“Brynn.”
Annoyance at his brother’s distress tickled beneath his breastbone. “What did he say?”
“It was indirect, but it was there. He asked if we’d left oranges to rot somewhere in the house.”
“What did you say?”
“I told him that Mrs. Troost would bash him over the head with her broom if she heard him suggest she didn’t keep a clean house.”
“I’m impressed.”
“That I kept my temper?”
“Yes.”
Rook shrugged. “I can’t start a fight with him on his first day in town. Wouldn’t look good for you.”
“Where’s Brynn right now?”
“Over at Dr. Mike’s with Rachel, helping out.”
Bishop glanced at the house across the street. “She used to be a tutor right?”
“Yeah.”
“So why the sudden interest in medicine?”
“I don’t think it’s that. She wants to feel useful, Bishop. She can’t control her visions, so she wants to help out in any way she can. Right now, it’s keeping Dr. Mike and Rachel from getting too overwhelmed with their patients.”
“That’s pretty brave considering most of the wounded are from Springwell.”
“They’ve all been told she’s our ally. And if anyone gets out of line with Brynn, I’ll go over and personally remind them why that’s a bad idea.”
“Without causing additional injuries?”
Rook’s mouth twitched. “I don’t have to touch them to scare them shitless.”
“You smiling at them does the trick for most people.”
“Ha ha.” Rook knuckled him in the shoulder. “So where’d Jillian go?”
“I said something that pissed her off.”
“You? To her?” He feigned shock. “Should I ask?”
“No. I’ll work it out with her.”
“Good. She’s your future wife, bro. Take it from me, you don’t want her pissed off at you all the time.”
Bishop’s chest swelled a bit at his brother’s absolute faith in his ability to win—only to dim a bit at the memory of his collaborating with Jillian. “Who’s going to ensure she’s my wife. Me or you?”
Rook tried to look chagrined, but the expression had never worked on him. “We were talking. The idea came up.”
“Not gonna happen.”
“Bishop—”
“No.”
“What do you do when there’s a second challenge?”
Bishop faltered. “Beat them, too.”
“Really? A day, maybe only hours after one fight, you’re going to win another one?”
“If I have to. Alpha Weatherly was surprised that there was one challenge. The odds of two are pretty small.”
“But not impossible.”
“No.” Bishop had faith in his fighting abilities, but even he had his limits. Two hard fights against two challengers in a short time frame had very bad odds of being winnable. Possibly worse than the odds of a second challenge being made. If he had to fight again in a weakened state, he just might lose.
He couldn’t lose Cornerstone.
Rook paced away a few steps, then spun around. “Try seeing this from my point of view. You need to be Alpha. If I fight Colin, it’s one Black against another. Better odds all around, and I have no intention of dying. I have Brynn to live for. I just found her. I won’t leave her now, not even for you.”
Bishop snorted softly.
“So I fight Colin and win, then you’re in top shape to take on a second challenger. I fight Colin and lose—which is not happening by the way—you finish him off and you’re still in good shape for a second challenger. You’re in a better place to win. No matter what shakes out, Cornerstone has you.”
“Cornerstone needs you, too.”
“I’m an enforcer, Bishop.”
“You’re the son of the Alpha, Rook.”
“No. I’m the brother of the Alpha.”
“Yes, and right now you’re the only one I have.”
Rook’s face pinched. “We haven’t lost Knight.”
“We don’t have him here, either, do we?”
“Shay reached him once. She can do it again.”
Bishop leaned his hip against the railing and crossed his arms. During lunch Jillian had filled him in on Shay’s experiment, Agnes adding details of her own. Rook had tried to visit once, and he’d received the same snarling response as Jillian. Bishop wasn’t tempting fate. So far the only person who didn’t get a snarl was Agnes. She checked on the pair every hour, reporting back the same thing. Knight was calm, he was eating and drinking, but he hadn’t shifted back.
Frustration over not being able to fix this for Knight collided with unacknowledged grief for his father’s death, forming a fist that squeezed his heart and made his chest ache. He pushed it all aside, unwilling to let it go now. He needed that grief. It would fuel him in the coming days. He could keep it all bottled up awhile longer.
“Look, letting me fight Colin first is the smart move.” Rook mirrored his stance, and in that moment, Bishop saw their father in him. “You know it is.”
Bishop didn’t want Rook to be right, but he was. Beyond the physical resemblance, Rook also sounded like their father. Not only his voice, but also in his words. Father would have made the decision that best ensured their desired outcome: Bishop being Alpha. He’d make the same choice Rook was making now.
“I hate it when you’re right,” Bishop said.
“You can fight Colin and you can win. But this is smart.”
“I know.”
“So I’m in?”
