by Bella Jacobs
“Done! Fastest shower ever!” She dashes into the bathroom and slams the door.
A beat later I hear the water turn on and a soft curse and a thu-da-dump against the wall as Willow apparently injures herself in her haste to get ready.
I stand smiling at the closed door for a second.
Then I mentally slap the grin off my stupid face and head back into the kitchen to yell at my sister for removing the listening devices I planted in her room.
Yes.
Smiling is bad.
Yelling is good.
Yelling will help remind me that there’s no room in my life for someone like Willow, even if she can occasionally be rather…lovely.
Chapter Eleven
Willow
Two hours later, I’m in nerd heaven.
Even hearing Maggie explain all the ways the shit could hit the fan for Maxim and me in the near future can’t kill my knowledge buzz.
And the smell of all the old books in the treasure room?
Swoon.
I want to bottle the scent and dab it on my wrists every morning. I pull in another deep breath and hold it, trying to memorize every note of the aroma.
Beside me at the large table, Maxim grunts and mutters, “You have a problem.”
“I do not,” I say, turning back to the photocopies Maggie made for me and circling the sentence that caught my attention before I was distracted by library nasal porn.
“If library smell was a drug, you’d be wasted by now,” Maxim mutters in faux irritation.
He’s resorted to faking being annoyed with me, a development that I’m finding strangely…delightful.
He wants to loathe me, but somehow, I’ve broken through the Maxim ice again. This morning I’ve seen glimpses of the man I met at the theater, the charming, intelligent, funny person who made me want to get closer to him, to learn more about him, to bask in the glow of his undeniable magnetism.
And to let him do filthy things to me on his living room floor…
I could still fall for him.
It’s a shocking realization. I thought that night in his study and everything that happened after had killed that spark, but it’s still here. Maxim is a complicated man, and not always a kind one, but in moments like these, when I catch a glimpse of who he is deep down inside…
I would swear that he’s good.
And that he has love to give to a woman, love that he wants to give. But maybe he just…doesn’t know how? How to balance that tender part of him, and the powerful, indomitable leader he wants to be for his pack.
It’s not an easy balancing act, for sure. I’ve only been contemplating leadership for a few days and I can already feel how it tugs things apart inside of you, making you feel only certain parts are allowed to take control.
But I don’t want to be a leader divorced from her heart and Maxim shouldn’t be, either. He’s got a good heart, one that will make him stronger, not weaker.
I truly believe that love makes us strong.
But how to convince my rigid future mate that maybe a little gentleness—with himself and others—is what he needs most?
“Ah, yes!” Maggie says from just over my left shoulder, making me flinch in my chair. I was so sucked into the Maxim zone I didn’t hear her come back into the room. She reaches over my shoulder, tapping the lines I circled. “This part is very important, I think. Good eye.”
Maxim leans over, reading aloud, “A fortnight between the rise and fall, the first to conceive claims it all. The court of shadow or the court of light, only one will stand by the fifteenth night.” He grunts. “Why does all this shit have to rhyme?”
“Because most of this is old enough that for years it was a purely oral tradition,” Maggie says pleasantly, seemingly unfazed by Maxim’s surly side. “It rhymed so it was easier for the bards to remember and set to music. And the period of a fortnight, fourteen days, between the rise and fall is mentioned in several different texts and source materials.”
“Which means?” Maxim asks.
“That if the prophecy has been set in motion, it should all be sorted out fairly quickly. Which is nice, I think,” she says. “Dreading a thing is usually far worse than the thing itself. Though I confess I’d rather not live under the rule of the court of shadow. Sounds unpleasant.”
I sigh. “If it’s anything like my old pack, it absolutely is. I’ve had enough shadow to last two lifetimes.” I glance up at Maggie. “So…how do we know if the fortnight has started?”
“Or if this is all bullshit?” Maxim cuts in. “Prophets have predicted the end of the world at least a dozen times, and so far, we’re all still standing. The Mayans got it wrong. As did several popes, sixteenth century astrologers, and every televangelist trying to sell a doomsday book.”
“Well, we can’t know for sure, can we?” Maggie circles around to the other side of the table. “We can’t know if the fortnight has started, or if there’s anything to start in the first place. But what we do know is that Willow’s sister stole a fertility charm. It seems she thinks the prophecy is real and is making a serious play to be the first to conceive.” She settles carefully into her chair before folding her hands on the table and pinning first Maxim, then me, with a hard look. “So, the next question is—what do you two plan to do about it? Because if the prophecy is real, this thirty-day engagement you’ve agreed on is going to be too little, too late. By the time you get around to banging with a purpose, we’ll all be living in Bane and Kelley’s world. And my gut says a couple willing to set off a bomb in a theater to get what they want is far more likely to be ‘shadowy’ than the two of you, no matter how ambitious and secretly ruthless you both are.”
I sit back in my chair, my brows floating up my forehead. When I steal a glance at Maxim from the corners of my eyes, he looks similarly taken aback.
“I don’t know what’s more disturbing,” he finally says in a faintly amused voice. “Hearing you talk about banging with a purpose or that you called my sweet little fiancée ruthless.”
