by Kate Baxter
Ian brought up the blade of the dagger he held and toyed with the tip, testing a sharp point to the pad of his finger. It nicked the skin, and a drop of blood welled from the tiny cut. He licked it away slowly as he regarded Rin. “Mages need magic to heal. Do I need to remind you that yours is diminished?”
Rin’s dark eyes narrowed. The loss of his soul had done more than simply turn him into a husk of the male he’d once been. It had diminished his power, dimmed the light of his magic, and without it he was weaker and more vulnerable to harm.
“Fiona and McAlister were lovers.” The empty quality to Rin’s voice bothered Ian a hell of a lot more than the hollow look in his eyes. By destroying his soul, Cerys had turned him into an unholy creature. “He was a new initiate to the guardians of fate and had yet to rise up their ranks.”
Trenton McAlister was one of the most secretive males Ian had ever met. A shroud of mystery surrounded him and it was rumored he killed anyone unfortunate enough to discover anything about his past or personal life. Ian felt a perverse amount of satisfaction to have gained any knowledge about McAlister. He would own something no other creature did. Bits and pieces of that sanctimonious fuck’s history. And he was bound and determined to use the information to his advantage.
“Keep going.” Ian made sure that Rin picked up on the threat inherent in his tone. He’d be damned if he let him stop now.
“He was ambitious and power-hungry but the Sortiari was under the control of da Vinci and his ideological renaissance at the time. Change was on the wind and rumors began to circulate that the organization’s seers had foretold of a horrible future in which the world would suffer unless they took action to shift the course of fate.”
Ian’s brow furrowed. By the time he became entangled with Trenton McAlister and the Sortiari, the male had already been placed at the top of the organizations hierarchy. A century after da Vinci’s rule. Had it truly taken one hundred years for them to come to the decision that the vampires should die? Or had McAlister taken over in order to see that grand plan through to fruition?
“In Fiona, he saw a partner who craved power and status is much as he did. They were a perfect match. Each of them ambitious and driven. She pledged her undying love to him. And he betrayed her.”
Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned. The berserkers had no females left to revere, but even as a young child, Ian had recognized a power in that gender that his own was somehow lacking. A capacity for something he couldn’t feel or understand. He’d always found it amusing that so many missed what he had so easily picked up on. The weaker sex. He let out an amused snort. History’s greatest lie.
“He betrayed her with another woman?” Ian found himself enthralled by Rin’s story. He was greedy for every detail, no matter how insignificant it might seem.
“Yes and no.” Rin’s noncommittal answer agitated him but he remained patient. This was the most information he’d been able to get out of the mage since taking him prisoner. He wasn’t about to do anything that would cause him to retreat back into stoic silence. “McAlister always loved power more than he could ever love anyone or anything else.”
Ian didn’t have to hear that from Rin to know it was the fucking truth. Trenton McAlister did whatever it took to get what he wanted no matter how underhanded or dishonest. He took the truth and twisted it. Manipulated. Lied. Blackmailed. Ian had never known the Sortiari’s rule under anyone other than McAlister’s. He couldn’t help but wonder what the guardians of fate had been like with da Vinci—or any of his predecessors—at the helm. Had they perhaps been more honorable? More levelheaded? Perhaps even more skeptical? Had they been brave enough to question the seers that McAlister so blindly obeyed? He supposed none of it mattered. What was done was done and there was no going back to change any of it.
Dwelling on the past wouldn’t bring back those Ian had loved. And neither would it resurrect that very emotion he could no longer feel.
“He met an oracle on his travels to Asia for the Sortiari.” At the mention of an oracle, Gregor’s ears perked up. He leaned forward in his chair, rapt. “I don’t know much about the girl because Fiona was loath to speak of her. I only know that her power was without equal and she was an aristocrat. McAlister became obsessed with her, though I don’t believe it was in a romantic sense. In her, he saw the path to ascension. And like I said, he loved power above all else. Even Fiona.”
