Broken Blood (18 page)

“Right. Earning the trust,” he mumbled. He rose awkwardly, his hands shoved into his pockets. “I’ll just ... see you downstairs.”

I watched him go, his shoulders stiff and straight, as my mind drifted back to the secret I’d learned “Alex,” I called and he turned back. “Can I ask you something?”

“Anything. Always.”

“Do you ever think about your dad and the kind of person he was? The kind of person he tried to make you be and who you are now without him?”

Alex stared at me as if searching underneath my words for whatever was making me ask, but finally he answered. “All the time,” he said. “At first it used to make me feel like crap. It’s one of the reasons it took me so long to accept you being...” He trailed off and his cheeks flushed.

“My being a Werewolf,” I supplied.

“Yeah,” he said a little guiltily. “I had this idea in my head that I was supposed to make him proud. End of story. Rejecting that picture, going against his beliefs was the hardest thing I’ve ever done.”

“I thought training me was the hardest thing you’ve ever done,” I teased, but it fell flat because we both knew he’d just admitted once again to being so torn, he’d actually carried out orders against me.

“Right. Second hardest,” he said.

“Would you still have made this decision if he were alive?” I asked.

“I don’t know,” he admitted. “But thank God I did. I can’t imagine my life without you, Tara.”

“I didn’t—”

“I know. I meant that strictly platonic,” he said.

I arched a brow. “Okay, not strictly. Loosely,” he corrected. When I still didn’t answer, he said, “Metaphorically?”

A small laugh escaped. “Don’t worry. Metaphorically,” I said, “I’m not going anywhere.” There was nothing metaphoric or figurative about the look he gave me when I said it.

After he left, I replayed it over in my mind, the conversation overlapping with Steppe’s memories of all the times he’d played on Alex’s emotions, on his feelings for his dad and for me. Alex had come so far, become such a stronger person since we’d met. I knew a lot of that was because of meeting me, being forced to see the world from another viewpoint. For the first time, I was able to identify the root of Alex’s feelings. That he’d mistaken his desire to live, to be a different person for feelings for me. I knew he still couldn’t see the difference. He probably still thought he was in love with me.

I thought about the way he’d smiled at me when I told him I’d forgiven him, the relief in his eyes at seeing me here, unharmed and out of that prison. He’d looked radiant with relief when I’d assured him I wouldn’t go anywhere. I hoped, for his sake, he knew I’d only meant that as a promise between friends. And I wondered if I’d just made some sort of promise that, in the end, I wouldn’t—or couldn’t—keep.

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I
n the streaming light from the window, the faces of my friends and family seemed to shine with an otherworldly determination. The living room was filled to the brim with the people I cared about. Each of them reflected a fierceness that I couldn’t quite muster as the conversation flitted from suggestions of violence to espionage.

I stayed mostly quiet, unwilling to admit I didn’t share their zeal. Maybe it was Steppe’s voice in my head pointing out the flaws to every suggestion they made or maybe it was my conversation with Alex and how I still felt like I was straddling both worlds. A decision I’d yet to make about whose side I was really on. I couldn’t shake the feeling that no matter how much time had passed, no matter how much progress had been made since I’d joined this group of warriors, we were still at a stalemate. Werewolves hated Hunters. Hunters hated Werewolves.

Only one thing currently united them, thanks to Steppe’s doctored video footage: they all hated me.

I wasn’t sure how—or even if—it would ever end.

Beside me, Wes rose and ran a hand through his tousled hair in a cursory gesture. His cheeks were flushed as he paced in the small space between the edge of the couch where I sat and the bookshelf lining the wall behind him. Even the air around him seemed to pulse with anxious energy. This was the Wes I knew, the one that required action in the face of a crisis.

“I don’t understand why we’re still discussing this. It’s not even a question. We have to remove their bond,” Wes said, frustration and impatience equal parts in his tone and body language.

“There’s no way to do that—” Logan began, but Wes cut him off.

“There is a way. Steppe managed it and now Tara’s free from that entire pack, thank God. Imagine what it would’ve felt like having to experience their deaths, one by one. This bond is only going to hurt her. We have to sever it before it does.”

I winced but kept silent. He didn’t need to know the pain I’d felt over losing Chris. I caught Cambria looking at me and smoothed my expression, but her frown remained.