Maggie laughs. “You’re both sweet. That doesn’t mean you can’t be practical to the point of cruelty when you feel the occasion calls for it. Practicality can be a valuable trait in a leader, but too much of it and you’ll lose your humanity.” She crosses her arms over her full chest and nods her head my way. “As for the other, you’re both adults and about to be married. Would it be so bad to toss the protection and see what happens? Best case scenario, you ward off the forces of evil. Worst case, you have a sweet little pup scampering around underfoot a little sooner than expected.”
I exhale with a shake of my head. “Having a child is a huge decision, Maggie. It’s not something you rush into on a whim. Especially not when you aren’t sure if you’ll be able to keep the baby safe.” I pat the stack of papers in front of me. “And that’s not the worst-case scenario. The worst-case scenario is the prophecy is true, Maxim and I don’t conceive first, and the court of shadow takes over our pack and enslaves our people. Including our child. How can I bring a baby into the world knowing that’s even a possibility?”
“But if the prophecy is true and already set in motion, you won’t have a choice,” Maggie says. “A baby will be born, one way or another. Why not at least attempt to make the stars align in your favor?”
“You believe in this,” Maxim says. “Don’t you? Why?”
Maggie’s lips pucker then press into a tight line.
“Please, speak freely,” Maxim urges after a moment. “I truly want to know. I’m open to being convinced. If there’s evidence that’s sufficiently convincing.”
Maggie sighs and a shadow seems to pass behind her eyes. “This has happened before. Another pair of brothers. Another pair of sisters. Another time, long, long ago. But the records were all wiped clean in the centuries after. All that’s left is the legend of a queen who ruled our people for nearly two hundred years before she was murdered by her guard and a king put in her place. They say she was with child, but never gave
birth, that she fed upon the babe’s spirit in exchange for longer life, and that she kept her mate locked away in a dungeon until he passed from moon sickness, mad and frothing for his wolf form.”
Whoa. I fight to keep my face impassive, not wanting to reveal how uncomfortable this story makes me.
Or how it’s hitting home.
I have been having a few fantasies about taking over and locking Maxim in a cell somewhere…
Maggie glances back to me, holding my gaze as she adds, “They say she was driven to extremes by a broken heart, but that never have our people experienced such a golden age as the one she ruled. Art and science and knowledge flourished, and all shifter kind lived in peace. That’s why the wise woman who told me the tale said the story was buried in the past, to keep our women from getting any grand ideas.”
I frown. “I have to confess that doesn’t sound very grand, Maggie. At least not for that poor baby or the man locked in the dungeon.”
“Not grand for the broken-hearted queen, either,” Maggie agrees, “but given no other choice, all the truly great leaders suffer and make sacrifices for their people.” She touches a trembling hand to her throat before adding in a more urgent whisper, “So, best hurry and decide what you’re willing to sacrifice, young ones. You can have peace in your mate bond and your rule, but only if you work together. If you truly honor and trust one another. If your love falters, you’ll welcome chaos in through the front door.” She swallows and sits up straighter, bringing her shaking hands to rest, palms-down, on the table. “Now, I hope you’ll forgive my swift exit. I had no choice but to help your sister steal those objects, Willow. She has my granddaughter, and she promised to kill her if I didn’t cooperate.”
A startled sound gurgles from my throat as Maxim stands swiftly, sending his chair skidding back across the wooden floor.
“But everything I told you and showed you is true,” Maggie continues, beginning to shake all over. “And I’ll be rooting for you. Wherever I… Wherever…” She breaks off with a gasp and begins to convulse so violently she slides out of her chair.
By the time Maxim and I make it around the table, she’s on the floor, wide-eyed and frothing at the mouth. Just a few seconds later, she’s gone still.
The guards burst through the doors not long after, but it’s too late.
Whatever poison Maggie took was swift and lethal.
God, the poor woman. She must not have felt she had any choice but to take her own life. She was in her eighties, but still…it’s a loss.
A pointless waste of life, and for what?
Power?
“I don’t understand.” I kneel on the floor beside the body, Maxim by my side as we wait for the enforcer detectives and the medics he called to arrive. “Why does everyone want power so damned much?”
“I don’t know,” he says softly. “I guess I want it because I feel I’m the least terrible choice? Though sometimes lately, I wonder…”
I glance up at him. “Of the up-and-coming generation of Alphas, you are absolutely the least terrible choice.” I’m about to take a risk and suggest he might be less terrible still with a trusted partner at his side, but before I can speak, the enforcers and medical staff arrive, filling the room.
Maxim and I move back and the medical team swoops in. Within just a few moments, a young woman with sad gray eyes looks up at us from beside Maggie and says what we already know, “It looks like poison. Something fast acting. There’s nothing we can do for her now.”
And nothing Maggie can do for Maxim or me.
She’s dead, and we’re left to decide where we go from here.
Or…Maxim’s left to decide.
He quickly makes it clear that he intends to keep calling the shots solo by ordering Hermione to have the tiger ready for questioning by the end of the day, ahead of schedule, and me escorted back to my rooms.