Gregor looked to the opposite wall. To the photos, and maps, newspaper clippings, and scraps of this and that affixed to the drywall with pushpins. He followed with his eyes, the thin strings of yarn that connected one thing to another creating an intricate web of McAlister’s business throughout the years. Just when he thought he had all of the pieces to the puzzle, another fell out of the sky to land in his lap. The oracle. A nameless, faceless aristocrat, and powerful beyond measure if Rin was to be believed. Ian pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. He vowed his patience would endure. He could wait as long as it took to take his enemies down. But with each passing day and each new detail learned, he wondered how much more he could actually take.
He pointed the dagger at Rin’s face. “Keep talking. And don’t stop until you’ve told me everything you know.”
Ian Gregor walked the righteous path. And nothing—no one—no force upon this earth—would ever stand in his way.
* * *
Christian paced outside the elaborate wrought-iron gate as he contemplated his next move. Despite how he’d behaved the other night, he’d taken Siobhan’s advice to heart. She was as shrewd and intelligent a female as he’d ever met. He valued her counsel. And whereas he wanted to march straight into McAlister’s office with the information he’d gathered and bargain for his freedom, he was wary. If Siobhan thought showing his hand was dangerous, perhaps his bargaining chip wasn’t yet big enough. He was already playing both sides against the middle, what would it hurt to add one more to the mix?
Coming here tonight might’ve been one of his stupidest decisions yet. But it was too late, they already knew he was here. Hell, they’d probably caught his scent long before he’d rung the intercom. As a rogue, he was unwelcome among his own kind. As an agent of the Sortiari, he was unwelcome among most of the supernatural community as a whole.
Damned if you do, damned if you don’t.
Christian let out a sigh as he dug a flask from his back pocket. He unscrewed the top and took a swig of the cheap-ass whiskey that burned its way into his stomach. Gods, how he wished he could get good and drunk. The only thing about his humanity that he truly missed. His wolf perked to attention in his psyche and let out a low warning growl. Territorial pain in the ass. This was bound to be uncomfortable for everyone involved, but what the hell. Christian never did pay much attention to his comfort zone.
“Christian Whalen. By the gods, I thought someone was out here playing a joke. But here you stand. You’re either very brave or very stupid to have come here tonight.”
Probably a little of both. He flashed a charming grin at the werewolf who stared him down from the other side of the gate. “It’s been a long time, Sven. How is life treating you?”
“If you ask me, it hasn’t been long enough.” Sven, cousin to the Forkbeard Pack’s Alpha, still bore a hint of his native Scandinavian accent. Vikings. Rowdy, pigheaded, warring sons of bitches, every last one of them. And Christian couldn’t help but like them.
“I take it Gunnar declined my request for an audience?” He wasn’t really surprised. He hadn’t shown up here with any true optimism. He’d just figured it was worth a shot.
“Oh no, Gunnar was just as surprised as everyone else to hear your voice over the intercom,” Sven replied with a wily grin. “He sent me out here to frisk you and check you for weapons before he lets you set foot on his property.”
Christian gave a chuff of laughter. “Fair enough.” Gunnar Falk wasn’t a fool by any stretch of the imagination. Honestly, Christian would’ve been surprised if they’d simply let h
im stroll right through the gate. He held his arms up and grinned as he spread his legs wide. He didn’t utter a word as the gate swung open and Sven stepped up to him. He reached out, and swept his hands from Christian’s shoulders to his wrists and underneath his arms. “I’ve gotta warn you, I haven’t had a date in a while and that feels pretty damn good.”
Sven’s fist jabbed at Christian’s face and caught him in the nose before he could react. The cartilage popped and blood trickled over his lip before he could swipe it away. He supposed he deserved it for his smart-ass remark, but it was totally worth it for getting a rise out of the bulky werewolf.
Christian remained still while Sven continued to search him. So many sarcastic retorts came to mind but he didn’t feel like suffering any more broken bones tonight. It just took too much gods-damned energy to heal.
“Why the beefed-up security?”
