Bishop glanced around. No one else lingered near their cluster. Knight’s condition was not public knowledge. “Have you ever known a White to force-shift?”
Agnes shook her head slowly. “I haven’t. I’m sorry, Alpha, I wish I had answers for you.”
“It’s all right. I know a little bit more now than I did before. Thank you.”
“Keep someone talking to him. If he’s in there, sooner or later he’ll come out.”
“I hope you’re right.”
“Would you like a friend along, dear?” Agnes asked Shay. “I should pay him a visit myself, I think.”
“Of course,” Shay said.
“What time is it?” Bishop asked once the pair had left.
Rook checked his phone. “A little past noon. Why?”
“Colin Corman will be here soon.”
“Oh. Joy.”
“You can hate him all you want, but I need you to be polite, okay?”
“I can be polite. I even promise not to growl at him. But can I still glare menacingly and use the full force of my scary scars?”
That Rook could find some small amount of amusement in the situation gave Bishop hope. “Glare away. A little intimidation might be helpful.”
“You’re pretty intimidating, too, you know,” Brynn said. “Believe me. The first day I stood in your father’s office, surrounded by the four of you? I’m proud I didn’t wet myself.”
Rook slid his arm across her shoulders. “You held your own against the big bad wolves.”
She tilted her head up and smiled. “I did, didn’t I?”
Bishop didn’t watch the kiss. The adoring looks shared between the pair were more than enough. He was happy for Rook, having Brynn in his life, but he was just as jealous. Bishop wanted Jillian. Subconsciously he’d wanted her for weeks. For the past few days, he’d stayed away because he consciously knew he couldn’t have her.
All he had to do now was survive the next ten days, and he would.
His beast stirred, delighted with that outcome. Bishop glanced at Jillian, who met his gaze with a strong one of her own. Strength tempered by need and understanding.
By God, he wanted her. Even if only to hold until the dull ache in his chest went away.
“Ready to head back?” Jillian asked.
“I need to go to the office,” Bishop said. His phone had buzzed in his pocket several times. He hadn’t checked, but he had a good idea they were from Weatherly. Might as well get used to doing business in the office.
“Need any company?”
“Sure.” Had the auction floor not been reconstructed into temporary housing units with other loup coming and going, he’d have said no. The temptation to kiss her, maybe do more, would have been too much. He wouldn’t risk starting anything today with so many prying eyes, ears, and noses around.
Rook nudged him away from the group. “You sure that’s a good idea?” he asked on a low whisper.
“We’re going to the office.”
“Alone.”
“People are in and out of the auction house all day. We’re hardly alone.”
“Bishop—”
He put up a warning hand, frustrated that his brother didn’t think he could control himself. “I know, I know. Nothing inappropriate.”
“People will talk.”
“About what? Us doing run business together in Father’s office?”
“Alone together.”
Bishop caught himself before he growled. “So we aren’t allowed to be alone together again until after the challenge period?”
“Don’t you think it would be for the best? We can’t afford any ammunition against us. We can’t lose this run.” The resolution in Rook’s eyes said the conversation was over, the decision made.
And he wasn’t wrong. Bishop wanted to be alone with Jillian, even for the simplicity of a conversation, or a hug. But this was his father’s run. Even an active, known affair couldn’t directly affect his ability to fight any coming challengers. It could, however, affect the way his people looked at him, talked about him. It could affect how the other, more experienced run Alphas perceived and respected him in the future.
“You’re right.” Bishop exhaled hard through his nose. “What happened to the angry, chip-on-his-shoulder, gotta-prove-myself guy who came home from college four months ago?”
Rook smiled sadly. “He grew up.”
The bars were his constant enemy. A foe he couldn’t beat, and he’d tried. Tried until his teeth ached and he’d tasted blood. His own blood. The prison reeked of it and the blood of another. The one who’d attacked him in the woods. He couldn’t clean the blood from his fur. Couldn’t reach it.
It haunted him.