But at the last minute, just before my guards and I reach the door, Maxim barks from behind us, “Willow. Diana’s apartment. Ten p.m. I can meet you then if you’d like to know what we learn from the tiger and…if there’s any truth to what Maggie said about your sister.”
The tension in my chest easing, I nod. “Yes, please. Ten is fine. I’ll see you then.”
He nods and I turn to leave, silently plotting a little investigation of my own.
The kind a girl with a helpful pack gift can do with a little help from a trusted friend.
Chapter Twelve
Maxim
The tiger shifter is still groggy when Hermione and I arrive at his cell around seven that evening, but the caffeine in his IV is clearly doing its job.
He’s upright for the first time in days and has the focus and presence of mind to glare daggers into my forehead as I settle into a chair on the opposite side of the room from his simple bunk.
“There are two ways this can go,” I say, not wasting any time getting to the point.
I’ve already had a bomb go off in my territory and one of my highest clearance level wolves compromised. Maggie had access to just about every bit of intelligence in this tower and an unimpeachable record and character. If Kelley could turn her without anyone having a fucking clue, then the plan to take this tower—and whatever else Kelley has her eye on—is farther along than anyone assumed before today.
“Either you cooperate with the spell and I get the information I need,” I continue. “Or you fight the spell and take your chances with a heart attack.”
“Fuck you,” the tiger growls. “I’m not telling you shit, asshole.”
I smile. “All right. Sounds like you’re choosing door number two. But fair warning, if you do go into cardiac arrest, I’ll only call the doctor once, and I have two truth stones.”
His eyes flare slightly wider before narrowing again. “Might as well kill me now, then. Because you’re never letting me out of this cage. Not once I know you’re using fairy magic.”
“Not true,” I say, pulling the pouch Trix gave me from my coat pocket and opening the top. I let the stones inside spill out onto my palm. There are two blue and one a soft gray. “Two for truth and one for forgetting. Tell me what I want to know, and I’ll wipe your mind clean and set you free.”
“Free to betray my people,” he rumbles low in his throat. “Not a fucking chance.”
“But there is a chance,” Hermione says gently, crossing from her position by the cell door to stand beside me. “And you know it. There’s a good chance those stones will work with or without your permission. You’re strong, but you’re also injured, detoxing from some serious sedatives, and exhausted from sleeping on that slab of rock masquerading as a mattress every night.” Her lips curve up a bit. “So, it might make sense to see the writing on the wall and make this work for you rather than against you.”
The tiger’s wary gaze shifts from Hermione to me and back again. “And how would I do that?”
“You answer our questions now, of your own free will,” she says. “And then we test you with a truth stone.” He starts to cut in, but Hermione speaks louder. “Then, we’ll be free to use the second stone on Maxim, so you can get honest answers to your questions from our Alpha.”
He sits back, his brow furrowing as he shoots me a sideways glance. “You’re shitting me.”
I hold out both hands, palms open—one filled with stones and one empty. “No. It’s come to my attention that you may have been led to believe I have…nefarious plans of some sort. But I don’t. Truly. And I’m willing to testify to that under the effects of a truth stone if that’s what it takes to convince you.”
He huffs out a breath and shakes his head. “Fuck that. This is some kind of a trick. I know the way you operate. You’re a con artist. You’ve got the human authorities convinced you’re some kind of philanthropist, meanwhile you’re pumping the city full of drugs. You act like your dad just got tired and passed the torch when the entire shifter world knows you poisoned him.”
I pride myself on my poker face, but that—
I wasn’t expecting that.
I’m fucking shocked to the bone and I guess it shows in my expression because a second later, the tiger snorts and says, “You really didn’t know? You thought you had everyone fooled?”
“That’s not true,” I say. “I would never, could never hurt my father. I love him. I almost lost my mind when I thought he wasn’t going pull through after the poisoning.” I hold out the stones. “And I’m willing to prove it. I’ll even go first.”
His jaw tightens and I can see his faith in whoever’s been filling his head with lies waver. Hermione steps into the moment with a soft, “But if Maxim goes first, you have to give your word that you’ll show good faith, too. Honesty isn’t a one-way street.”
The tiger curls his thick fingers into his thighs over the orange fabric of the scrubs provided for long-term prisoners. “If you prove trustworthy under the power of one of those stones…then I’ll talk. But if you turn out to be the sorry sack of shit I’m fully expecting you to be, the deal is off.”
It’s not much of a deal, but it’s our only shot at getting more than the truth. If I can prove to this man that he’s been misled, we might acquire more than information. We might win a valuable ally in the fight against my brother and his power-hungry bride.
So, I take one of the blue stones, hand the other two to Hermione, and then place the stone inside my cheek, praying this man doesn’t ask anything that will shame me in front of my second-in-command. Hermione knows me better than anyone, but we all have secrets we’d rather not share with our co-workers.
Hopefully this tiger has better questions to ask than whether or not I’ve ever loathed one of Hermione’s girlfriends. (I have, but Jennifer was a shallow bitch, and I’m willing to provide evidence to support that opinion if necessary.)