by N. D. Jones
“She’s not afraid of you.”
“That’s what she says.”
“Believe her.” Bader stepped back from Marrok. “Until that day we fought, I never believed Kalinda. But she truly wasn’t afraid of me. I also knew, no matter how hard she fought, she wouldn’t do anything to truly hurt me. I used her love against her that day. We both knew it, and she despised me for it. She still does.”
“Time has a way of healing old wounds, at least that’s what my father says. I don’t think Kalinda hates you.”
“You’re twenty-seven. Talk to me when your marriage is older than my cufflinks.”
“Was that another joke?”
“It depends. Was it funny?”
“A little.”
Bader smacked Marrok on his shoulder. “Then it was a joke. You better go see Oriana. I’ve grown fond of you, so I’d hate to have her magically jump you to the top of Mage Peak before you’ve had a chance to give Keira a brother and me a grandson.” Bader pushed him out the door. “Go, and … don’t tell my mate where to find me.”
When Marrok entered Oriana’s bedroom he took in the scene before him. Oriana slept in their bed with Kalinda seated in a chair beside her. Keira was nestled in a bassinet in front of Kalinda.
Marrok smiled at his mother-in-law … and lied. “Bader wants you to know he’s in the library if you want to talk before he leaves for the night.”
Yeah, Marrok may have been only twenty-seven to Bader’s sixty-four, but he intuitively knew that Bader wouldn’t have mentioned not telling Kalinda where he was if he didn’t think she would seek him out. More, if he didn’t want to be sought out by his mate. Sometimes, all the encouragement a werewolf needed was for a witch to make the first move.
“Thank you, Marrok,” Kalinda whispered, her eyes on her sleeping daughter. “It was a hard labor, but she did great.”
“No magic. No medicine. The story of Oriana’s pregnancy.”
“You forgot stubborn.”
Marrok walked Kalinda to the suite door. “She was stubborn before her pregnancy. Don’t forget about Bader.”
When she paused, hand on the doorknob, Marrok wondered if he’d overplayed his hand with the reminder. But she just shook her head, as if tossing out whatever notion had occurred to her.
“Goodnight, and congratulations on the birth of a healthy baby girl.”
“Thank you.”
Stripping down to his boxers and tossing his clothes onto the bedroom’s settee, he went over to his daughter. “Hey, cutie,” he cooed, noticing his daughter’s big, royal blue eyes were open. “Look at you. What a beauty.” Careful to hold her securely, he lifted Keira into his arms, the newborn tiny, yet solid.
Sitting on the edge of the bed opposite where his mate slept, Marrok held his daughter. “It was love at first sight.” He snuggled her soft cheek with his nose. “Don’t tell your mother—she’d be jealous—but you’re my best girl, my absolute favorite little witch.”
She smelled faintly of lemons, but also a floral scent uniquely her own. As Keira grew, her baby scent would yield to the scent of her magic—werewolves’ olfactory temptation. Kissing her delicate forehead, Marrok breathed her in and vowed to embrace the advice he’d given Oriana months ago. He would enjoy parenthood, and he would try not to think of the next twelve years as a ticking time bomb.
Having rocked her to sleep, he returned Keira to her bassinet. Dimming the light, Marrok joined Oriana in bed, spooning closely, arm around her waist, head on the same double pillow.
Closing his eyes, he began to drift off to sleep. But a low, soft voice murmured, “Best girl, huh? Favorite witch?” A sharp elbow to the gut had him coughing and laughing.
“You’re number two, if that makes you feel better. If we have another daughter, however, you’ll drop to number three. But hey, third place? That’s not bad.”
Oriana laughed.
Marrok grinned. He didn’t see the pillow before it smacked him in the face.
Chapter 9: Accountable
January 10, 2243
Steelcross Realm
Steel Rise
Oriana read the report in her hand—twice—before handing it to Marrok. “Are you sure?”
Solange, who sat at the opposite side of the conference table from Oriana and Marrok, frowned and nodded.