It had been a while since Christian had paid a visit to the Forkbeard Pack’s home base in Pasadena, but they sure as hell hadn’t been so guarded then. Maybe it was the Sortiari setting up camp so close that had the Alpha on edge. In which case, coming here tonight was a really bad idea. Or it could have been the internal turmoil that Gregor himself had caused by trying to convince the pack to ally with him. Christian had been on the outskirts of the attempted ambush on a meeting between McAlister and Mikhail Aristov several months ago, and part of Gunnar Falk’s pack had been drawn into the fight.
“I’m going to give you a piece of advice, Whalen,” Sven growled. “Don’t ask a lot of stupid, unnecessary questions and Gunnar might not be tempted to kick your ass.”
Sven turned without another word and Christian fell into step behind him. Walking beside him would indicate that he considered himself at the very least Sven’s equal, and as a rogue, that display of dominance would only earn him another ass kicking. His wolf let out a low growl in the back of his mind. The animal knew they were stronger. Far more dominant than any member of Gunnar’s pack, save perhaps one. Christian shoved the animal’s annoying ego to the farthest corner of his mind where it belonged. Damn wolf didn’t know what was good for him. They weren’t here to prove anything tonight. And if Christian had anything to say about it, they wouldn’t be proving anything to anyone ever again. Fuck that Alpha bullshit and pack mentality. Christian had gone rogue for a reason and he wanted it to stay that way.
The Forkbeard Pack’s home base was a marvel of modern architecture. Enormous. Lavish. And at the same time, understated in a way that fit Gunnar to a T. Sven led Christian to a small study where he was instructed to sit and wait. He did as he was told and plopped down on a sturdy leather couch in the corner of the room. His wolf snapped to attention as Sven left the room, stirring the air and bringing with it a scent that Christian recognized in an instant. Vampire. What in the hell was Gunnar Falk up to?
“Christian Whalen. I’d say I was glad to see you, but of course, you’d know that was a lie.”
The Alpha of the Forkbeard Pack entered the room with all of the menacing presence expected of a Viking lord and Alpha werewolf. Jesus. Gunnar seriously needed to update his look. He might as well have stepped right out of a history book—or more to the point, a History Channel show—with his head shaved on either side to showcase his ancient tattoos, leaving a swath of long, straight hair that cut down the center of his head, and his bushy, yet manicured beard that covered the regal cut of his jaw. Gunnar’s bright blue eyes zeroed in on Christian, who looked to the floor despite his wolf’s desire to do otherwise. They weren’t here to challenge an Alpha. The gods knew he didn’t need any more drama in his life.
Christian waited for Gunnar to take a seat before he brought his gaze up. “Gunnar. Thanks for seeing me.”
“So,” Gunnar said as he shifted in the desk chair and leaned his elbows on the rests with his fingers steepled in front of him. “What sort of shit did you get yourself into this time that your powerful benefactors can’t get you out of?”
Benefactors? Christian swallowed a snort. Jailers were more like it. “Believe it or not, Gunnar, I’m not in any shit. Currently.” Gods knew he’d be neck deep in it soon enough, though. “I don’t need help. I have some information that I’m not sure what to do with. On the advice of a friend, I’ve decided not to tell the Sortiari what I know. Instead, I’m telling you.”
Gunnar laughed. The sound was so utterly stereotypical of the mirthful Viking that Christian rolled his eyes. “You don’t have any friends, Whalen.” Also true. “Which means…” Gunnar fixed him with a contemplative stare that coaxed Christian’s wolf closer to the surface of his mind. “You’re working an angle and you think somehow, I can fit into it.”
“Yes and no.” There was no point trying to deceive a werewolf. They could smell even a half-truth from a mile away.
“Does this information somehow compromise me or any of the members of my pack?”
Gunnar had made his allegiances perfectly clear the night of Gregor’s attempted ambush. He wanted no part in the berserker’s or the Sortiari’s business. Again, the faint scent of vampire hit Christian’s nostrils. Maybe Gunnar’s allegiances weren’t quite as clear as Christian had thought.
“Ian Gregor—”
“Get out.” Gunnar cut him off and stood from his chair. “Now. I want nothing to do with that bastard.”