He paced the small space, anxious and angry. Disgusted by the odors of blood and urine. Hating the confinement with every ounce of his being. He wanted to be free to run. To find his enemies and destroy them.
Instead, the others had captured him. He hadn’t wanted to fight them. He’d only wanted escape. To scent his enemies and use it to track them. Searching for the scent had left him distracted to the approach of the beast. The beast whose blood still haunted him.
The men had seemed familiar. Not enemies. But they wouldn’t leave him alone, and then they’d brought the female. The man had touched the female.
His female.
He growled at the thought of the man touching her. She wasn’t the man’s to protect, she was his to protect. His.
She’d come to the prison and talked to him, a beautiful sound that soothed some of his anger. Some, but not all. Nothing would soothe it all. He needed his anger to remain. It fueled him. Fueled him like the steaks the men had fed him. He wasn’t stupid. Survival meant eating their food and drinking their water. He’d play their game until he could escape and finally hunt his enemies.
Nothing else mattered except vengeance.
And
her
.
He licked the last few drops of water from the bowl. He wanted more. The last time he’d run out, he’d howled long and loud until an old female brought more. He’d growled to make her leave faster. He didn’t want her company. She wasn’t his female.
Something creaked beyond the prison, a sound that always came before a visitor. He scented the air, catching the faintest hint of spring grass. Everything inside of him leapt for joy.
Her.
She was back. He stood at attention facing the only wall beyond the bars that ever opened.
She entered with a container in her hands, followed by an old female. Not the same as before. This one smelled like apple blossoms. A foreigner. She’d been there in the woods with the others.
His female approached the bars. He watched, curious, then pleased when she poured water into his bowl through the bars. She kept her gaze on him the entire time, careful. Her suspicion didn’t bother him. She was being smart. They couldn’t communicate. She didn’t know she was his yet, that he’d die before he hurt her.
She backed off, standing next to the old female. “We missed you earlier, Knight. The memorial was beautiful.”
He didn’t understand all of her words. The language was familiar, her cadence calming. Kind. Also strong. She spoke with spirit, and beyond the woman he sensed her beast. A beast who recognized him, as well.
“Your brother spoke. Bishop, I mean. He said such lovely things about your father.”
Awareness prickled down his spine. Father. He no longer had a father. He felt no grief about that. No regret. Only a distant emptiness. Emptiness was better than grief or regret.
“Jillian spoke as well. Many people spoke. Your father was loved, Knight. You’re loved, too. So much, by so many people.”
He had no father. He was very much alone. Except he wasn’t. He had her. She kept coming back to him. She could get him out of his prison.
He took a single step toward the bars. She did not retreat. He kept getting closer, until he could fit his muzzle through the bars.
“Do you think he’s hearing me?” She asked the old woman, not him.
The old woman didn’t reply immediately. “I don’t know. I can’t sense his emotions, Shay. The beast is still in control.”
“But he’s so much calmer than before. He’s not growling or trying to bite.”
“He also hasn’t shifted back, child.”
“Maybe he doesn’t know how.”
“Perhaps so. Hard to say in his state.”
“What if he just needs someone to show him?”
The old woman made a strange face. “How many times have you shifted since you were hurt?”
Hurt.
He couldn’t stop the low growl. He understood that word, and he hated it. No one was allowed to hurt his female.
Both women looked his way. “Do you think he understood that?” his woman asked. “He reacted when you mentioned me being hurt.”
Hurt.
He growled again.
His woman knelt to his level, her eyes fixed on him. Open and honest. “Knight, do you remember who hurt me? Shake your head if you do?”
He didn’t understand it all. Only that she’d been hurt. His anger bubbled up.
“I was hurt by the same people who hurt you. We have the same enemies, you and I.”
His female had been hurt by his enemies. He backed away from the bars, a distressed whine tearing from his throat. He’d failed to protect her, because he hadn’t destroyed his enemies. He hadn’t protected his female.