Marrok balled the paper, tossing it into the wastebasket at the end of the table. Oriana wished she could dismiss the details of the report as easily as Marrok had made the shot.
Solange’s gaze slid to Marrok. After nearly three years of marriage, Oriana still needed to remind witches, including her best friend, that Marrok was entitled to access the same intelligence as Oriana.
“Let’s not travel this road again, Solange.” Without looking, she placed her right hand atop Marrok’s left. “Go on.”
“Of course. A recent audit of our rage disruptor tracking system revealed data gaps.”
“I read that in the report. Is the count accurate?”
She had to ask, although Solange wouldn’t have requested a formal meeting if she hadn’t tripled checked the auditor’s findings.
“Thirteen hundred, give or take a hundred.”
Marrok turned his hand over, pressing his palm against hers and lacing their fingers when she would’ve slammed her hand onto the table in anger.
“How in the hell did we lose track of thirteen hundred werewolves?”
“No answer I can give you will satisfy. Outdated program? Lazy technicians? Skipped maintenance checks?”
“Lazy technicians, maybe. We can check the dates of maintenance reviews. But an outdated program, doubtful. Unless werewolf DNA can change, and our magic expires like meat or medicine, the program works as it should. The auditor concluded the same. Why then, in your report, did you suggest a system glitch as the cause?”
“I have no idea why the system isn’t able to track their silver snares. But a glitch makes the most sense.”
“Not the silver snares,” Marrok said. “The system tracks rage disrupters, not silver snares.”
“Technically, you’re both correct. One device, two parts, and three spells to make the mechanism work seamlessly. It’s perfect symmetry. Foolproof. Failproof. So why don’t we have tracking data on over a thousand werewolves?”
“I don’t know. I only learned of the glitch two days ago and haven’t completed my investigation yet.”
“Until we have evidence to support your contention, I’m not going to assume what happened was a system failure or glitch. What’s the demographic breakdown of the missing werewolves? That wasn’t in your report.”
Oriana and Solange had been friends since childhood. Solange’s mother had served as Oriana’s tutor. Professor Soleil oversaw her magic training when it became obvious to Kalinda that an impatient mother training her stubborn daughter led to nothing but frustration and tears. Solange and Professor Soleil had moved into Iron Spire. With another child in residence, the spire no longer felt as lonely, and Oriana’s days weren’t filled with boredom.
They’d turned the spire into their personal playground and, for the first time, Oriana had a friend. Solange had viewed her as more than a matriarch-in-training. Cheeky as hell, badass to the bone, Solange’s loyalty to Oriana was known throughout the realms, as was her dedication to the Crimson Guard.
Oriana had never known her friend to lie to her, not even about dating Alarick, although neither Solange nor Alarick would describe their secret relationship as dating. Maybe it was just “screwing” as Solange had told Oriana, with more vehemence than the conversation had warranted.
What had always been true was that Solange placed kinship above everything else. Her integrity and loyalty served her well as captain of the Hunter Division. With those traits, however, came blinders, invisible to all except those who knew Solange well.
“Tell me what you don’t want to say. You know I’ll drag it out of you. You’re better than the report you gave us. Tell us everything you know. Leave it to
me to decide what’s important.”
For a beat, Solange appeared as if she would argue, eyes intent, lips parted, shoulders stiff. Then she scooted closer to the table, fingers locked in front of her, and a short nod of acknowledgment. “They’re all muraco.”
Oriana opened and closed her mouth three times before she could wrap her mind around Solange’s simple but devastating sentence. “Are you saying we can’t track thirteen hundred muracos or that we don’t know where they are?”
“Umm … both.”
Maybe she should smash her head instead of her hand against the table. This couldn’t be happening. But it explained Solange’s hesitance.
As Oriana had suspected, not a glitch, although she preferred Solange’s assumption to the conclusion she had drawn.
