34. Thirty-Four

thirty-four

I should’ve known Finneus would take me back to the alpha’s mansion—my father’s house, my childhood home. He made a production of the trip, leading me through town like a conquering hero returning from battle with his spoils of victory. People dropped everything to stare at us. At least I didn’t have to wonder what they thought, because they voiced their opinions.

Sadly, many seemed to think Finneus and I made a great match. Others just seemed relieved, like maybe I could keep him in line. A few yelled things like “traitor” and questioned whether our alpha should pair with a disgraced woman. He silenced the naysayers with a glare.

Evera walked behind us with Malia and Paula, who sniffled loudly as she tried to burn holes in the back of my head with her glare. The strays fanned out around all of us to make sure no one got too close.

The spectacle couldn’t have lasted more than a few minutes, but it felt like hours. I just kept telling myself this was the only way forward. My pack had suffered greatly under Finneus’ short reign, and that couldn’t continue. Behind the smiling faces, I felt the collective fear that vibrated through the Ophiuchus. Deep down, they knew Finneus wasn’t a true alpha—or maybe that was just wishful thinking.

Stepping into my family’s house as Finneus’ prisoner was every bit as torturous as I’d imagined. The new alpha hadn’t changed much of the decor, and he’d even left several framed photos of himself that my father had on display. The biggest difference was the feel of the place. This structure no longer felt like home. It wasn’t warm and inviting and full of happy memories. It was cold and empty despite the people milling around.

Finneus wanted a reaction out of me, so I refused to give him one. I didn’t flinch at the sight of the bizarre decorative bowl Dad kept in the foyer. It was hideous, but he’d always loved it. I didn’t shy away from the steps I used to race down on Sunday mornings when my father made pancakes. That would’ve given Finneus too much satisfaction.

He studied my expression, seeming almost impressed that I didn’t burst into tears. I had cried enough for a lifetime; he would have to try a lot harder if he wanted to break me.

“Malia will show you to your bedroom,” Finneus informed me.

“What about Evera?” I asked.

“I’d like to visit with you privately, then your friend can join you,” Malia answered.

I took calming breaths and squared my shoulders. “Yeah, sure.”

There were few things I wanted less in that moment than to spend time alone with the caster. Especially not when she looked at me like I was the most expensive option on an all-you-can-eat buffet.

“Wait. What about Paula?” I asked, my gaze straying to the jilted fiancée. “What’s going to happen to her now?”

He smiled without showing any teeth. “Once the match is confirmed, I will exile her. For now, I prefer to keep her close. She will be perfectly safe.”

None of us were “perfectly safe” as long as Finneus held any sway over the pack.

Two of Finneus’ strays followed Malia and me up the stairs. I looked down at Evera from the landing. Her jaw was set in a hard line and tilted slightly upward in subtle defiance. She offered me an encouraging smile, which I returned before turning down the hallway to my old bedroom. The wolves didn’t follow us inside, they stood guard outside the door.

My heart skipped a beat when I entered the achingly familiar space. Nothing had changed. My picture collage still decorated the wall above a vintage sewing machine that Dad had given me when I first showed an interest in fashion. Old dresses that no longer fit still hung in the closet. I knew why my father hadn’t disposed of any of it—I had threatened not to speak to him if he did—but why had Finneus kept everything as it was?

“He knew you’d return one day,” Malia said.

I’d nearly forgotten she was there.

“You wanted to speak with me?” I turned and arched an eyebrow in question.

She gestured to the corner where two recliners sat in front of television—my and Evera’s movie nook. “May I?”

“Be my guest,” I said with forced pleasantness.

Malia took her time spreading out her dark-velvet cape and the folds of her matching dress, arranging everything just so before facing me with a bright smile.

“Your eyes are more open than when we first met,” she said.

Her comment wasn’t meant literally, yet I didn’t quite understand the meaning.

“Did your dreams begin after the comets, or was there another trigger?” Malia asked, her tone light and conversational.

My heart sped up. She’d known my true identity all along. Did Finneus? What about Penn?

Penn…

“I have ways of making you speak, Drake,” Malia continued when I didn’t answer immediately. She sighed with all the drama of a stage actress. “They are unpleasant, and I really don’t want to use them.”

The twinkle in her eyes suggested otherwise, but I didn’t have the mental energy to play games. Nor did I want to risk her doing something that impaired me. I needed to be careful, choose my words wisely.

“They started after the comets. The night my father died,” I replied.

“That wasn’t so hard, was it?” Malia beamed and stroked a large black stone resting in the hollow of her throat.

“Do I get a question?” I asked.

She considered it briefly before nodding. “Of course, ask away.”

