“Positive.”
“So it’s likely our anonymous caller was one of the murderers.”
“Yes.”
“What does your nose tell you about who did this?”
“Nothing that makes sense, but it isn’t easy sifting through the smell of death. The strongest scent is loup, and there’s a lot of it. Some of it’s foreign to the local loup, but that’s not the worst of it. We can also smell vampires.”
Knight fumbled the phone, but managed to not drop it.
“That makes no sense,” Father said.
“No, it doesn’t, but the scents are here.”
“Vampires and loup don’t work together, and certainly not to do something like this.”
“I wish I had an explanation, but I don’t. It’s possible the loup involved were half-breeds.”
“That still doesn’t explain working with vampires.”
“No.”
Only a few hundred vampires were known to still exist in the world, and that was largely due to the actions of the loup garou. In the early days of Rook’s grandfather’s generation, a bloody feud had broken out between the loup and the vampires. With their superior numbers, the loup had overpowered and killed a large percentage of the vampire population. In the last sixty years or so, the vampires had remained mostly silent, making no bold moves and taking no part in the occasional hostilities between the loup and Magi.
So why step forward as a threat now?
“There’s one other thing,” Bishop said. “I’m pretty sure, and both Jillian and Devlin agree, that a Magus was here.”
Knight glanced in his direction, but Rook couldn’t stop staring at their father, whose face had flushed and whose clasped hands were shaking. He was the very picture of barely contained rage, and the sight of it made Rook want to hit his knees as his furious Alpha triggered the submissive instincts of the loup under his command.
Knight put the phone down on the book-covered table next to his chair, then moved to stand in front of their father. He touched Thomas’s shoulder and the simple act of a concerned White Wolf seemed to absorb some of the enraged Alpha’s stray emotions.
Relieved to have his brother there with them to keep their father calm, Rook inched closer to the table so he didn’t have to shout to be heard over the cell phone. He didn’t want anyone else in the house hearing this news yet. Unexpected news he didn’t want to believe, because of the coincidence of Brynn’s arrival. Had she been playing them all along? “What makes you think a Magus was there?”
“Well, we aren’t in Florida and it stinks of rotten oranges,” Bishop replied. “That and some of the bodies were . . . roasted.”
Roasted conjured up a mental image of someone tied to a man-sized spit over an open flame, and that was not something Rook needed in his head. “What do you mean roasted? As in burned?”
“No, that implies an external heat source, and nothing around here smells burned. The people who died this way . . . damn it.” Bishop cleared his throat hard. “It’s like they cooked from the inside out, and since loup aren’t known to spontaneously combust, the only way that could happen is through magic.”
“So our suspects are loup, vampire, and Magus? Is that even possible?”
“Possible or not, they were all here during the slaughter and they left before we arrived.”
“How many?” Father asked. His voice was rough, bitter, but Knight’s abilities had taken the edge off.
“It’s difficult to determine,” Bishop replied. “We’ve agreed there’s only one distinct Magus scent, but the loup and vampire scents are less distinct. Our best guess is three to six suspects.”
“Six people killed over three hundred?” Rook asked, his horror and fury compounding with the implications of such an occurrence. “How’s that possible?”
“I wish I knew, Rook.”
Knight turned toward the phone, his expression helpless, as though he wanted to reach through the air and take some of the haunted desperation out of their oldest brother’s voice. So many lives lost to such a violent, unknown enemy, and Bishop had seen the devastation with his own eyes.
“Collect whatever evidence you can,” Father said. “Destroy what you need to keep from the human police, and then get home.”
“Already in progress,” Bishop said. “I’ll text you when we’re on our way back.”
“All right. Be careful.”
“Always.”
Rook waited for Bishop’s end of the line to go silent before he ended the call. He stood in the middle of the library, unsure what to say or do. Their world had tilted sideways a few minutes ago. The foundational melody was ripped apart and forever changed. Over three hundred of their brethren were dead and other runs had to be notified. The rest of the Cornerstone enforcers—a handful of Black Wolves and the strongest, fastest of the Gray—needed to be told, alerted for possible danger. Cornerstone had twice as many loup garou as Stonehill had, but until they knew why Stonehill was targeted, everyone was potentially at risk.