“Ian Gregor has taken a mage hostage. One who helped to bind Trenton McAlister’s power.” The words left Christian’s lips in a hurried burst. “He’s made a deal with a vampire—I think—and he has a power fae—a soul thief, maybe two of them, in the city.”
Gunnar froze, his icy blue gaze trained on Christian’s face.
“He’s going to set this world on fire and watch it burn if he gets his way. We’ll all die in the name of his holy vendetta.”
“Why not tell McAlister, then? You’re one of his after all.”
Christian’s lip curled. No one outside of the Sortiari understood the roles of those under the leadership’s thumb. Christian was hardly “one of them.” He was an indentured servant, plain and simple.
“I don’t belong to any male. Nor any pack or any faction.” He fought to keep his tone level, but his wolf felt nothing but aggression and it bled through in the growl that rose in his throat. Christian kept his ass planted in his seat, gaze cast up at Gunnar, despite the animal part of him wanting to rise up and challenge the Alpha. “No one knows about McAlister’s power. Or the soul thieves. One of them is very dangerous and has ties to him. The rumor is that McAlister isn’t above killing to keep his secrets in regards to her and his power.”
“But you wanted to tell him…” Gunnar steered the conversation back to Christian’s original point. “Why?”
He let the question hang. It was up to Christian to decide how much he wanted to divulge. He had no interest in becoming a member of Gunnar’s—or any other—pack. He just wanted his gods-damned freedom. “I want out,” he said. “And I thought what I knew might buy my freedom.”
Gunnar settled back down into his chair and Christian let out a slow breath as he fought to calm his agitated wolf. “For what it’s worth,” Gunnar began, “I agree with your friend.” Christian’s eyes narrowed at the way Gunnar stressed “friend.” Asshole. “Tell me everything you know.”
It was a start. Whether good or bad was yet to be seen. Christian settled back into his seat and allowed a smile. “Got anything good to drink around here?”
He was going to be here a while. Better make the best of it while he worked to either improve his life or throw it in the shitter. But if he was being honest, he really hoped he wouldn’t have to add tonight to his long list of regrets.
CHAPTER
28
“Are you sure you don’t want me to stay?”
Sasha practically pushed Lucas out the door. He’d helped her to get Ewan inside and onto her bed. But now that was done, he needed to get the hell out. It wasn’t that Sasha didn’t appreciate his help. She didn’t know what she would’ve done without him to
night. But it was for his own protection that she needed him out of here. Ewan was a feral creature. Wild. He was injured and probably traumatized. When he woke, he’d have the mentality of a cornered animal. He’d go after the first visible threat and that would be Lucas. She could handle Ewan on her own. She’d been doing it for weeks. He didn’t scare her, not even a little bit.
“I’m sure. I can handle it from here. Thanks, Lucas.” She eased him over the threshold and pushed the door closed. Lucas put his foot in the way to block her and she let out an exasperated sigh. She didn’t have time for this overprotective crap. She might’ve looked harmless, but Sasha was fierce. She didn’t need protecting. Not from anyone and especially not Ewan. “I’m serious. I’ve got this.”
His eyes narrowed as he contemplated her. “If you need anything…”
“I know.” She was grateful she could call Lucas a friend. “You’ll be the first person I dial.”
“Good.” He leaned in and put his lips to Sasha’s forehead.
Lucas froze. Sasha sensed a presence at her back and the fine hairs on her arms stood on end. She resisted the urge to groan. Shit. Damn it. Fuck my life … Of all the shitty timing …
“I have got to quit getting caught between females and their mates,” Lucas murmured against her forehead. A low growl sounded from behind her and Sasha cringed. “I think this is definitely my cue to leave. Call me later.”
Sasha’s eyes drifted shut. Well, she guessed the question of whether or not Ewan would regain consciousness was answered. The door closed almost soundlessly as she let out a breath and turned to face Ewan. She should have known that not even hellfire could put him down for long.
She opened her eyes. For the first time since she’d met him, she got a glimpse of the creature that other supernatural beings feared. Ewan’s lips pulled back in a snarl and black swallowed the whites of his eyes. His ripped and bloodied T-shirt stretched taut across the bulge of his muscles and his nostrils flared with breath.