“How did you meet Finneus?” I surprised us both with my choice of queries. Not that I didn’t want the answer. I did. It just didn’t seem like the most pertinent bit of information in that moment.

Malia settled deep into the recliner cushions, making herself comfortable for the story ahead. “Have you heard of Traitors’ Hell in the Pacific Northwest?”

“America?”

She nodded. “It’s an ancient, odd little town. Entirely supernatural. Caters to every type of perversion and vice you could imagine.”

I tried to picture Finneus in a den of sin and found it impossible.

“Finneus came looking for a very old caster, my mentor. She was a great seer, one of the best at interpreting the signs.” Sorrow filled her gaze. “Sadly, she passed several years ago. I took over her shop, so our dear alpha found me instead.”

“And you convinced him that he was Lucien?” I guessed.

One side of her mouth curved upward. “Men like Finneus, those destined to be close to power but never hold it themselves, they are very suggestible.”

“Why?” I shrugged my shoulders. “What’s the point in messing with Finneus?”

“Your pack isn’t known for their hospitality to strangers. An Ophiuchus wolf turned up on my doorstep and offered a way in on a silver platter.” She smoothed her skirts. “I couldn’t pass up the opportunity.”

I narrowed my eyes. “Is this some sort of game to you?”

“No, darling.” Her voice became much deeper, tone more intense. “This is all very serious for me. I care very much about ensuring the true warrior rises and claims their mate.”

“And we agree that Finneus is not that warrior?” I asked.

She shook her head. “No. He is not.”

“Why are you telling me this?” I didn’t hide my suspicion.

“Come now, Drake. We both know what’s going to happen at the ceremony.” She stared down her nose pointedly. “The only question is, what will you do when the match fails?”

“Oh, really, is that the only one?” I fired back before I could stop myself.

Malia laughed. “Sarcasm doesn’t suit you.” She reached into the pocket of her dress and withdrew a rectangular box. “A show of good faith.”

“What is it?”

She popped the lid to reveal the ceremonial dagger. The one Finneus had used to kill my father. I refused to take it, instead staring at the gleaming blade until Malia snapped the box closed and set it in her lap.

“I thought it fitting. You seem like the type of woman who appreciates poetic justice.”

“Do you think I’m the prophesied warrior?” I asked, not sure whether I wanted to hear her response.

Malia inhaled sharply through her nose and then stood, placing the box on the seat cushion she’d just vacated. “I’ll just leave that here for you.”

Her footsteps paused at the door. “For centuries, most have assumed the warrior is male. There is nothing in the language of the prophecy to suggest one way or the other.” She glanced over her shoulder. “Prophecies don’t just come true, Drake. They’re fulfilled. The true warrior will know how.”

The caster slipped through the door, closing it behind her and leaving me alone with my dark thoughts.

There was something especially macabre about debating whether to take another life while pacing a rug that still had stains from my first and only attempt to dye my hair. Malia had given me the perfect weapon to exact my revenge. I didn’t kid myself, taking Finneus’ life would not be easy, either physically or emotionally.

I didn’t have the killer spirit of many wolves. My thirst for blood was comparatively low. Could I really bring myself to end someone’s life? Finneus had betrayed my father. He’d done heinous things to our pack. But I couldn’t entirely disregard that he’d believed he was doing the right things. Not to mention Malia’s admitted manipulation.

Gaia, why can’t Penn be here?

What had Finneus meant by a time-out? Surely, he wouldn’t really harm his own brother, his flesh and blood. Oh, who I was fooling? Of course he would. Because Finneus had lost all sense of reason and logic. That was the problem with his staunch beliefs: he couldn’t see anything that went against them.

Hold on, Penn , I thought, on the off chance he felt my concern.

The bedroom door opened, and I almost expected to see him stroll in. When Evera entered instead, I swallowed the flicker of disappointment.

“How did it go with the witch?” she asked, looking a little alarmed at my appearance.

I glanced at the mirror over the vanity and understood her unease. My eyes appeared too big for my face, and strands of hair stuck out straight from all the static electricity I’d created running my hands through it.

Evera listened while I recounted the conversation with Malia, gaze growing wider with each word. She opened the box to see the dagger for herself when I got to that part.

“How do you know we can trust her?” Evera asked, running her fingertip along the edge of the sharp blade and applying just enough pressure to draw a faint line of blood.

“I don’t. Not at all.” I sat on the edge of the bed. “But you said it yourself, I might be the true warrior.”

“No.” Evera shook her head. “I said you are . I know that. You know that. Basil knew it.”

“So you think I should use the dagger on Finneus?” I stared at her expectantly.

