28. Asher

ASHER

T he beatings were so severe, I was sure two of my ribs were fractured. These injuries should have kept me confined to the shed for days. No one would expect me to try and get to Connor in this state. I had to seize the opportunity and kill him.

While the manor slept and the guards were distracted, I limped out of the shed and headed to the secret path Phaedra had told me about. I assumed it wouldn't be as guarded as other areas, and I was pleased to see that I was right.

My body protested every inch of progress I made up the rock wall and through the small hole leading into the manor. I ignored it. Some rational part of me knew I would probably die attempting to kill Connor, but I didn't give a fuck. Every thought that tried to convince me not to go through with it was replaced almost immediately with the image of my uncle collapsing in a puddle of blood.

So what if I did die? What did it matter now? The last member of my family had died right in front of me, and I was the only one who could make sure he was avenged. I didn't want to wait for Den City to finally get themselves together and revolt against Connor. This had to be done tonight.

I crawled into Connor's old room, and immediately encountered a large person-shaped shadow waiting for me. I reacted before I knew who it was, launching at them with the dagger. Just as quickly, the dagger was smacked out of my hand, embedding into one of the posts of the wooden bed frame beside me. I stumbled, but the figure caught me.

"Relax," Randall said. "It's just me."

But I didn't want to relax. I shoved away from him, intending to fight him out of the way, but my legs went out from under me, and I fell on my bruised and aching ass. Grimacing, I let out a frustrated growl.

"Easy," Randall said, his hands raised in a non-threatening way, as if he was approaching a frightened animal. "Give me just a second. I'll be right back."

He straightened and went outside. I heard a guard asking what the noise had been. My ears burned. I thought I'd been sneaky, but clearly I'd made a racket.

"It was just a bat that flew in."

The guard laughed. "Again?"

They chatted for a couple more seconds about the weather, but before long, the guard walked off, and Randall returned. He closed the door softly behind him, then crouched a couple of feet from me.

"What are you doing here, Asher?"

"Isn't it fucking obvious?" I snapped. "I'm gonna kill him."

I didn't have to specify who I was talking about, which was just as well. I doubted I could say Connor's name without flying into a rage.

"Like this?" he asked, one eyebrow raised, his eyes flitting over my injuries.

"Shut up." I tried to force myself to my feet, but for a second of frustrating time, my legs refused to support my weight.

Randall watched this quietly, then let out a brief sigh. "Do I really have to say it?"

I glared at him. "What?"

"If you think you can sneak into his room while he's asleep and take him out, you're wrong. He'll hear you, just like I heard you, and he'll wake up. He'll have you beaten again, or kill another member of your pack in front of you."

"I wouldn't let him kill me without a fight," I said. I was pissed off enough that my wolf should have been close to the surface, but he wasn't. He was painfully distant from me, thanks to this godsforsaken curse.

"Sure, but any injury you give him would only endear him in the eyes of the public. That could undo some of the work we've put into showing how incompetent he is to the people."

"Not if I killed him. Ended it right here. Right now."

He shook his head. "You kill him, and then what? He's martyred. The man who supposedly killed the previous alpha killed the current one, and the next alpha will come down as hard as possible on your pack. They might try to exterminate everyone."

I didn't want to accept what he was saying, but I couldn't argue his points, and I didn't have the strength to turn away and stop listening.

"He doesn't deserve to live," I finally said. "He needs to die."

"Yes." Randall nodded. "For all that he's done to you and to your people, he deserves to die. And for all that he's done to me and to my people, he should die again. That goes for the Coldcrow pack as well."

Though Randall was on our side, it still surprised me that he could speak like that about his alpha. He was right, of course, but even through the rage that still simmered in my veins, I wondered how he was handling all this. Planning his alpha's demise, being a covert traitor to the pack he'd served his entire life, and having to pretend to be the right-hand to someone like Connor.

"Fuck it," he said suddenly. "Let me grab something real quick."

Ignoring the dagger embedded in the post, he went to the left side of the bed and crouched. He rummaged under the bed, then removed a full bottle of whiskey.

"I have a feeling we're going to need this."

I raised a brow. "You drink on the job?"

He smirked. "Only on special occasions."

He plucked the dagger from the wooden post in one swift, easy motion and sat next to me. He used the sharp edge to break the dark blue wax seal and unscrew the cap. Taking a swig, he made a face somewhere between a grimace and a grin.

