Chapter 2: Everett

Chapter 2: Everett

The pride of the Grandbay wolves was going to get them killed, and it pained me that nothing I could say would grant them any sense.

I slouched in my chair, staring out the wide window that spanned the back wall of my office. My postmodern house decorated in dark granite sat on a mountainside on the southeastern edge of Gunnison National Forest. Its tall cement pillars rose up among birch and aspen on a cliffside that overlooked my domain, my humble town of Eastpeak sprawled between the mountains, whose peaks dominated the horizon around us. Vibrant sunshine from the late August afternoon illuminated my office, its glare in the window reflecting my image back at me: Everett March, Alpha of the Eastpeak pack and CEO of March Lumber Mill. With legs clad in blue denim, old grey sneakers, and an olive-green utility shirt unbuttoned one down from the collar, I barely looked the part. Most executives didn’t keep their dirty blond hair in a bun on their head, or sit in chairs barely big enough to hold them. Stormy grey eyes emphasized my look of wildness.

Nobody ever said it out loud, but I used to think my intimidating presence was what impaired peoples’ ability to trust me. I had a better idea of what it was now. I had never allowed Eastpeak to get involved in the small quarrels between our neighboring packs. The effect of Eastpeak’s avoidance had chipped away at the trust my allies held in me, and now they would rather condemn themselves to certain death than let me into the situation.

The Mythguard should have taken Muriel Vale out of here weeks ago. Now, none of them could even set foot in Grandbay territory without the threat of reproach from Gavin Steele.

After the fatal clash between Dalesbloom and Grandbay a few days ago, I realized that something needed to be done, and I had no choice but to act in the background. It seemed impossible to me that David couldn’t be reasoned with. The relationship between him and Gavin had soured somewhere in the process of merging Grandbay and Dalesbloom, and I was confident that the lack of mediator was what intensified the fight. Even with the truth revealed about David’s crimes—his scheme to have Gavin’s parents murdered by the dragons, his kidnapping of Elizabeth Rathbone, now Billie Jesper—some fragment of the logical, grounded man I had known all my life must still exist. Perhaps he was unwilling to relent to Gavin, but our relationship had always been professional, pragmatic. I thought I could talk some sense into him. All I needed was to get him on the phone.

When the landline on my desk finally rang, I swiveled my chair around and answered. “Everett March,” I said briskly, hoping to hear David’s voice.

At the same time I glanced at the caller ID, a woman’s voice piped back at me, “Good afternoon, Mr. March. The invoice from the Gunnison Millwright’s Association has come in and the payment is awaiting your signature. Will you make it into the office today?”

“Yes,” I replied. “I’ll be there in thirty minutes.”

“Okay, thank you. I’ll let accounting know.”

Maybe I was a fool for being optimistic about David. Gavin was just a kid, so I understood David disregarding him, but if he wasn’t going to take me seriously either then the conflict between our packs was going to degrade much faster, and much worse, than I’d anticipated.

My mind ran amok with catastrophic thoughts as I gazed out the window, observing the world that had fallen under my control. Among the mountains puffed thick plumes of smoke from the March Lumber Mill, the company I inherited through my family, and as the CEO it was what I dedicated most of my time to. Between work, my pack, and my commitments to the Mythguard as a local correspondent, I didn’t get many moments to myself, but when I did, I spent them here in my home office. It was my base of operations. Most people were surprised to learn that I was only 26 years old. Even in my late teens, responsibility ruled me. I suppose my perseverance had caused my social life to suffer—now, my detachment from my allying packs, or… anyone, really, was baring its ill effects.

Still, I would do what I could to help. Even if Gavin and his pack didn’t want me.

I leaned over my desk and grabbed the phone again, punching in a number I knew by heart. The phone rang, then the familiar voice of my Beta, Taylor Byrne, answered. “Hey, Ev.”

“I haven’t been able to get ahold of David. We need to know what’s going on in Dalesbloom,” I began. “Can I get you to pay them a visit?”

Even from over the phone, I knew Taylor was raising his eyebrows at me. “You want me to just waltz up to Hexen Manor after we took Gavin’s side in that fight?”