“Wait, wait.” Marrok sounded as dazed as she felt. “I thought we were talking about missing werewolves in the non-literal sense. But that’s not what you just said. You mean there are muracos who are physically gone not missing in the sense of us being unable to track them by their rage disrupter?”
“Yes, gone in every sense of the word, except for dead, which I’d take over them being free and on the run.”
“If the escaped muracos have infected black werewolves with their saliva or blood, we have no way of knowing how many muracos are actually on the loose.” Marrok kissed her hand before releasing it. “This is bad.”
“The understatement of the year, my love. Only a skilled witch with the right training and medical tool can remove a rage disrupter from a werewolf’s brain. If not done correctly, brain damage or death will result.”
It went without saying that no werewolf was officially trained in the technique. Even the number of witch healers licensed to insert rage disrupters were few, all vetted through a rigorous process. Unlike the number of missing muracos, the list of licensed healers capable of removing rage disrupters was short.
There were also only a few locations where large populations of muraco resided. If Solange knew muracos were missing, it would follow that she knew from where. Considering how hesitant her friend had been to share all she’d discovered, and that she still hadn’t uttered the word hanging between them like rotten fruit on a dead tree, Oriana knew where the muracos were missing from.
“We have a serious national security issue on our hands.” She’d have to meet with Kalinda, who would have more questions for her than she had posed to Solange. Oriana wasn’t looking forward to that discussion. When it came to certain topics, Kalinda had a one-track mind. She viewed all muraco as irredeemable werewolves deserving of death. Their laws, however, prevented Kalinda from executing muracos without first attempting imprisonment.
Werewolves, even muracos, weren’t without their civil rights, even under a matriarchy. Black werewolves may have had no more use for muracos than Kalinda did, but the matriarchy would have a full-scale riot on their hands if the white werewolves were denied basic civil rights. Kalinda was too wise to risk an avoidable war.
Still, they had to be captured and returned to custody. Oriana would attempt to bring them in alive, but if Kalinda ordered the Crimson Hunter to execute them, Oriana would have little choice but to obey. She both gave orders and took them. Being matriarch didn’t shield her from the latter. Only Kalinda had the power to compel Oriana to do something she didn’t wish to do. Killing over a thousand werewolves, even muraco, would have her stomach and mind revolting the entire time.
Solange pushed another report across to Oriana, which she promptly slid to Marrok to read. “That’s a list of the highest crime areas in Janus Nether.”
Marrok read the report, frowning the entire time. “A werewolf knows another werewolf, even when in human form.” Marrok tapped the side of his nose. “No way could a muraco hide among black werewolves, and us not know. They carry a scent unique to only them.” He touched his nose again. “While I don’t have personal experience with muracos, Dad swears, when in werewolf form, muracos smell like an overcooked rock doe. So, no, they couldn’t hide in Janus Nether. But they could hide among humans. Aphelion Umbra and Perilune Rille—I suggest looking there first. The Magerun would allow them to slip into Steelcross or Irongarde, kill a witch here and there, without local enforcement realizing the murders were anything other than the normal crimes committed by witches and humans. It isn’t as if only muracos kill. As long as they don’t kill while in werewolf form, law enforcement wouldn’t have a reason to focus their investigation on werewolf citizens.”
Solange pointed in the direction of the wastebasket. “Did you happen to read the date when the muracos went missing before you crumpled the paper?”
“Yeah.”
“Notice anything, Cyrus of Steelcross?”
“Captain.” Oriana let Solange’s title be warning enough. “Make your point without the sarcasm.”
“My point is that the muracos went offline three years after the signing of the Blood of the Sun decree that made it legal for werewolves to go without their silver snares while in Janus Nether.”
Per the new decree, the rage disrupter tracking system had been adjusted. Serial numbers of rage disrupters for all werewolf residents of Janus Nether had been moved to its own file. The system was reconfigured to release silver snares both when werewolves reached a certain oxytriton level and when rage disrupter trackers registered travel beyond Janus Nether’s borders.