“Knight, it’s okay. I was hurt a long time ago, before they hurt you. It wasn’t your fault. You didn’t know me, so you couldn’t have protected me.”
She was his. He’d always known her.
“You’re my dearest friend right now. I need you to come back to me. Talk to me. Hold my hand. I believe that the man is stronger than the beast, and that you’re in there someplace. I know you can come back.”
Something in her words touched a part deep inside of himself that he didn’t like. The weak part of his body and mind. The part that recognized the language and the people. The part that felt fear. He didn’t want that part of himself to return. He’d left it behind for a reason.
“I know how easy it is to lose yourself, Knight. To go someplace that feels safe, because the pain is too much to bear. But you didn’t let me bear my pain alone, and I won’t let you be alone, either. Not anymore. I’ll help you come back.”
She stood, never losing eye contact. He shifted his weight, unease prickling his spine. Something was about to happen.
His female lifted her dress, removing it in a single motion. She handed it to the old female, then removed the last scraps of covering. He didn’t understand why they covered their bodies, only to take it off again. Waste of time and energy.
She knelt on all fours, still watching him. Eyes wide and round. Power rippled beneath her skin, within the thin muscles of her body. The air crackled around him, igniting his senses, rippling across his skin. It tingled his nose and the back of his throat. He whined, uncertain. And then his female began to change.
He watched, at once excited by what he knew in his bones was happening and angered by her obvious pain. He paced his prison, never looking away, needing to be closer to her. Desperate to touch, nuzzle, lick. It lasted for an eternity, and then his female shook out her thick black fur. She looked at him with shining eyes, and she knew him.
He knew her.
She approached the prison bars, her appealing scent of spring grass filling his nose, arousing his senses. He padded closer and pushed his muzzle between the bars, desperate for contact. She remained slightly out of reach, watching. Power washed over him, a demand that instinctively put him flat to the ground. Ears back. Chin on his paws.
He’d disappointed her. Made her worry.
She loomed above him, so strong. The strength he’d been seeking his entire life. A completing strength, and with her strength came a sense of absolute safety. She would protect him as fiercely as he would protect her. Maybe more so. Protecting was her job.
He turned his head, baring his throat. She couldn’t reach it through the bars, but she understood the trust he was showing. She lowered her head and sniffed the underside of his mouth. Licked his chin. Accepting the trust he offered. She wouldn’t hurt him, nor he hurt her.
A creaking noise caught his focus.
“Agnes, what’s—?”
“Not right now, dear.”
He jerked away from the bars and whipped around, snarling at the newcomer. Another female. She’d been with the others in the woods.
“I’m sorry.”
“Let’s leave them alone a while.”
The females left, sealing the moving wall.
His female remained behind. She watched him from the other side of the bars. They were still separated. He’d shown his trust. She accepted it.
The others still hadn’t allowed them to be together. Anger curled deep in his belly. He retreated from the strength of his female, welcoming his rage.
Rage was all he wanted to know. Rage would help him see his enemies punished. Punished for hurting both of them.
***
“You had no idea, child,” Agnes said once they’d reached the upstairs hall.
Jillian closed the door, then stalked across the hall to the library. Frustration simmered just beneath the surface, aimed directly at herself. She’d gone downstairs to check on Agnes and Shay, and she’d blundered right into something important. For one brief moment, Knight had been calm, submissive to a shifted Shay, and then it had shattered. All because of Jillian.
Agnes closed the library door. “Don’t take this onto yourself, too, you hear me?”
“Had she reached him?” Jillian reached the far side of the library, then turned. “Had she?”
“In some way, yes. But not the man. Not yet.”
“Damn it.”
“But we’re so much closer now. He bared his throat.”
“To Shay?”
“Aye.”
Jillian’s heart leapt at the importance of such a statement. Baring his throat took a great deal of trust. Shay had reached him on the beast level. Somehow she had to help him shift back to skin. Maybe he wasn’t lost after all.
“The lad is scared and running hard,” Agnes said. “Shay took a risk and she grounded him today. No one else could’ve done it.”