“No, I want you to check the perimeter of Dalesbloom territory to see if they or the dragons have moved, or if they’re still there. Assuming they are, I want you to arrange to send a human to the Manor—their security system is serviced by Rooster Alarms in Dalesbloom. We have $10,000 to offer someone to discreetly plant a bug inside the manor. Can you do that?”

Taylor went silent, the gears in his head turning as a new scheme between us took shape. “I can sort that out. You have the cash?”

“I’ll transfer you the money.”

“What if it’s a no-go at Rooster?”

“Offer them the money anyway to keep quiet. And don’t use your real name.”

“That’s a given.”

“Can you get this all done by tonight?”

“To the best of my ability,” said Taylor.

“Great. Call me once you finish the perimeter check.”

“Can do.”

Even if I didn’t know how effectively I could interfere with the conflict between Dalesbloom and Grandbay, getting a plan into motion put some of my anxieties to rest. Ten thousand dollars was a lot of money, but it wasn’t like I was strapped for cash. We had to make it worthwhile for whoever we approached, to either do the job or not blow our cover.

I made my way to the lumber mill, parking my grey Lexus near the industrial entrance. The front lobby was manned by a single receptionist who politely waved at me, and a vestibule that led to employee lockers and a lunchroom. On the wall sat a row of hooks from which hung bright orange high-visibility vests that my employees were required to wear on the floor at all times, as well as extra protective eyewear and hard hats. I grabbed one of each for myself before entering the wide double doors leading onto the factory floor.

Inside, a labyrinth of churning and grinding machinery processed shipments of hardwood logs that the mill received each morning. Most of the machinery was automated and outfitted with laser-guided planing tools that mitigated the risk of injury to my employees, but there were still bodies on the floor to supervise, manually count and inspect, and operate machinery as necessary. The scent of sawdust was so strong it often tickled my nose into a sneeze but having spent my entire life around the lumber mill, the smell had become a comfort to me. Sweet, dry, dusty, tangy. The scent always varied slightly based on where the logs came from and what type of wood they were, but they all had that same earthy smell of nature that reminded me of my roots as a wild animal. A wolf.

Recently, one of our debarker machines had failed and we couldn’t determine what the cause was. It seemed the millwrights we brought in had gotten it operational again. I watched the machine hungrily take logs and strip them of their rigid brown bark, flinging the odd chip into the air before setting the naked log on a belt that would feed it to the next machine in the lineup. Satisfied with the repairs, I returned to the lobby with a fresh layer of sawdust on my shirt.

My receptionist produced the invoice for me to sign. She smiled sweetly at me, plying for some kind of attention, but my gaze didn’t rise until I’d scrawled my last name on the paper and pushed it toward her. “Thanks, Mr. March,” she said, taking it back.

“My pleasure.” Always a pleasure to pay for good work. I would do whatever it took to keep my business running smoothly.

After my quick visit to the mill, I would have joined Taylor on the perimeter check, but with the Mythguard in town I needed to make sure their operations were running smoothly too. I pulled up to a motel at the base of the mountains, the parking lot dotted sparsely with cars, and knocked on the door of the fifth suite. A lanky man with thinning brown hair and scruff on his cheeks welcomed me inside.

“So I received the case files pertaining to recent Lycan-related incidents,” said Sebastian Hicks, the Mythguard representative supervising the Gunnison packs. “I’ve been looking over them and, in each event, the damage has been… significant. It seems there isn’t a Lycan event in which the transformed individual in question hasn’t caused destruction. Then again, non-destructive events might not have been reported, but based on our knowledge of Lycans, it seems unlikely that a person can obtain their Lycan form and remain in control of their actions. It’s like the beast aspect of a shifter is amplified tenfold and becomes so dominant that it completely overwhelms human cognizance.”

“Even in a marked individual?”

“The marked condition prior to turning Lycan seems to bear no effect.”

I stood beside Sebastian in front of the table where he had spread out his case files. There were five incidents laid out before us from all over the world—one from Iceland, one from Thailand, and three from right here in the U.S. All of them reported some number of human deaths—and the Lycan involved had been euthanized every time.

