by KH LeMoyne
She gestured with a curt nod behind her toward the double doors down the hallway. “He’s waiting for you in his study.”
A female second? She must have some impressive skills other than her razor-sharp tongue. A sudden image popped into his mind of Grizz sparring with Trim. Followed quickly on that thought was the realization his list of people to see next was growing a little too fast for his liking. Breslin circumvented a large stack of lumber in the hallway and an assortment of hand sanders, awls, hammers, and chisels.
Evidently, the alpha palace was a work in progress. Pomp and ego. He hated this already. But he only needed to survive the alpha, not like or respect him. Before Breslin had a chance to change his mind and leave, he pushed open the door. It swung silently inward, giving him the perfect view of a vaulted ceiling, wood-paneled walls, and several frames for as yet unfinished bookshelves. The shelves lay across workhorses, cans of stain and work rags piled on tarps beneath them. A fireplace large enough to stand up in dominated the room. The blaze provided plenty of light despite the dimming twilight outside from mullioned windows stretching along one wall from floor to ceiling.
A potential escape route if all went bad.
His attention turned to the solitary inhabitant of the room. Broad shouldered with long dark hair streaked with a single thick strand of silver, the male in the overstuffed leather chair sat several feet away from the best light. He worked a rag over his hands spotted with stain looking suspiciously like the one being used on the bookshelves. He seemed too absorbed reading papers on the coffee table before him to look up. Was this Deacon Black, alpha of the largest shifter inhabited territories in the world?
Breslin managed to muffle a curse. What alpha did his own carpentry?
As if aware he had company, Deacon tossed the rag to the pile with the others and met Breslin’s gaze with an assessing one of his own.
Breslin froze, his attention riveted to the scar bisecting the left half of the alpha’s face. Rumor had it he’d been attacked and marked by his own father.
“You made good time. Take a seat and—” An angry wail cut him off. He rose and moved behind his chair as a soft rumble echoed around the room.
“Not everyone who enters needs your blessing, Wharton,” Deacon muttered as he scooped an infant from behind the chair and tenderly cuddled him high on his chest. The child hushed, and the alpha paced with him before the fire.
Wisps of familiar white-blond hair were visible from the child. Shocked, Breslin opened his mouth before he had time to think. “Why is the infant who survived here with you?”
Deacon paused in his stride, leveling him with a shuttered look. “Do you always see nefarious intent in everything?”
“Yes.” Ignorance and naïvety had no place in his life. Since he’d already offended the alpha with his question, there was no point in backing down. “You’re aware of what he is. So it’s a logical question.”
Deacon’s eyes turned a dangerous shade of crimson, yet he jostled the baby gently. “It would seem this boy has a growing list of protectors.”
Breslin swallowed hard, suddenly disliking his situation even more. While defeating Alpha Black would be a good indicator of whether Breslin could stand the distance with Karndottir, he didn’t have an issue worth dying for with this alpha. Especially since Breslin had survived in this territory for many years without being hunted down and forced to pledge his allegiance. A span of time during which he’d meted out justice on other shifters on Black’s land. Granted, those people deserved retribution for their crimes as much as their victims deserved justice. Still, his title as a ghost enforcer was well-earned.
Now he questioned his wisdom in following Vendrick’s order and showing up. No alpha willingly absorbed a shifter with as much blood on his hands as Breslin had spilled.
But eyeing the baby, Wharton, he couldn’t let his questions go. Despite all his cold-blooded training, he couldn’t ignore the fact that this was a child he’d saved. The only child. An omega or not, this child deserved to live. He deserved the chance Breslin’s own brothers never had.
Choking down his reluctance, he drew back his shoulders, prepared to lunge for the child if the alpha challenged him. Death from his wounds in battle wouldn’t be such a bad end for him. “Maybe he needs protectors.”
“He does.” Deacon’s response accompanied a low growl. The child cooed, and the threat in his voice dimmed. “There are many who consider him a threat. Wouldn’t you agree? Those in his parents’ pack shunned the family after his birth.”
