeking more than justice. I would be forever stained, no matter what judgment I decided for the woman.
An immortal curse was almost as bad as death.
Could I even change back at all? The storm still sucked away at my strength, though its hold on me faded with each gusting of the wind. I sighed. I wouldn’t know until I tried.
It felt like an eternity, but I managed. I shivered in the cold of the hangar. I opened my eyes, pushing aside wayward strands of my magic-bleached hair.
“Well?” Anderson asked in a soft voice.
What would Samantha do? Samantha had always been the moral compass, the wisdom of her years partnered with the human compassion I all too often lacked.
I couldn’t ask her, and I’d never be able to ask her again.
I stared at Amelia, unable to mask the hatred in my voice. “Samantha wouldn’t want her killed.”
Samantha never wanted anyone to die.
Justice and mercy weren’t compatible words. I wanted to step forward, seize Amelia’s throat in my hands, and wring the life out of her. I closed my eyes.
If werewolves were creatures of mercy, I would’ve ordered James to pull the trigger.
But we weren’t, so I didn’t.
If I had been Amelia, Samantha would’ve forgiven me. I wasn’t Samantha either, though, and forgiveness was beyond my reach. The best I could hope for was pack justice.
“Your old, decrepit body doesn’t have enough blood in it to pay for Samantha’s life,” I whispered, staring my friend’s killer in the eye. “Samantha would have begged for me to forgive you. I won’t. I won’t forgive you. I won’t forget you. And you shall never forget me. I pray to deaf gods that you live a thousand years so I can watch them all go by while you learn what it means to kill pack.”
I didn’t utter the true words to curse her soul.
Amelia tensed, her eyes blazing with fury. “Never! I’ll kill you before—”
The crack of gunfire silenced the witch. Blood fountained from several holes in the woman’s throat.
I screamed at the unfairness of it all. Amelia’s eyes widened before the life fled from her. Her body slumped to the ground with a soft thud.
“Sorry,” Mark said, not sounding at all apologetic. He lowered the muzzle of the automatic rifle, pointing it at the witch’s twitching body. “That witch had Ma killed. She wasn’t a great Ma, but adoptive or not, she was mine. She turned Allison against me, and against you both as well. Maybe she doesn’t deserve mercy, and maybe Allison and her witch need more justice than that. But I won’t have her ruining anything again. Let her rot. I don’t trust her not to find some way to avoid justice.”
“Hasty,” James said, shaking his head at the fallen woman’s still form.
Anderson let his breath out in a sigh. “Wise. We’ll burn the body with rue and yarrow. Let’s not risk her coming back, boys.”
My legs collapsed under me, and I sat down with a thump, staring at Amelia’s body. My eyes burned.
Wolves didn’t cry.
I did, though. I guess there was at least a little human left in me after all.
Epilogue
I stared at the tarmac, not quite able to shake myself free of the fugue gripping me. The rain transformed the snow to the blue-white of ice. With the engines dead, icicles clung to the sleek body of the airplane Amelia had arranged to cart me somewhere far, far away.
James draped a coat over my shoulders. “You’re really going to catch your death out here if you’re not careful.”
I jerked my shoulders in a shrug, my gaze snapping to Amelia’s body. Standing in the hangar during the union of a blizzard and a hurricane wasn’t the wisest thing I’d done. I didn’t know where Anderson found the supplies, but the young CEO of Marrodin, Shadow Pope of the Inquisition, busied himself with sprinkling witchbane, rue, and yarrow over the corpse.
“Thanks,” I murmured.
“I never saw you,” was all James said as he clapped my shoulder and wandered towards where a small fleet of snowmobiles waited, each of them manned by wary witches who kept staring up at the dark clouds swirling overhead. I managed a smile for him, though my effort was wasted. He didn’t turn back as he hopped behind one of the waiting women.
I had a feeling we’d meet again someday. Things like that happened to me.
A few of the Inquisition witches cast curious looks my way, but when Anderson cleared his throat, somehow audible over the wind, the rain, the thunder, and the purr of the snowmobile engines, they found something else to look at in a hurry. Anderson rose, joining me after staring one final time at Amelia’s body.
“Well, that isn’t how I envisioned spending my weekend,” he grumbled with a shake of his head.
I jerked my head in a nod. “Ditto.”
“I guess I’ll see you in the office sometime next week?” Anderson flashed his best grin at me.
Life—and Marrodin—went on I guessed, even without one of the original board members. “I guess I’ll need to put that call in to Natalie after all.”
A nod answered me. I was content to stay silent.
Samantha’s true killer was finally dead, but I didn’t feel much of anything at all. No relief, no joy, and no real satisfaction. I was tired. I had survived, but mere survival wasn’t enough.
I wanted Samantha back.