“All of these individuals were dragons,” I pointed out.

“Yes. They’re the most notorious for seeking out the Lycan ritual. Ghouls tend to keep to themselves and vampires find strength in numbers, relying more on stealth than brute strength. Fae generally aren’t an issue, as we’ve found they and unicorns are far more benevolent than the aggressive shifter races. At times, wolves may dabble, but it’s primarily dragons that we have experienced abusing the blessings from their Sun God,” explained Sebastian. “We suspect it’s because the dragons feel the greatest effects of shifter oppression, being diurnal rather than nocturnal like ghouls and vampires. They don’t have as much freedom to hunt or embrace their beasts like wolves do, because dragons… well, most humans don’t believe dragons exist. Wolves are part of nature. Dragons are an anomaly that the Mythguard have worked for centuries to hide, to protect the delicate sensibilities of humans. I think humanity would suffer a collective mental break if they knew that there were giant flying reptiles prowling about.”

It made sense for dragon shifters to be most prone to acting out. “That was Lothair Javier’s leading cause, wasn’t it? While in the Mythguard, he was an advocate for the exposure and freedoms of dragon shifters.”

“That’s right,” said Sebastian. “He advocated for the slow introduction of dragons to humanity, but the Mythguard continuously rejected his proposals. Exposing dragons would mean exposing shifters, and the world just isn’t ready for that. The damage it could cause to shifter communities globally would be astronomical.”

In a way, I felt for Lothair. It couldn’t be easy being forced into the shadows when dragons worshipped the sun. But there had to be a better way than imposing the power of dragons onto unsuspecting humans. Mass death wasn’t the answer.

“How many unicorn shifters are under the protection of the Mythguard?” I asked.

“We have about three hundred in our system, but there has to be at least two thousand in existence. They’re the rarest type of shifter, with ineffectual Alpha lines that rarely extend more than two or three generations.”

“That’s because of their placid nature. There is a sense of violence intrinsic to the act of transforming a human into a shifter,” I mused out loud. “And because they’re so rare, they don’t often breed.”

“Interestingly, we’ve found that lately, the bottlenecking on Alpha lines is caused by the hybridization of unicorn shifters. They will breed with other shifter races in order to protect their offspring—a unicorn hybrid without a horn is useless when it comes to the Lycan ritual.”

The horn was an integral part of the Lycan ritual, a well of magic that shifter Gods fed off of. The Gods granted shifters magic, but it had come from their own reservoirs. The ritual was an offering, a form of thanks, a return of magic from where it came. The Sun God in particular had always been receptive of these offerings, as the sun itself was ever hungry for more fuel to burn, to consume.

“Is there any way a shifter can be blocked from performing an effective ritual?”

Sebastian caught my eye. “Not that we know of. If we could prevent Lothair and David from performing the ritual, we would. But as it is, we have no way of preventing it except for restricting their access to a unicorn horn. And with Muriel Vale being held in Grandbay, at such a close proximity to them… it’s only a matter of time before they get their hands on her.”

A long sigh streamed from my nose as I considered this. Gavin was insistent on protecting Muriel, but he was only inviting the inevitable. There was no way I could convince him to hand Muriel over to the Mythguard, especially since the Mythguard were the reason Muriel had been targeted in the first place. They had failed to protect her from Lothair accessing her files when he abandoned the Mythguard and went rogue.

“Have you considered the next course of action regarding Grandbay?” asked Sebastian.

“I’m working on it. Right now, we can’t directly confront Grandbay without further damaging the alliance between Grandbay and Eastpeak. I’m going to try indirect preventative measures with Dalesbloom.”

“You’ve gotten into contact with David?”

“No, but whether he likes it or not… I’m going to find out what he’s up to.”

Sebastian nodded. “We have to preserve as many lives as possible. Even if Grandbay thinks it’s them versus us.”

I nodded, too.

Their pride would be the death of them, and if they succumbed to Dalesbloom’s violence, then Eastpeak would surely follow. I wasn’t about to let that happen.