Cocking his head, Deacon shifted the child to his shoulder before he rubbed the baby’s back. “However, with his parents’ death, as his alpha, I’m his sole guardian. Who better to ensure his survival?”
“Do Callum and Gillian know the baby’s here with you?” Had the couple safely made their way here and survived? He couldn’t imagine them voluntarily leaving the boy in danger. From what he’d heard, most alphas were wary of omegas and their ability to syphon or mute power.
Deacon’s eyes closed briefly, as if he was attempting to control his anger. “They know he is safe. You know better than anyone how fiercely female shifters defend children—Gillian’s a cougar no less.”
A cougar who’d never shifted, so defense might be difficult. Though he felt shame when he considered that not being able to shift wouldn’t have stopped his mother from protecting children either. Although he’d met Gillian Mann only twice, she still struck him as made from the same maternal mold.
“I wouldn’t let her hear you voice doubt on her behalf.”
Shit. The alpha had the same bad habit of reading thoughts as Vendrick. Desperate to stop any more thoughts before the alpha sucked them out of his head, Breslin watched, bewildered, as the baby wiggled. Clenching and unclenching his small fists, he finally relaxed until his head drooped against Deacon’s neck with a sigh.
“They accepted their role as his protectors.” Deacon continued.
Figured. Callum and Gillian jumped from one tough situation to the next. Who volunteered to basically be godparents to an omega? “You’re keeping them here?”
“Karndottir can’t get to them within my sanctuary. And as they swore oaths to me, it’s my job to keep them safe.”
The door behind Breslin opened. He didn’t turn but inhaled and relaxed as a breeze carrying the heavenly aroma of baked apples, cinnamon, and fresh milk wafted through.
An amply curved young woman with a generous smile strode past Breslin to Deacon, her arms out for the baby. “Again? Hungrier than a bear he is. He’ll be eating with my own toddlers soon.”
The child fussed as she rocked him in her arms. “Don’t you worry, lad. You’ll be back here in no time.” She headed out the door. “It is spoiled rotten you’ll make him, Deacon.”
“Coming from the mother to every lonely heart in town, I don’t feel reprimanded, Betty.”
“Aye, they all need a mother’s love. Besides, my bears can always use another little one to cuddle.”
The door clicked.
“Let’s try this again, shall we?” Deacon proceeded back to his chair and sat, pointedly eyeing the seat opposite him. “We can discuss Wharton after we’ve resolved your situation.”
“You’ve named him.”
“He’s a child, not a dog. His parents named him. It took my lieutenant a little time to track their home pack, but they were part of my territory.” Fierce ownership rang in his words. “Now. Tell me of the murderess and how you dealt with her.”
Breslin held back a shudder but couldn’t stop the nausea rolling in his stomach at the memories those words conjured. He was certain the alpha already knew what had happened. This was merely a test to scrutinize him. Though for what, honesty? Feral desires to kill? “She committed suicide.”
Deacon leaned forward, his fingers laced, his elbows on his knees. “Would you have killed her if she hadn’t?”
The very question he’d been asking himself during his entire trip to Black Haven. A lon
g, solitary trip in the form of his cat with nothing but the company of nature and the spirits of his past who refused to leave him alone. His isolation hadn’t delivered answers. Nor had he reconciled how he felt about finding out he’d been being trained and sent on missions by Deacon Black all these years. Vendrick’s complicity in molding an assassin for the alpha would have to wait for later review, when he had weeks of free time and bottles of whiskey to give him clarity. “She needed help, not death.”
“There is no cure for the madness she suffered from. By our law, she’d committed murder.” Deacon leaned back with a harsh exhale and stroked his jaw. “But I’m gathering you wouldn’t have killed her.”
With a shake of his head, Breslin felt his disquiet morph into a solid, expanding pressure in his chest. “I’d have found some way to stop her, though.”
