A Killing Moon

by Alexis D Craig

  Finn closed the news app and stared at her for a long time, blue eyes cautious, wary. “You’re scary as hell, you know that?”

  To be fair, she was paid damn good money to be scary. Keeping her clients out of the news or at least off the front page and out of trouble was exactly her current skill set, minus some of the more hands-on aspects. “Only to those who oppose me.”

  “Not comforting, Angel.”

  She hummed to acknowledge him, not interested in his judgment, especially considering her play worked like a charm. #WhosTheDaddy, #DaddyorZaddy, #LupineSupine were all trending on social media, with Brendan coming under increasing scrutiny and fire, which was also exactly as intended. The royal twitter account was under siege, and so were Insta and Facebook.

  People started questioning Brendan’s fitness to succeed King Niall on the throne in under an hour. And sure, maybe she had some of her employees steer that conversation a wee bit, but it took hold like wildfire. Finn’s name was officially second-rate news, getting cleared not nearly as titillating as the possibility that Miss Fielding had been killed carrying an heir to the crown. This suddenly became a Big Damn Deal, and Finn was almost completely out of the blast radius. Sure, there were some who wouldn’t be convinced, but they were outliers, and so long as she controlled the loudest narrative, they were good to go.

  Chapter Eighteen

  BRENDAN

  “Are you fucking kidding me?” he all but roared as he read the alert on his phone. The Soricine page in front of him knelt, face bloodied from his claws and smelled like a midnight snack.

  This had been his story to tell, his tale to control, and now his phone would not stop ringing with requests for him to comment. Somehow his sainted brother had skated by yet again. Everyone was always so quick to grant him the benefit of the doubt and in the same breath believe him to be an unspeakable monster. It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t like he was the one to actually kill the girl.

  He felt the shift in the air of his quarters, like the gates of hell were opening on visitor’s day, before he heard her voice. “I taught you better.”

  With a sigh so deep it could have been a well, he turned to face her. “I have no need or use for your ‘I told you so’s.”

  “‘Failure to plan is planning to fail,’” she remarked as she perched in a chair at the dining room table. “Did you know?”

  “That she was pregnant? Of course. You couldn’t miss the change in her scent.”

  “And so you killed her? With no other plan in place?” Her disappointment was a separate presence in the room.

  “I did nothing of the sort,” he bristled. “I told her to take care of it, gave her the money to do so, and when she back out, I had it sorted out accordingly.” He’d always planned to kill her, to have her serve this glorious purpose of casting his brother into doubt, and securing his place as the rightful, if unwanted, heir. Why could nothing, literally nothing, go to plan for him? Just the once?

  “Apparently not,” she sniffed.

  * * *

  CORA

  Content to let her little op run on its own now, Cora stood and stretched. Finn wilted back against the couch cushions. The prince looked tired, though she knew he’d slept, and his cheekbones were a little more pronounced. He was starting to get that ultra-chiseled Michelangelo’s David look to him. Lovely on the statue, worrisome as hell on a wolf. “Have you eaten?”

  Finn closed his eyes and shook his head. “Not since yesterday.”

  His listlessness was cause for concern, but the real issue came in the form of a ravenous wolf. Ravening was a canid-specific sickness, like Lunacy, but driven by extreme hunger. It wasn’t illegal, exactly, but definitely frowned upon, especially in House Lupine. Staying fed was a personal responsibility and the fact he wasn’t and didn’t seem to care about it was starting to scare her.

  “I’m gonna have Driscoll bring us a few steaks, okay?”

  * * *

  FINN

  He nodded and then headed on back to bed. Everything about the days since his brother’s birthday party had left him hollow and devoid of anything other than worry and concern. How would the Society of Angels go on? Who would look after their father once Brendan became king? Who was tending to Francis’s family in their time of need? At least now, he could release his worry that he was going to prison for a crime he didn’t commit. And now the SoA would likely settle down and return to normal as well.