Solange inclined her head to Oriana before shifting her attention to Marrok. “Maybe the muracos did go to one or both of the human regions. If they did, I don’t think they intended to hide there indefinitely.”
“I wasn’t implying they were, only that it would’ve been impossible for them to conceal their true identities for long or without questions being raised if they were in Janus Nether. One, they would’ve had to keep their shifts limited to their homes, erasing a major plus of living in Janus Nether. It being a witch-free zone means we don’t have to worry about spending lots of time as werewolves. It’s freeing in a way I can’t begin to explain.”
Marrok brightened, as he spoke of Janus Nether. Watching him, silver snare around his neck, she realized, for the first time, how much she’d given him with one hand but had taken with the other. She’d worked hard to convince her mother to make Janus Nether a collar-free territory. Then she’d married Marrok, taking him away from the first place he’d experienced a semblance of the freedom witches and humans took for granted. Even as Cyrus of Steelcross, she couldn’t grant Marrok the same freedom he’d known in Janus Nether, making him no different from any other werewolf in Steelcross or Irongarde.
“Two, after a while, someone would’ve noticed the muracos’ lack of a silver snare. We all trigger our rage disrupter at some point. It’s impossible not to. We aren’t robots, Solange. We get angry, just like everyone else. We fight, can even throw a few punches before the magic from the silver snare kicks in and calms us down.”
Marrok refilled first Oriana’s glass with water then his own. He held out the water pitcher to Solange, offering to fill her glass, too, but she demurred. “For obvious reasons, muracos aren’t wanted anywhere. They have no community, no family or friends who still claim them. They want to live without constraints, to have something of their own. But they can’t because they only know how to take and destroy.”
Her gaze on Marrok, Solange considered his words, tapping her fingers on the table. “You’re talking about a rebellion.”
“It’s what Oriana meant when she mentioned a national security issue.” Marrok looked to Oriana for confirmation, and she nodded. “Yeah, they’re biding their time, living among humans until they have what they think is a solid plan to challenge the matriarchs. When they do, they’ll move to Janus Nether, infecting as many black werewolves as they can with their tainted fluids. Exposure to their saliva or blood is all it will take to turn a black werewolf into a muraco. The region is close to Irongarde City but have few witches living there to oppose them. They can attack black werewolves and, because of the silver sn
ares, the black werewolves won’t be able to successfully defend themselves.”
Yet another way the matriarchy had diminished their males. They couldn’t even protect themselves because witches had built a system around their own defense.
“What makes you think they aren’t already in Janus Nether?” Solange asked.
“I can’t know for sure, of course.”
Oriana nodded, acknowledging Marrok’s words. “It’ll be several investigative teams’ tedious assignment, but I need all Magerun footage examined since the muracos went offline. We have their names, not that they’re likely still using them. We also have their DNA on file and images. Between the two, the teams should be able to determine if, when, and where they used the transporter system. If they have moved to Janus Nether, I doubt they did it in large numbers. That would’ve been too obvious, but a few here and there and sprinkled between all three cities, is more likely. I also need to speak with everyone with access to the tracking system.”
Marrok tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, sending inconvenient frissons of awareness through her. “You can use the word interrogation in front of me. I know what you do as Crimson Hunter.”
No, he didn’t. At least not all of it. This meeting wasn’t the time to disabuse him of his assumption. That would come later … but far too soon for Oriana’s liking.
“We have a lot to do.” Solange grinned from Oriana to Marrok, her shit-starter friend shining through. “So, Cyrus of Steelcross, while Oriana is organizing every detail of our investigation, you will have plenty of time to have a Crimson Guard jump you to Iron Spire and provide Matriarch Kalinda with an intelligence report. I’m sure you know she prefers her updates to be made in person.”
“Sure, I’ll go, if you’re the one, Captain of the Hunter Division, to jump me there, staying in the room with me until the meeting is over.” Marrok returned Solange’s smile, plenty of playful sarcasm about a task neither of them would happily volunteer to complete.