Deacon nodded. “From my discussions with Vendrick and the Manns, I understand you’ve broken your silence about your past and your work. You’ve also killed an enforcer from another clan, and resigned from apprenticeship with Vendrick.”
“There’s nothing more for me to learn about how to kill.” He wouldn’t even address the first point. If he was actually working all this time for Deacon, then killing a rogue enforcer bent on murdering in the territory was justified. Whether the Manns had already pledged or not, they were here on a mission of asylum. Deacon’s law took precedence in his territory. And to his surprise, Deacon granted asylum and treated the candidates as worthy members of his clan.
“The art of killing wasn’t your goal,” Deacon said smoothly. “Karndottir deserves to be punished and suffer for the crime of destroying your family. However, his death wouldn’t make up for the number of lives he’s taken. Not to mention murdering an alpha is considered a tribunal offense. I’d be force to hunt you down or turn you over for alpha tribunal judgment. Either would end with your death.”
“Then why have me trained? Was I just a convenient means to have me do your bidding?”
“I’ll admit I benefited from having a well-trained mercenary to handle violent offenders. All alphas need good help. However, my aim with your training was to hone your survival skills, give you time for your rage to chill and harden. Now you are ready for the training that will allow you to destroy your target and stay within the confines of shifter law.” He slid a box across the table. “This is something you have yet to learn.”
More training. Breslin glanced at the stack of papers inside the box. He took several off the top and shuffled through them, his anger growing. The alpha was leading him around by the nose—again. “Land-holding documents. Mining rights. Lumber deals! What would I need with this? I just want Gauthier dead.”
“Then I misunderstood,” Deacon snapped, his eyes glinting orange and growing redder with fury. “I thought you wanted justice.”
What the—?
“Killing him is quick,” Deacon continued as he placed the sheets back in the box. “A new alpha will step forward, worse than Karndottir because he’s treated those around him with a soulless precision. Few in his territory know how to rule, and those who rise to power will be as merciless. More people will die.”
Deacon slid a lid on the box and eased back in his seat. “But if you strip a man, bit by wretched bit, of everything he owns—especially an alpha who sees his worth only in what he dominates and holds by his physical might—you deliver continuous injury. Pain he can’t avoid or erase. You can leave him raw, with nothing. More important, while he’s weakened, others can break free of his grip.”
Breslin drew in a deep breath, intrigued. Part of him admitted he was weary of the blood chase. At the same time, he brightened at the opportunity to delivery repetitive fatal blows to Gauthier in ways he’d feel for a long time. Breslin had lived to master the art of killing. He understood the need for patience, inner silence, the attention and focus to complete the task, but Vendrick’s teachings hadn’t prepared him for the cold calculation and long-range simplicity of Deacon’s option.
He stared at the alpha, mentally weighing between the option to do more damage to Gauthier in a manner that didn’t strip Breslin of his humanity versus the sacrifice required—loss of his independence through an alpha pledge to the man before him.
One thing was for certain, he’d sold Deacon short. Black’s father had been an alpha of the old world. Dominant, brutal, physical. He hadn’t hesitated to snuff out those who opposed him, and took what suited him. He’d been better than Gauthier in some ways, but there were few with individual freedoms or power during Black’s father’s reign.
Deacon Black, however, seemed a man of a different era. Powerful and deadly. The energy radiating from him growing. Enough that Breslin had to grit his teeth to resist the urge to sink to his knees and obey. He suspected it wasn’t intentional on Deacon’s part, for he knew from being around Vendrick and his power for so long that the alpha before him had yet to flex his power. He suspected Deacon used force as a last resort and employed intellect and negotiation first in his arsenal. A more dangerous combination. One capable of luring one into freely choosing their fate.
Breslin didn’t kid himself. There wasn’t really freedom in Deacon’s offer. No matter how he looked at the alternatives, he was lost. Once he pledged, there’d be no opportunity to strike out and kill Karndottir. Alpha Black would know his every move. But then he probably had for years now.