“Wes is right. Steppe obviously figured out a way to do it,” my mother said warily. I knew she and Wes agreed in this, at least. Removing my bond. Protecting me. This was always their first and last priority. “But not without help,” she added with a pointed look at my uncle.

Astor fidgeted in his chair, his slippers peeking out from the too-long flannel pajamas he wore. A few glances flickered to Astor and then back at me before everyone’s attention settled on him.

In my head, Steppe was grumpy, but he was quiet. His mental energy was focused on cataloguing Professor Flaherty’s collection of hand-blown glass she kept in her basement. It made me suspicious, and I tried to remember everything I’d overheard while in Steppe’s custody.

“Astor, how did Steppe remove the bond?” Professor Flaherty asked. He looked from face to face with a handful of nervous glances. Professor Flaherty laid her hand on his shoulder. “Take your time.”

When his eyes landed on mine, his expression softened and cleared. He was himself—at least for now. I exhaled and watched him do the same before he spoke. “He didn’t remove it, exactly,” Astor said.

“Then how did—?” Wes began, but now it was Logan who cut him off.

“Let him talk,” Logan snapped.

Wes glared but said nothing.

“More like he redirected it,” Astor said. “After researching the two cortices of the cerebral cortex, we found that the area buried in the sulci controlling conscious thought streams could be redirected by an emotional or sympathetic—”

“In English, man,” George cut in, earning a disapproving look from Astor. Beside George, Emma tugged on his arm and gave him a disapproving look and he scowled.

“We re-bonded the hybrid pack to Olivia by making them feel sorry for her.”

A beat of silence passed. Everyone stared at Astor until, one by one, they shared glances with each other. It was a roomful of silent communications.

“Was there a blood transfusion involved?” Fee asked.

“Of course. But the bond wasn’t complete until the emotional connection was made,” Astor explained. “Just like with George and Tara that first time or with Gordon last night. They had to let go and let each other in.”

“Why didn’t Steppe do it himself?” Wes asked. “Surely he would want to bond with them himself so he could control them.”

“We tried,” Astor said with a frown that turned to a twitch. “Our attempts were unsuccessful.”

“Why?” Wes pressed.

“Because there was no emotion to connect to,” I said.

In my mind, Gordon cursed.

Everyone shifted to me. “But you and Gordon are...” Logan pointed out, trailing off as if he’d realized too late he’d hit a sore spot.

“I feed his darkness,” I said dully.

“No, you keep it at bay,” Emma said. I looked at her in surprise. For one, that she’d spoken at all in such a large group, and for two, the knowing look she shared with George and the way their expressions both softened as they looked back at me, hands clasped.

“It’s true,” George said. “With the pack before and with...”

“Janie,” Emma finished.

“And Nick,” George added. “You kept them sane for so long simply by balancing out the darkness that was in them. Even we could see that and we’d already fought ours back. You held us all together, Tara.”

I could only stare at them in muted gratitude as a single tear slipped down my cheek.

“You think that’s what she’s able to do with Steppe,” my mother said and the conversation turned back to a scientific speculation of my mental capability to handle more than the average hybrid. Even Grandma, Jack, and Fee weighed in that it seemed to be an anomaly of my own Dirty Blood and maybe my dad’s stabilizing cocktail that had made me immune to the weaknesses most Werewolves faced.

None of them seemed to notice my reaction. I swiped hurriedly at the tear and hardened my face into something business-like. If I was able to bond more easily to Steppe, it was stripping my emotional strength faster than PMS during the flu.

I caught Cambria looking at me again. When she saw me watching, her attention flickered away to something behind me. A second later, Wes returned to perch on the arm of the couch beside me. His hand came down on my shoulder and rubbed circles along my neck and back.

“...bonding her with Olivia,” my mother was saying when my attention drifted back. “That’s almost worse than being bonded with Steppe.”

“Is it?” Grandma said. “Olivia’s weak-minded, malleable. Maybe our girl could use that to—”

“I’m not bonding with Olivia,” I said. Everyone fell quiet and I gathered my strength, ignoring the way Grandma’s mouth opened in preparation to return fire. I pressed on, suddenly overcome with irritation at my own lack of contribution up until now. I was not letting Steppe hold me down.