“How do you know?”
“Experience. Even if they don’t consciously know they’re for each other, their beasts do. He’s responded to her as he should. All she needs now is time.”
Jillian’s beast stirred, frustrated at the distance she was keeping from Bishop. “Do our beasts always know, even if we don’t?”
Agnes settled into one of the plush leather chairs. “In my experience, yes. But you can still find love without your beast approving. I think you know that.”
“I loved Derek.”
“Aye, but he wasn’t your mate, was he?”
Jillian hesitated. The door was closed. Agnes knew how to keep secrets. “No, he wasn’t. You know, when Dad allowed me to stay here and assist the McQueens with their search for the hybrids, he had an ulterior motive. He wanted me to assess the single Black males for a suitable husband.
“He even suggested Knight, which I knew from the day I arrived would never happen. He’s too important to this town, and to his family to ever leave them.”
“Did you find your suitable husband?” Agnes asked after a moment of silence.
“The husband part is out of my hands now, isn’t it?”
“I suppose it is.”
“My beast found her mate, though. I think she knew from the moment we met in Stonehill.” Shaking hands with Bishop for the first time with the scents of blood and death in her nose, Jillian’s beast had stirred with more than anger and vengeance. The beast had recognized a stranger, and they had battled the attraction for the last few weeks.
“I see.” Agnes smiled, eyes glittering with understanding. And a touch of amusement. “How does he feel?”
Jillian found no embarrassment in confiding this to Agnes. After her mother’s death, Agnes had been her only real confidante. “His beast feels the same. But so far, anything beyond friendship has been impossible because of our positions.”
“And now?”
“Now Bishop needs to survive the challenge period.”
“He’ll need your strength, child, for what’s coming.”
“How do I give him that when we have to stay away from each other for the sake of”—she made finger quotes—“appropriateness?”
“You have to find a balance. Strength isn’t only shared by a physical relationship. You’re the Alpha’s daughter. You know that well.”
“It’s difficult when there’s already been a physical relationship.”
Agnes’s white eyebrows lifted—the only sign of her surprise.
Something in her silent acceptance made Jillian elaborate. “It was only one time, and it was stress relief for both of us. The morning the Jones family arrived. Hearing about another dead child . . . Agnes it gutted me. Bishop and I knew at the time that we had no real future together, but we needed each other.”
“Then I’m glad you had him.”
“You are?”
“Certainly.” Agnes rose from her chair and settled on the sofa next to Jillian. “I was with you those first months after you lost Derek and Elizabeth. You love with your whole heart, Jillian, but you protect yourself the same way. Fiercely and with absolute determination.”
“I was going to choose Mason.”
“For Springwell’s Alpha?”
“Yes. Once I’d gotten it in my head that Bishop wasn’t an option, no matter what my beast wanted, I decided. I thought it was best for the run.”
“And it may have been. Mason’s strong. He’s loyal and fair.”
“He would have always been second choice.”
“Perhaps. It’s water under the bridge now. He’s sworn loyalty to Cornerstone, and he’s promised not to challenge for Alpha. He’s a good lad.”
“Yes he is. He deserves happiness.”
“As do you, child.”
Jillian’s throat tightened. “I’m scared, Agnes. Bishop is strong and he’s capable, but he’s not a Black Wolf. What if he loses? I’ll marry the stranger that killed my beast’s mate.”
Agnes clasped her hand, her grip strong and sure. “You are your father’s daughter. You’ll do what you must for the sake of your people. You’ll find a way to make peace.”
“It’s all supposition at the moment. I have no way of knowing anything, no way of planning.”
“I know you, Jillian Reynolds. You need facts and figures. You need all of the clues lined up in front of you. It’s how you work. But sometimes the only way to get through is to have faith.”
“Faith? Faith in what?”
“In whatever you choose to believe. If you believe that Bishop will win against all challengers, and that one day you will be his wife, then believe it. Believe it with your whole heart, and it will give you the strength you need to be strong for him.”