She wrinkled her nose. “It’s really hard when you put it like that. I can’t just agree with a caster, but I don’t know that there’s another option.”

“Do you think the pack will back me?” I asked.

Evera pursed her lips. “I don’t know,” she admitted. “An unmated lady alpha isn’t most people’s ideal leader. Some will, though.”

Her last words sounded hopeful, though we both knew they might not be realistic. Then, I reconsidered. The council and the pack might hesitate to accept a lady alpha. For centuries, the Ophiuchus had prized boys over girls and men over women. Yet there was a faction of our pack where the opposite was true—the widows. Female wolves usually outlived their mates by several decades, with notable exceptions like Harold.

My father had always looked to the widows for guidance, a tradition for the alpha. Even the council often deferred to their judgement on important matters. It was likely why even Finneus had looked the other way when they defied him. With age came power, and I felt confident they would back me.

“I need to get in touch with Frann,” I said.

Evera blinked, accidentally pressing her finger harder against the blade. “Shit. That really hurt.” She sucked the cut. “Sorry. Um, any idea how we do that?”

Dad had kept a landline since he didn’t trust the cell reception in the mountains, but there were only two phones in the house. One in the master bedroom, and the second in Dad’s study. That was assuming Finneus hadn’t done away with them for some reason. Even if I managed to access a phone, he was too smart to not have the line monitored.

“I was sort of hoping you might have an idea,” I admitted. “How’s your finger?”

She held it up so I could see the healed cut. “All better.” Careful not to make the same mistake twice, she returned the dagger to its box. “Let’s see. You said the fae’s still with her, right?”

I nodded.

Evera chewed her lip. “And he gave you his magic? That must create some sort of, I don’t know, temporary connection…maybe?”

“Doubtful. It’s been over twenty-four hours.”

She shrugged. “I don’t know, you do smell like him.”

Evera had noted the mix of Walter and Penn’s scents when I arrived at her house. Somehow, she seemed to be the only one who’d detected it. Penn was one thing, but the strays should’ve alerted to the smell of fae on me. Finneus hadn’t noticed either.

That seemed strange in hindsight.

“Let’s not rely on magic,” I suggested. “Maybe something more primitive, like swiping someone’s cell.”

Evera shook her head. “Finneus has them using walkie-talkies.” Her eyes glazed over.

“Yes, little handheld radios. I know what they are.” I laughed uneasily.

“No. Drake. Basil bought us those walkie-talkies when we were like nine—remember? Because you wanted me to sleep over for your birthday, but you got sick.”

I’d completely forgotten. “Right. Wow. He said it was so we could still celebrate. There were four in the set, right?”

“Do you still have yours?” she asked. “Anders and Oscar have the other two.” A grin spread across her face. “Anders and I sometimes still use ours for late night sexy talk.”

“You really didn’t need to add the last part.” I shook my head. “I honestly don’t know whether it’s still here.” The mental image of Evera and Anders talking dirty to each other on walkie-talkies did spark an idea.

My father had always paid my cell phone bill. While he looked the other way during my excursions into the human world, he would’ve drawn the line at further communication with my flings. I’d used my meager savings to buy a prepaid that I promptly never used.

Jumping to my feet, I hurried to my closet and pulled shoe boxes from the top shelf. Evera followed me, dodging the flying cardboard.

“What are we looking for?” she asked.

My hands closed around a white boot box with black lettering. I’d worn the gray suede boots only once, on an unforgettable weekend in Capri. Jean Pierre. He was the reason I’d bought the phone. I yanked off the lid and handed it to Evera before turning both boots upside down and shaking. A flip phone clattered to the ground.

We both stared at the outdated electronic like it was a shared delusion. A bubble of laughter fled my lips as I knelt down and picked it up, fingers trembling as I turned it on. Half a battery. I’d take it.

“Do you know Frann’s number?” Evera asked.

I blew out a breath. “Of course not. The only numbers I know off the top of my head are yours and my father’s. You?”

She held out her hand. “One—Anders. I could send him out to the Widows’ Den.”

“I don’t know,” I hedged, hesitating to hand her the phone. “Finneus has already put him through so much. It doesn’t seem fair to drag him into more danger.”

Evera started punching in the number. “Doesn’t hurt to ask.”

She was right. Anders was more than happy to do the favor for us with little explanation beyond taking down Finneus.

“What message do you want me to give her?” Anders asked.

“We ride at sunset?” Evera suggested, then wrinkled her nose. “Too dramatic?”

I laughed. “A little.” Speaking into the phone, I added, “Tell her I need her tomorrow night at the ceremony. Tell her the cursed is rising.” I looked up at Evera. “Too dramatic?”

She shook her head. “No. Perfect.”