Similar thoughts must have been going through their father’s mind, because he said, “I need to make some calls. The other Alphas have to know what’s happened.”
“Would you like our help?” Knight asked.
“Not with the calls. I need you and Rook to tell the other enforcers what’s going on. No immediate action, but I want them alert and informed. And then try to get some sleep, if you can. Bishop and the others won’t be home for hours yet.”
Rook doubted he’d be able to sleep tonight, but he agreed to the request—after he asked Brynn about the Magus and the roasting. He didn’t want her involved in this violence, but there existed a very real possibility that she already was.
***
As soon as Father locked them out of the library so he could make his calls in private, Knight made a dash for the downstairs bathroom. Ignoring the muffled sounds of retching behind the closed door, Rook slipped past to the foyer, allowing his brother a moment to himself. Knight felt everything more keenly than other loup, and he’d likely been trying to steady both Rook and their father during the entire conversation. Tempering all of that negative emotion had taken its toll physically.
Rook went upstairs, determined to be strong tonight—for his family, and for the people of Stonehill who’d died at the whim of an unknown enemy.
They’d have their vengeance. Rook made the silent promise to three hundred-plus murdered souls—and to the one lone survivor who’d wake in the morning to a very different world.
***
The forest, somewhere she doesn’t recognize. Her father sprawled on the ground, his shirt torn, his chest bloody. His eyes are closed, his body still. A young man crouches above him, blood on his hands.
She knows the young man now. Rook. Knows he isn’t the killer, but he’s still there. He looks at the blood on his hands, then over where she cannot see. His profile is not scared, not sad. He doesn’t seem to care that her father is dead.
Brynn shook herself awake with a screech, hands clawing at unfamiliar linens. She stared at strange shadows in someone else’s bedroom. Perspiration covered her face and neck, despite the cool air from the window fan blowing directly on her from across the room. She shoved the sheet and thin summer blanket down and sat up, desperate to recover her bearings.
Cornerstone. The McQueen house.
She grabbed the small, windup alarm clock off the bedside table and angled it toward the window. She squinted at the hands on the clock face, until the moonlight helped her determine it was after three.
A soft knock on her door made her fumble the clock. It hit the wood floor with a bang and clang of the alarm bell, and she flinched. Her bedroom door inched open, and Rook poked his head inside. The unexpected sight of him sent a warmth through her middle that chased away the last remnants of her vision and her lingering fear. How could the appearance of a man she barely knew, whose people were her enemy, make her feel so safe?
“Are you all right?” he whispered.
“Yes, sorry. I dropped the clock.”
“I didn’t mean that. Before that, you sounded . . . like you screamed.”
She was surprised he’d heard her—then again, she wasn’t certain where his bedroom was in relation to hers. “Bad dream. I didn’t mean to wake you.”
“I was awake.”
“At this hour?”
He slipped fully inside her room and closed the door. He was still dressed in the same clothes as yesterday, while she was sitting there in a borrowed tank top and pajama shorts. He stood straight, shoulders back, but the complete lack of energy in his demeanor alarmed her. She wanted to cross the space between them and hug him, and she didn’t understand why. The urge went far beyond simple empathy with a hurting soul.
“Bishop and the others will be back by sunrise,” he said without really answering her question. He spoke with a quiet anger that told her without words that they’d received bad news about Connecticut. “Do you know what they found up there?”
Brynn blinked hard, confused by the question. “No.”
“Really?”
“I told you before that I have no knowledge of the attack.”
“You’ve said a lot of things today, Brynn, the first several of which were lies.”
“And I explained why I lied.”
“How could a loup garou body be found dead, roasted alive from the inside out?”
The gruesomeness of the question startled her into momentary silence.
Rook growled. “Surprised we’re smart enough to figure out only a Magus could do such a thing?”
“What are you talking about?”