  And that was thanks, in large part, to Cora. He watched her pace around the room as she texted, looking over at him with a fond smile every now and then. She had ridden to his rescue again, this time wearing little more than a bathrobe and armed only with a cell phone. She was his brown-skinned goddess, his raven, and so he would let her feed him, even though it wasn’t necessary. If she enjoyed looking after him, who was he to deny her? Besides, even if he did, she’d do it anyway.

  That night, Finn lay in bed with his belly full of meat and his arms full of raven and for a moment, he felt like he could find peace. Her sweet scent of amber and oranges sending him off to the land of dreams quietly and without complaint for the first time in months.

  The alarm that woke him wasn’t his normal morning wake up call. In fact, it wasn’t an alarm at all but an urgent notification from his father’s press secretary that a press conference was called for eight o’clock, sharp.

  “Is this your doing?” At Cora’s half-asleep, interrogatory grunt, he put the screen in front of her face. “The presser. Is this you?”

  “No.” She shook her head and nestled back against him more firmly with her face turned toward the pillow, like she planned to go back to sleep. He could tell the moment the information had sunk in when she stiffened, then growled low. “We should be there.”

  It wasn’t a question and she kicked her legs out from under the blankets to head into the bathroom. “Give me ten and I’ll be good to go.”

  Smart man that he was, Finn had a cart with coffee brought up and waiting on her when she emerged from the bathroom looking like a damn runway model. In her gray and pink striped sweater, pale pink skirt, gray tights and heels, she looked so soft and sweet and he wanted nothing more than to pull down her demure bun and ruffle her up as much as possible. She made soft and delicate look sharp and sexy as all hell.

  “I love you,” she muttered as she made a beeline for the caffeine. “You are the only thing that matters to me.”

  The unexpected exclamation left him a bit flat-footed. “I… um… that is—”

  “I was talking to the coffee,” she admonished around her sips of boiling life-juice.

  “Right. Of course.” Cheeks now on fire, he strategically retreated to the en suite bathroom to hide and get ready for the day. And if he heard her soft giggles behind his back, well…. It was too early in the morning to pick that fight.

  * * *

  CORA

  By the time they made it down to the throne room, the press were already jockeying for positions, setting up cameras and lights and chatting amongst themselves. There were several from national media outlets outside of the shifter community, and just seeing the number of people there gave Cora a very bad feeling. Whatever he was going to say was going to be huge, and likely life-altering for all involved.

  Brendan stood off to the side, a rangy wolf who looked both hungry and impatient in a flawless navy-blue suit, with an equally cranky looking Aunt Gwen at his side. Evidently her coffin opened too early for her pleasantness to make an appearance. She wasn’t even pretending, with her lips pressed into a line so thin they looked drawn on in crayon.

  King Niall walked out and a hush fell over the room. He was in a suit, slate gray and slim cut, though as thin as he was now, it still hung awkwardly on him. His attendant was at his elbow, but the frail monarch was moving under his own power for the moment. The sick feeling in her stomach began doing backflips as Finn gripped her arm in alarm.

  With a quiet, shuddery breath, the King leaned against the podium in front of hi
m and adjusted the mic. “Thank you for coming out on such short notice. I know it’s early, so I’ll get straight to the point. Due to the terrible circumstances surrounding the death of Miss Fielding, I will be postponing the coronation until the end of the investigation. I do not wish for there to be questions or accusations outstanding when my son assumes the throne.” He paused, looking like each word he uttered cost him dearly, but then he soldiered on. “As your king, I have endeavored to serve you with honor and integrity. You, as my subjects, deserve nothing less from me, and whomever succeeds me on the throne. To that end, I will continue to serve you until my very last breath. Thank you.”

  Cora’s eyes went to Brendan as the king spoke, watching his face as each word sealed his fate in stone. There was no missing the careful omission of his name, or the fact this was brought about by the glaring light of the investigation she’d shone on his slithery, slimy self. Other than a jaw so tense she feared for his teeth, he was remarkably expressionless. The same, however, could not be said of her prince.