"Yes," he said, holding the bottle out to me. "It's the Wilcox pack's finest."

I accepted the bottle but didn't drink. My plans to kill Connor were dashed. That meant there was no outlet for the pained beating in my heart. I had to sit here and stew in my rage.

"How can you stand it?" I asked. "Being his right-hand? Living a double life."

"It was more difficult the first few days after I decided to help with this," he said. "Edgar taught me that an alpha's right-hand is loyal to his alpha above all things. But after talking to all of you and helping you with this plan, I don't think he was right. The right-hand should be loyal to his pack first, alpha second. The love that you, Taig, and Garret have for your pack taught me that. It got easier for me from that point."

"I see. That's a good enough reason on its own."

"I have another."

"Tell me."

"It helps that I've grown to hate Connor. Not just because he killed Edgar, but also because he cheated in his battle against me."

"He what?" I asked. "What are you talking about?"

"Remember when I explained that Edgar had me prove myself to him and Connor by fighting his guards?"

It hurt to think back to the middle-stages of our planned revolution. Back then, my uncle was still alive, and he was so excited for the opportunity to see high-wolf society fall. He'd never get the chance to see it now?—

I cut that thought off, bitter tears stinging the backs of my eyes. I didn't think I could speak without sounding fragile, so I nodded and tossed back the whiskey. It warmed its way down my throat and to my belly, making me feel something other than deep, cold sorrow.

"I mentioned then that I didn't understand how someone who could beat me could act without honor. Well, my suspicions were confirmed the night he tried to attack Phaedra. After she ran away and I knocked him flat, he admitted to me while I was putting him to bed that he cheated. He slipped some wolfsbane into my water right before our fight. It wasn't enough to poison me, but it weakened me just enough for him to win."

"Where did he get it?" As far as I knew, wolfsbane didn't grow on Isle Royale, and hundreds of years ago, when the packs on Isle Royale were smaller and power more equally distributed between them, the alphas agreed that it was forbidden to import. But somehow Connor had gotten his hands on some of it.

"I don't know." He shook his head. "When I tried to get him to admit it to me, he went quiet and seemed terrified. The most he would admit was that he got his hands on a couple of grams of it."

His voice was calm, but his hands were curled into tight fists on his knees. Thick veins were visible from the backs of his hands and up his wrist. Of course, he was pissed about that. A man like him, who prioritized honor over everything, would view such a cowardly act as the utmost disrespect.

"Anyway," he said, "that's enough for tonight." He nodded to the bottle. "Take that back with you. Spend time with your people. I'll make sure the guards look the other way. If you need me to send for Phaedra, I?—"

"No," I said quickly. "Let her sleep."

I didn't want her to know that I'd done this. Now I'd spoken to Randall about it, shame burned through me. And there was this, admittedly childish, sense of indignation. It wasn't any of her business what I'd almost done. I'd lost my uncle, it was my pack who had lost an extremely valuable and important member in cold blood, for no reason. Though I would love to be in her arms right now, I couldn't justify trying to bring her in. And without my wolf whining and pining after her, it was easier to keep her out.

Randall nodded, as if I was making the decision as Phaedra's mate, and not as a coward who couldn't face her after my selfish actions. He held out a hand, and I let him help me to my feet. Once I was steady, he handed the dagger back to me, then grabbed a couple more bottles from under the bed. He put the bottles in a spare pillowcase and handed it to me.

"Go back through the way you'd come," he said. "Like I said, I'll make sure you're able to make it to your people unseen."

I gripped the whiskey tightly in my hands. But the dagger… I suddenly didn't want the weapon anywhere near me. It was evidence of my near blunder.

"Why don't you keep this?" I said, holding it out to him. "You might as well. I got it from one of your guards."

He accepted it with a snort. "Knives aren't really my style, but I'll hold on to it just in case you want it back."

I nodded. "Sounds good to me."

My body felt heavy as I limped out of the manor and into the forest to get to my pack. I'd planned to put on a brave face for them, to appear strong even while my heart was breaking, but the moment they looked at me, their faces streaked with tears, all the strength went out of me.

I stumbled, falling to my hands and knees in front of them. It was a miracle the bottles didn't break. They ran to me, Taig and others lifting me to my feet and taking the weight of the bottles off me. Though I was still weak, I'd never felt stronger nor closer to my people than when I knew they had me in their caring arms.