“You know what I’m talking about.” He took a menacing step forward, hands clenched, his anger mixed with genuine grief. “How long does it take to kill someone that way? Is it fun watching someone suffer so badly before they die?”
Horror made Brynn’s heart pound. “Are you suggesting a Magus was responsible for something that happened up north?”
“No, I’m saying it plain. They scented a Magus in Stonehill, and believe me, your kind is impossible to mistake.”
“But—” What? Theoretically, an experienced Magus could do exactly as Rook said, especially a fire elemental. “I don’t know anything about that, I swear to you. I swear on my life, Rook.” He only glared at her in the dim light. “Please believe me.”
“A Magus was there. You’re here.”
Frustration at the persistent accusations overwhelmed her fear, and she stood up and planted her hands on her hips, a stance that used to intimidate her students, but probably did little for the incensed Black Wolf in front of her. “Yes, I am here. And I know it’s the worst sort of coincidence, but that’s all it is. A coincidence. My being here is not part of a larger Magi conspiracy. If it was, the Congress would have sent a much better liar.”
A tense silence fell over them. Brynn waited, nothing left to say in her own defense. It was Rook’s turn to believe her or not. She wanted him to believe her and stop looking at her like she was some sort of traitorous spy.
“I accept that,” Rook finally said. Some of that rage rolled away, leaving exposed nerves in its wake. “They killed so many so fast, and we don’t know who they are.”
As much as her curiosity was piqued, she couldn’t bring herself to ask about it and to make him continue reliving that pain in the dark hours of the morning. “Is there anything I can do?”
“It’s too late to help them.”
Her heart ached for Rook. He was too young to look so wrecked by the violence of the world. The old floorboards creaked beneath her feet as she crossed the small room to the door, drawn to him and his grief. Despite the horror of her vision, she’d seen something that had yet to happen. Rook was dealing with something that had already occurred and was haunting him right now.
She reached for him, then drew her hand back. Only a few inches of space separated them physically, but an entire world separated them in every other way. Nothing about them together made sense, and yet she found herself consistently intrigued by him. Curious about his life and his family and the things important to him. She wanted so badly to ease his hurt, even if only temporarily. She just didn’t know if he’d let her—or what she’d do if he pushed her away.
Unsure what else to say or do, Brynn said, “I’m so sorry, Rook.”
He blinked rapidly, his eyes glimmering too bright in the dim moonlight. “They’re all dead. Three hundred and six people.”
“Sweet Avesta.” She didn’t need an explanation now, didn’t need to him say that those three hundred had once been part of the Connecticut loup garou town. She didn’t need to know the details; they existed in the sharp angles and shadows on Rook’s face. She knew enough to give him the simplest thing a grieving man needed: comfort.
Although she was shorter than him, she slipped her arms across his shoulders and around his neck. He allowed her to pull him down into the hug, and his own arms looped tightly around her waist. She turned her head and rested her cheek on his collarbone, inhaling the warmth of his neck, the fragrance of his skin. He drew in a deep, shuddering breath, then let it out on a soft exhale. The contact sent shivers of awareness down her spine. Her body warmed everywhere they touched. Her lips were so close to the skin of his throat that the slightest movement would cause contact, and she found herself wanting it.
Despite the situation, she could not deny her body’s reaction to him. And it scared her to death.
Oh Avesta, stop this before we’re both destroyed by it.
His heart beat steadily against her breast, even as his breathing became shallow and uneven. Something warm and wet hit her bare shoulder. Her insides ached for his pain. She held on tighter, wanting to do more, to take it for herself, keenly aware she was doing everything she could. Probably the only thing he would allow from her.
Rook pressed his face into the crook between her neck and shoulder, and in the privacy of the dark, mourned a loss she could never imagine, while she held him close.
***
Brynn woke to the warmth of sunlight on her face—and to the unfamiliar, yet comforting warmth of another body pressed against her back. She blinked hard as she opened her eyes to a view of the windowpane and wall. The warmth against her back shifted slightly, and a puff of moist air tickled the side of her neck. She inhaled, and her nose filled with a familiar, earthy scent.