  Finn blinked next to her and out of the corner of her eye she saw the blood drain from his face and down beyond the collar of his shirt. This was what the ongoing debacles of his brother hath wrought. Their father, disinclined to pass the crown to his eldest and unable to skip the line of succession without cause, left stranded on his throne as his body failed around him.

  They watched in amazement as the king, having made it out there on his own, turned on his heel to return from whence he came, only to get is feet tangled at the last second and crumble before their eyes. Finn was at his side in an instant, cameras rolling press in an uproar, Guards pouring in like army ants, clearing the way for the royal doctor to come retrieve him.

  And through it all, Brendan watched off to the side, removed from the scene like he was watching a play, or CSPAN. As much as she wanted to examine that further, Xander appeared in front of her.

  “Commander, I need you with him,” he murmured in her ear as he directed her to Finn’s side. “He’s going to need someone if this goes bad.”

  Hell, if this went bad, the whole shifter kingdom was going to need someone, and it wasn’t going to be just Finn.

  Chapter Nineteen

  BRENDAN

  “How perfect was that?” The moment he was away from the cameras, he practically danced down the hallway in giddy delight. “He may have postponed the coronation, but if he doesn’t wake up…”

  Gwen’s smile was all teeth, razor-sharp and diamond bright. “Then all the news conferences in the world won’t matter at all.”

  “Exactly.” Brendan nodded as he held the door for her to precede him into his quarters. “And if he has help in that department…”

  Gwen took a seat in his armchair and pulled out her cell phone, a devious smile curling her lips. “Then long live the king.”

  * * *

  FINN

  Cora was able to coax him away from his father’s bedside at the hospital late that night, and that was only with the promise of food and the threat of bringing Vasily in. News of the king’s collapse had gone worldwide in an instant with varying relatives calling in, far-flung members of the royal family poking around for updates on his condition and tidbits of information on him and his brother. She’d confiscated his phone after it beeped almost nonstop for five solid minutes, and he’d let her, or it was going to get ground to dust in his hands. Shockproof and waterproof were still not wolf proof.

  Xander and Devon escorted them back to the palace with the understanding they’d be headed back the following morning. There was nothing more they could do, as the ailing monarch was not due to wake until the following day at the earliest anyway.

  If he was going to wake up at all, but Finn didn’t need her pessimism.

  She’d just stepped out of her shoes when Vasily came barreling into the room without knocking. The owl was wide-eyed and emitting a level of tension that had her claws out in just on general principle.

  * * *

  VASI

  “Regent,” he huffed, practically falling into the armchair. He ran all the way to the quarters from the Guard house and normally would not be winded, but it was damn cold outside, and he may or may not have gone flailing down the marble staircase due to a freshly waxed floor and slushy boots.

  “Hello to you, too.” Finn emerged from the closet barefoot and stripped down to his undershirt and trousers, moving slow like exhaustion was pumping through his veins instead of blood. He slumped down in the corner of the couch, and was immediately joined by Cora, who snuggled up against him like that was a totally normal thing for them.

  The Night Watch Commander held up a hand. “Your brother,” he huffed. “Brendan is setting things in motion to become the regent. He’s been in meetings all day arranging it so when the king is officially declared incapacitated, he will become the regent.”

  “But the press conference—”

  “Doesn’t mean shit if the king is not able to rule.” He trusted Cora knew he wasn’t trying to be overly harsh, but those were the stakes and it was better that everyone got on the same page, and quickly.

  His faith in her pragmatism was well-founded. “Okay, so then is there a plan?”

  “Not unless you have some magic you haven’t shared with us.” He knew that would be in violation of several treaties and laws on the books governing shifter/witch interactions and magic usages. There were certain immortals, sure, but the ones that were mortal had to stay that way, too. At this point, he was willing to try anything.