“Have you considered your life afterward?” Deacon asked. His expression remained closed, but his eyes glistened as if he held back secrets. “Because forfeiting your own life only makes Karndottir the victor, successfully annihilating the last member of your family.”
Swallowing hard, Breslin sat up straighter. Survival wasn’t on his radar. It was the price he expected to pay to win, the end he accepted.
“What I offer will take time and grueling effort. You’ll not only learn how to manipulate his businesses, you’ll manage the financial outcomes until there is no way he can win.”
Was it even possible? He couldn’t just jump from being a ghost in the shadows one day and dabble in the world of business the next. He had no experience. “How?”
“I have a new financial manager working for me. He’ll have access to the clan’s businesses. You can work alongside him, learn how to grow businesses and what will cause them to fail. I suspect you’ll work well together. What he can’t teach you, I can.”
“And all you demand is my pledge.”
Deacon’s brow twitched. “Yes. In return, I ask for your pledge. I’ve already allowed you freedom in my territory for decades. Assimilating into the clan is key to your success in this endeavor. You need safe access to our people, to their lives and livelihoods. Know them. See how they tick. Leverage what you know to help them if you can. But mostly, focus on the acquisitions and ventures along my borders, applying what you learn to undermine Karndottir’s holdings. And perhaps break some of those under his thumb free.”
“Steal from one alpha and give to another. First, I’m your assassin and now I’m your personal Robin Hood.”
“You were exactly who people thought you were, my enforcer. A necessary and honorable role, but not one to hold for a lifetime. Make no mistake, those who died at your hand would have ultimately died at mine. They betrayed their trust in their oath to me and in their loyalty to this clan.” With a cold glance toward the fire, Deacon said nothing for several minutes. “This new venture is business, not theft. Economic balance, if you will. Karndottir harmed more than just your family. Others deserve justice too.”
Indecision, a cloying insecurity Breslin hadn’t felt in decades, assaulted him. “I’m not the man you want arbitrating your trades, I’m only a killer.”
“No one is only one thing.” Deacon rose and leaned forward, planting his fists on the coffee table, his expression darkening as his eyes turned from black to gold tinged with ruby. “You did what I needed you to do to keep my people safe. I gave you secrecy to hide behind. Now I need your skills of observation and deadly s
trength to ensure our people have businesses that succeed. Our shifter families require a foothold in the future. If my offer helps you in your vengeance, then so much the better.” His voice lowered but still rasped. “You can also ensure no one takes a livelihood from loving parents who need to provide our children with food, a home, and a future.”
“What of Gauthier’s people?” Breslin didn’t really have much compassion for them, but it was the man, the alpha, he wanted to destroy. Not more innocent victims like Callum and Gillian.
“His lock on the businesses in his territory is so tight, few of his people benefit now.” Deacon walked to the coffee table and searched with one hand for a particular file, then tossed it before Breslin. “Many escape across my boundaries in search of a future. I have no problem accepting loyal shifters with a good work ethic into my clan. I refuse to turn my back and leave them to their own fates any more than I suspect you can.”
Breslin picked up the paper, scanning through the contents. A vineyard in California owned by… His eyes narrowed. The owners consisted of three people, but the one he recognized, Callum Mann, surprised him. He went down the list, reading the brief descriptions of the many new ventures in the territory. Callum’s name appeared several times. He looked up, ready with questions as Deacon raised his hand, his head tilted as if waiting on something.
A baby’s cry echoed from somewhere in the house followed by rapid footsteps. The door opened, and Betty hurried back in to place Wharton back in Deacon’s arms. The alpha abruptly turned away from Breslin and paced with the quieted infant before the large windows as Betty retreated and closed the door behind her.
Breslin wiped his hands over his face and stared at the folders on the table. Shit, how did he never see any of this coming? He had to admit, a long, torturous end for Gauthier held more appeal for him than watching the murderer’s blood flow for a few seconds. Familiar tightness constricted around his chest. At least the chance to exact revenge with Deacon’s option wouldn’t add to the pitch already eating away at his soul.