Anderson stared at me, and then as James had done, he clapped my shoulder. “Why don’t you let me handle Natalie? I’ll deal with Amelia as well. I’ll file the missing person’s report tomorrow and have cleanup taken care of.” There was an uncomfortable moment of silence. “I’ll put together a team of wolves and witches to hunt down the West Virginia pack and bring the kids back in.” Before I could do anything more than tense, Anderson gripped my shoulder, turning me to face him. “Easy, Vicky. I’m not going to hurt the kids or their pack. Devonshire, however, will be dealt with. That I promise you.”
“And here I thought you were offering me a place to stay for a while with the kids?” I glanced at Mark out of the corner of my eye.
Anderson followed my gaze, his mouth twisting in a scowl. “And deal with the competition? I might be crazy, Vicky, but I’m not insane. However much I dislike it, I know better than to get involved with someone like you. I’m the Shadow Pope. I’ll be long dead before you get your first gray hair. If you ever get a gray hair. It seems you’ve favored white.”
Wrinkling my nose, I captured one of my curls and flicked it dismissively. “It’ll darken in a week or two.”
“Around the same time the storms completely blow themselves out and scatter?” Anderson asked, glancing at the tarmac.
“Something like that.”
“I think we’ll need to compare notes soon, Ms. Hanover. I don’t like not knowing what the true cause of this is.” Sweeping his hand out in a gesture that encompassed the hangar and the storm outside, he turned away from me. “A secret for a secret, then?”
“I’ve no love for the Inquisition.”
“And I’ve no love for rogue werewolves.” He twisted to grin at me. “Fair’s fair. You put up with me, and I’ll put up with you.”
“And you’ll keep your scourge away from my people.”
Anderson nodded. “I’ll keep them away from our people. I think it’
s reasonable enough to consider the werewolves under Marrodin’s hire as a part of a rather large, informal pack. They’ll be your responsibility.”
Swallowing back a bitter laugh, I averted my eyes. “I can’t be their Alpha.”
“No, I suppose you’re right about that. It’s better that you aren’t.”
“Then I think we can work together on this,” I said, managing a smile.
Anderson grinned at me, his eyes twinkling. “I thought you’d see things my way.”
“I have a question.”
He tilted his head at me, arching a brow. “What?”
“Was it you or Amelia who shot me?”
Anderson burst out laughing. “If I ever point a gun at you, Vicky, expect silver bullets and a kill shot.”
My mouth twisted in a wry smile. “I’ll keep that in mind, Anderson.”
“I’ll see you later, Vicky. I’ll let you know as soon as we find the kids and their pack.”
“No cages, Anderson.”
He nodded. “No cages. I shouldn’t be surprised. You’re always making things difficult.”
“I’ll expect the company will have organized relief for those impacted by the storm by the time I get back to Atlanta, Anderson.”
After casting a long look at the icy mess on the tarmac, Anderson stared at me. “I don’t suppose you can…”
I snorted. “No.”
“Some Caretaker you are,” the Shadow Pope muttered.
Laughing until my sides ached, I threw a mock punch at his arm. Anderson didn’t dodge my hit. “I never said I was.”
“I might not be a witch or a wolf, but one does get used to looking for the truth of magic. This whole storm smells quite a bit like you,” Anderson said with a sly smile.
“Are you saying I stink?”
Holding his hands up in surrender, he backed away towards the snowmobiles. “Next week, then?”
“Next week, Anderson.”
“I’ll see about arranging some interviews with secretaries suited to your special needs. For now, I’ll leave that mutt of a shaman with you. I’m sure you can put him to good use.”
Before I had a chance to bristle at the offer, the Shadow Pope of the Inquisition marched off, taking one of the snowmobiles from the waiting witches. Most of the entourage left, following in the man’s wake.
Mark stepped forward, leaning against the silver cage. “So you’re just going to keep working with him, Allison?”
“You better start getting used to the fact my name is Victoria.”
“Victoria Allison Hanover,” he replied, mouth twitching up in a grin. “You’re dodging my question. You’re going to keep working with him?”
I shrugged. “Someone has to.”
“Look, Allison, about Halloween—”
“Don’t,” I whispered, holding up my hand. Mark’s eyes darkened. While there was no expression on his face, I caught a glimpse of the pain lurking beneath the surface. “Just like with Anderson, it’d never work.”
“You won’t even let us try?”
I shook my head. “In a few years, you’ll start going gray. You’ll ache as the years catch up with you. Those around you will start having children, but you won’t.”
Mark scowled at me. “We could. It’s not impossible. I wasn’t under the impression you wanted kids of your own anyway.”
“But you will,” I replied, adjusting the coat. I shivered, but the cold wasn’t enough to drive me back into wolf form quite yet. “If I had any children, they would age slower. They couldn’t go to school. Sure, they might be human, but they might not be, either. They’d be different.”
Mark’s expression softened. “There’s nothing wrong with that. They’d be as interesting as their mother.”
I snorted. “It’s an entire lifetime for you, Mark, but it’s a few short years for me. It wouldn’t be all that long until you died.”