I stood up, my hands fisted. “With any luck, Olivia is still locked in that cage we left her in. A team should head out, today if possible, and retrieve her, put her somewhere more secure until we can figure out what to do with her. In the meantime, we need to move on from this idea about removing or redirecting the bond. Steppe is in my head but I’m in his just as much.”

My eyes flickered to Derek and then, beside him, Cord. She sat with arms folded and a set line to her mouth. All business. My pulse quickened.

“I plan to use that,” I went on. “In the meantime, we need to come up with a plan for reversing the law and fixing things between our races. This has been our goal all along. We can’t get distracted now.”

“Tara’s right. If we don’t do something soon, it might be too late,” Derek said. “They’re already after Tara. Next up, they’ll go after each other.”

“We need a leadership,” Grandma agreed. “If we can remove Steppe from power, we can change the laws.” She cocked her head at me. “Although, getting him to rescind the changes would be easier considering CHAS protocol. I don’t suppose there’s any chance of that happening?”

I scowled at the images Steppe was throwing at me. Images of his signature on the documents decreeing the dissolution of the treaty with The Cause. A raid he’d ordered on Jack and Fee’s house. I pressed my lips together and sighed. “No, not at this time.”

“We could spend some time with him,” Derek said quietly. He nodded at Wes beside me. “Between Wes and myself, we would eventually get through to him.”

“That would hurt Tara,” Wes reminded him. “No one’s having a go at Steppe,” he said to the rest of the group. His glare challenged anyone to argue. No one did.

“So, replacing him,” Cambria said. “What would that take?”

“More than we can do,” Grandma said sadly. “CHAS leadership can only be changed one of two ways. First, the person stepping down would appoint their position to their next of kin.”

“So, family,” Cambria said. “Does Steppe have any?”

“None still living,” Grandma said.

My stomach fluttered at that, but I said nothing. Not yet. Not like this. In my mind, Steppe threatened and cursed but I ignored him. When that didn’t work, I watched while he took his temper out on his current guard, Jack.

Jack took it in stride, ignoring Steppe in favor of exploring Professor Flaherty’s sea glass collection. It only made Steppe angrier—which only made Jack smile.

“His lack of family makes this that much harder,” Grandma went on. “According to our laws, which date back as far as The Draven was written, the only other way to replace leadership is to hold a vote among the other members of the board.”

“Why is that so hard?” Cambria asked. “Let’s just get everyone together. I’m sure we can sway them enough to swing it in our favor.”

One by one, everyone turned to look at Logan. My chest felt weighted and I blinked back tears for the second time in as many minutes. My emotions were strung so tight between the bond and my friends ... Everything we’d lost.

Not just Logan’s dad and the vote he’d represented. I thought of Victoria’s mother. Bailey. My father. Even Miles and Leo. The past was littered with the victims of bigotry.

“It’s fine,” Logan said in a hoarse voice. Beside him, Victoria reached over and took his had in hers. Logan stared down at it and then back up at Astor. But Astor was looking down at his buttons and mumbling to himself.

“Astor,” Logan called. Finally, he looked up and their eyes met. “It’s okay. I understand.” Logan’s words were strained but heartfelt. Astor nodded, sucking his bottom lip into his mouth so his chin lifted, and looked away. Logan cleared his throat.

“With Mr. Sandefur and Hugo gone and me fired, there’s not enough of a board left,” Grandma explained.

I looked at Wes, whose features had hardened into an impenetrable shell. He didn’t look surprised, though. Most of them didn’t. In fact, almost everyone had lost their determination from earlier. Now, they all looked resigned.

“Don’t forget about the video,” Derek said.

“There’s footage of that?” I asked, horrified.

The ensuing silence made me more nervous that the idea of the video itself. I’d seen the way it happened, but I’d also seen the events leading up to it.

“It was released on the secure channel for Hunters by CHAS,” Wes explained quietly. “It shows Astor attacking Mr. Sandefur.” His hand hadn’t stopped its circular pattern on my back, but I could no longer feel it. Everything felt numb. These videos they kept talking about, the ones painting us as the bad guys—I finally understood the seriousness of the effect they must be having.