I let them hold me and lend me their strength for a few moments, then got to my feet. Taig helped me get there, and I hardly noticed the pain in my limbs.

"We lost an incredible man," I said, speaking through the lump in my throat. Tears dripped from my chin, but I didn't care. I didn't have to hide my grief from my people.

"He was killed by a coward, by a monster," I went on. "But he isn't gone. The memories we have of him, every moment of laughter he shared with us, every win he celebrated with us, every tear he shed with us… all of these things live on in our memory. Each of us, who he touched with his wisdom or his humor or his joy, has solidified his legacy. He lives forever in all of us."

My pack cheered, and Taig embraced me. It wasn't that tightly, though, because of my injuries. I slapped his back as we hugged. The pain made me think of my pack, not of Connor, and I needed that, and he probably needed the hug just as much as I did.

We all sat together, pressed shoulder to shoulder as grief and sorrow racked through us. Though Connor had prevented us from being in contact with our wolves, the familiar methods of expressing pain were ingrained in our blood. So, we wailed and howled into the dark night. The bottles made the rounds through my pack, and somehow, when one made its way back to me, there were still a few swallows left.

Eventually, some people started to fall asleep, either passing out where they lay, close to their friends and family, or separating with their mates. My uncle's three mates, for example, went off on their own, sobbing together beneath one of the large firs.

Taig still sat close to me, taking the whiskey from me to have another mouthful. "That bastard has to pay," he said, speaking low.

"Yes."

"Is that what you went off to do? Is that how you got the whiskey?"

I sighed, wiping away the tears that collected under my chin. "More or less." I explained what my plan had been and how Randall had intercepted me.

I was grateful when he nodded, not a trace of judgment on his face. "That fucker is really trying his best to be enemy number one," he said. "Between Den City, high-wolf society, our pack, the Coldcrows, his own sister… he's got enemies on all sides."

"No fucking kidding. Everyone wants his head."

Taig nodded. "Randall's right, but if I was with you… Fuck it, you know I wouldn't have talked you out of it."

I nodded. "Some part of me wishes you were there to have my back."

He bumped his shoulder against mine. "Maybe next time you'll warn me before you decide to go rogue."

I chuckled and took the bottle back from him. "I'll remember that for next time."

I took a drink and lay back on the ground. The grass was warm under me, and the dark sky was full of stars. It was a gorgeous night, with the Waxing Gibbous illuminating it all.

Taig lay next to me. "You remember years and years ago when Garrett was determined to make the best whiskey?"

I grinned. "He was sure he could make it better than anyone on the island."

"He spent months poring over books and researching different methods of distilling and aging. He got his hands on all of the ingredients and supplies, aged it for a month or two, right?"

I nodded, but Taig was going on anyway.

"And then when it was time to taste it, he nearly gave himself alcohol poisoning."

I laughed. Taig and I had just been teenager then, and I vividly remembered the way Garrett's girlfriends had fussed and cooed over him while he was recovering. We chuckled, the nostalgia briefly overshadowing the sorrow.

"And now we're here, drinking Connor's stash," he mused, his voice dropping to a low whisper. "Garrett would be proud."

"He would've loved to be part of this," I replied, choking up again.

The air grew heavy again as fell silent, the enormity of our loss settling on us both.

I took another long drink, then Taig took the bottle from me.

"To Garrett," he declared, raising the bottle in a solemn toast.

"To Garrett," I said.

And those who were still awake echoed us. Taig took one last sip, then tossed the bottle into the bonfire. The glass broke, and the alcohol fed the flames. The fire burned high and bright.

As the heat bloomed across my face, I said, "Connor will face justice. We will avenge Garrett and our pack."

"Yes," Taig agreed, his voice breaking. He lowered his head, the tears flowing freely, and the sobs racking through his shoulders. I put a hand on his back as he let out his grief.

While I comforted him, my thoughts drifted to Phaedra. Part of me regretted not letting Randall get her. I craved her touch, her voice, and her scent… but no. It was for the best that I was spending time with my pack.

I shouldn't have let my desire for her push me into her arms again. I should have been stronger, because now I needed to face the consequences of letting myself get close to her. My focus needed to be on them, not on love, no matter how badly I wanted her. How badly I needed her. That meant I needed to make the same choice she made and sever the bond that had formed between us again. It was better to do it now before either of us got in too deep.