Like Samantha had died, taken from me early, though time’s passage would have inevitably torn us apart. I could forgive his part in her death when my witch’s true killer lay cold and unmoving not far from where I stood.
Mark had given Amelia mercy while giving Samantha at least some justice for her death.
I couldn’t hate him for that.
“So what?”
I shivered again from more than the cold. “Wolves usually mate for life, Mark. It’s more than just some vow when my kind weds. It’s better for both of us this way.”
It was better for me. It would hurt a lot less, but I wasn’t brave enough to tell him that.
Mark smiled his best confident, charismatic smile. “So turn me into a proper wolf. Problem solved.”
I stiffened, my eyes widening as the impact of his words hit home.
“I’m serious,” he said.
“I know you are.” I could trust Mark for something like that, at least. He was a lot of things, murderer included, but once he gave his word, he kept it, suffering through the consequences of his decisions to their bitter ends.
To my surprise, Mark pulled out the slightly dented engagement ring he had proposed with on Halloween. “Give us a chance. I’ll show you that you won’t regret it.”
Samantha would have laughed. No, my witch wouldn’t have just laughed, she would have wept, kicking her feet until she couldn’t breathe from the strength of her mirth. She would, with her eyes twinkling, make a snide comment about how set in my ways I was and say that I needed my fur ruffled every now and again.
Then she’d say, in her serious tone reserved for something truly important, that I needed to start living a little. I swallowed back the lump forming in my throat.
Even after death, she managed to win arguments.
I stared at the ring warily. “If you even think of offering me that old silver ring, I’ll kill you.”
Mark grinned. “I’ll hold onto it until I get you a ring that won’t hurt you. I promise.”
“Ten years.” My announcement surprised both of us. “If you’re still serious in ten years, I’ll consider it.” I narrowed my eyes at him, baring my teeth in a warning snarl. “And I mean just that. I’ll consider it. Nothing more, nothing less.”
The corner of Mark’s mouth twitched. “You drive a hard bargain, Allison. I shall endeavor to stay as radiant and young as you for the next ten years so my vanity is not sacrificed as I wait.”
“We haven’t been properly introduced. My name is Victoria Allison Mayfield Hanover, Werewolf.” I held out my hand.
His cold fingers clasped mine, and as a lord would for a lady, he brought my hand to his lips. “Markus Alexander Dupree, Inquisitor.”
I think Samantha would have approved. There was nothing wrong with making new beginnings.
Maybe this time, we’d get it right.
Novels by RJ Blain
Storm Without End (Requiem for the Rift King, Book 1)
Kalen’s throne is his saddle, his crown is the dirt on his brow, and his right to rule is sealed in the blood that stains his hand. Few know the truth about the one-armed Rift King, and he prefers it that way. When people get too close to him, they either betray him or die. The Rift he rules cares nothing for the weak. More often than not, even the strong fail to survive.
When he’s abducted, his disappearance threatens to destroy his home, his people, and start a hopeless and bloody war. There are many who desire his death, and few who hope for his survival. With peace in the Six Kingdoms quickly crumbling, it falls on him to try to stop the conflict swiftly taking the entire continent by storm.
But something even more terrifying than the machinations of men has returned to the lands: The skreed. They haven’t been seen for a thousand years, and even the true power of the Rift King might not be enough to save his people — and the world — from destruction.
Available now at Amazon
The Eye of God (The Fall of Erelith, Book 1)
Blaise tries to act like a good human, but someone always manages to ruin things for him. When the Emperor’s most powerfu
l weapon is stolen and its human vessel is kidnapped from the Arena, Blaise must choose between meddling in the affairs of mortals or remaining true to his duty.
To make matters worse, the Archbishop has betrayed the church and God by giving the Emperor the second piece of the Triad, the Heart of God. Should Blaise stand idle and leave the mortals to their own devices, the people of Erelith won’t just lose their lives: Their souls will be destroyed by a power that was never meant to fall into mortal hands.
If Blaise can find the Eye of God, he might be able to save the humans from themselves. Unfortunately, his only hope for success lies in the hands of a slave who wants nothing more than to die. If Blaise can’t save Terin and enlist his help, the Erelith Empire will fall.
Available now at Amazon
Coming Soon
Royal Slaves – The Fall of Erelith, Book 2 (2014)
Storm Surge – Requiem for the Rift King, Book 2 (2014)
City of Clocks (2014)
About the Author
RJ Blain suffers from a Moleskine journal obsession, a pen fixation, and a terrible tendency to pun without warning.
When she isn't playing pretend, she likes to think she's a cartographer and a sumi-e painter. In reality, she herds cats and a husband. She also has a tendency to play MMOs and other computer games.
In her spare time, she daydreams about being a spy. Should that fail, her contingency plan involves tying her best of enemies to spinning wheels and quoting James Bond villains until she is satisfied.