  “Not for that, no.” She shook her head sadly. “Say the word, though…”

  Tempting as it as, Vasi shook his head. “I appreciate the offer, but even I can’t risk inciting a war over this.” The last shifter/witch conflict left lasting scars on both sides as well as a fair amount of treaties and case law. He didn’t tangle with witches if he didn’t have to.

  “May be a little late for that,” Finn muttered, and Cora nodded in agreement. If it came down to it Vasi had no idea how a factionally divided court would work, or even if it would work without copious bloodshed. Brendan was the rightful heir, the crown prince presumptive, but Finn’s inherent compassion and humanitarianism, not to mention his popularity with the public, shifter and human alike, made him the better choice. And then there was Cora.

  Finn’s Corvid was firmly at his side. He imagined her employers would have something to say about the order of succession, too. Likely at gunpoint. As it was, he figured she was just one more botched assassination attempt from going full Morrigan on Brendan by herself, and no one wanted that. “Hopefully it won’t come to that. We need the king to want to come back. He needs something to live for.”

  “And the kingdom and the lives of his sons aren’t cutting it?”

  “Clearly.”

  “He needs something to fight for.”

  “Like…?” Cora rose from the couch. “Hold that thought. I’ll be right back; my bra is in attack mode.”

  Vasi recoiled. “Eww! I didn’t need to know that.”

  His best friend smiled serenely. “I could stand to hear more.”

  Her throaty giggle and wink followed here out of the room. She was gone but a moment when she stuck her head back in. “I’d kick a toddler for some food. Would one of you get that called in and maybe have one of the guys bring it up?”

  “I got it, Coretta. Go ahead and do what you need to do.”

  After a moment of silence and tolerating is friend’s dopey grin, Vasily snarked, “I still maintain that’s too much car for you.”

  “And I do not care.”

  * * *

  FINN

  The next morning came too damn soon for his liking. They were up, dressed, and out the door to the hospital before coffee even arrived at his quarters. It was unconscionable. Thank goodness for the Starbucks in the hospital. They didn’t dispense by the gallon, but at least they had some food he could eat without being concerned about being poisoned.

  It was almost s
econd nature to him now, watching Cora examine the food and find it acceptable or not. It was a level of trust he couldn’t even put a name too, but easily as close as family. She remained by his side all day, through doctors’ visits, changes in the nurses’ shifts, the Day Watch Guards trading out with the Night Watch. They were in the VIP section of the hospital, but that didn’t make the waiting any easier, just in more comfortable chairs.

  Didn’t matter if he stood or sat, Finn couldn’t get comfortable enough to calm down. All he could think about was his father’s deteriorating condition what they were going to do if he died and holy shit. He blew out a deep breath and tugged at his cuffs. Anxiety was a living, breathing organism, wearing him as a skin suit.

  Bruises dark on his exposed arms, one hand was taped up with an IV, an oxygen mask obscuring his face, Finn could not get past how small he looked. Fragile. That was not a work he associated with his father generally, but these days, it definitely applied.

  The antiseptic scents of the room and the varying murmurs beyond the doors stirred echoes in his mind. Memories of sitting here, in this exact same hospital with his mother as the life slipped away from her, from them. To be honest, he wasn’t sure if he could do it again, grieving a loss alone. At least when his mother died, he has his father and brother to lean on, but now?

  Cora’s warm hand was soft as it slipped into his. She didn’t speak but he felt her comfort, nonetheless. In her cream-colored sweater and jeans, she reminded him of the night they met. So much had happened since that fateful meeting in the bar, it was ridiculous to contemplate, and yet now he took solace from her very presence.

  “Finnegan?” his father’s voice was weak, faint, and he had to sniffle back tears the moment he heard it.

  Scooting his chair closer to the bed, he clasped his hand in both of this. “Da! Good to have you back. You scared us. Do you remember what happened?”