He held Rook’s gaze a moment, studying his little brother who’d grown up so fast this summer. He looked far older than twenty-two, mature beyond his years. Bishop couldn’t give Rook his father back, but he could give Rook something else. He could give him a chance to prove he was the warrior he’d been trained to be, and a chance to directly influence Bishop’s succession to Alpha. He could give Rook the chance to fight for his right to marry Brynn.
Bishop nodded. “You’re in. Second.”
Rook straightened, arms falling to his sides. “I won’t let you down.”
“I know you won’t. This isn’t just about me. This is for our family.”
Thanks to mildly conservative rules about appropriate behavior, the entire day passed without Jillian managing a single private conversation with Bishop. They’d spoken several times in passing, always run business of some sort—updates that scouting teams hadn’t found any sign of the hybrids, the status of different living situations. The most amusing exchange had been his report of a call from Mr. Wolfe inquiring about how they liked their rental property, to which Bishop had politely informed him that they wouldn’t be continuing the lease. That particular decoy plan had fallen completely through.
Anything remotely personal between herself and Bishop had been shoved aside, and she hated it. As foolish as it had been, falling asleep with Bishop last night in the woods had led to her most peaceful rest in years. They’d been exposed, but she’d never felt safer. She needed to feel that again.
Her duties kept her away from the McQueen house. She traveled around town, visiting with her fellow Springwell survivors. Offering what words of comfort she could, holding hands. Sometimes doing nothing more than hugging someone while he or she cried. Rusty and Tammy Lancomb had been adopted by the Smythe family, who lived in various apartments above their restaurant. Too young to truly understand, Tammy had cried and demanded her parents all night long and into the day, the little Black Wolf inconsolable, even by her brother.
Jillian watched the petite girl stomp around the sparsely decorated bedroom she’d been given, temporarily sharing with Rusty while a second room was prepared. Rusty was curled up on his cot, knees to his chest, not saying anything at all.
“I want Mama!” Tammy raised her face to the ceiling and screamed, a sound that hadn’t quite matured into a proper howl.
“I know you do, sweetheart, but your mama’s not coming back.” Jillian’s heart ached for the children. Four others had been left orphans. So many families were broken, their lives shattered. “Some very bad people attacked your home and your mama died. So did your daddy.”
“No!” She stomped some more, and Jillian was grateful the restaurant was two floors down.
“Please come sit and calm down, okay?”
“No!”
Jillian had no idea how to deal with a Black Wolf who was this young, this upset. Probably why Lila Smythe had been grateful to leave them in her care for half an hour. Tammy was far too young to be lost to her emotions and go feral. Jillian wouldn’t allow that to happen.
“Useless,” Rusty said, speaking for the first time since uttering a soft hello at her arrival.
Jillian sat on the edge of Rusty’s bed, disturbed by how withdrawn the boy was. “What’s useless?”
“She’s got dad’s temper.”
Saul Lancomb had been a Black Wolf and one of the Alpha’s enforcers. He wouldn’t have been easy to take down, even if he’d been surprised. “Death isn’t easy to explain to a child.”
“What’s so hard? They’re all dead. It’s all over.”
Jillian studied his pale face. His eyes were red and puffy, and he had a few scratches on his cheeks she hadn’t noticed yesterday. “Nothing’s over yet, Rusty. We’re alive. There’s still hope.”
“Hope for what? That we die fast when they come and attack us here?”
“Cornerstone is larger than Springwell was. The mountains provide a good barrier from direct attack. We’re much safer here.”
Tammy hollered some more, still stamping her feet. Jillian’s ears insisted she stop the temper tantrum, but maybe getting out her anger would help Tammy in the long run. Bottling it up only meant a worse explosion later—like the explosion she was still waiting for from Bishop. She’d lay money on him having not properly grieved for his father. He was too focused on everyone else to care for his own emotions.
“Tammy, look at me.” Jillian put all of the Alpha she had in her into her tone. “Tammy Lancomb.”
The little girl froze with one foot in the air, her cheeks flushed, caught between an instinct to obey and her own tangled emotions. Slowly she lowered her foot. Nothing diminished the power of her glare.
“Tammy, tell me why you’re stomping on the floor.”
“I want my mama.”
“You can’t see your mama anymore. Some very bad people hurt her and she died. So did your daddy. You can’t see either of them again.”
“But I want to.”
“I know you do, sweetheart. My daddy died, too, and I want to see him again very much. But I can’t.”
Her little face crumpled. “Why did those bad people hurt us?”
“Someone else told them to. I don’t know why they listened, but they were all punished for hurting us.” All except for the two remaining hybrids, whose time in the world was very limited.
“When I’m punished I have to stand in the corner and not move.”
“The bad people got a much worse punishment. They’re all dead now, Tammy. They can’t hurt you or Rusty ever again, I promise.”
Tammy glanced around the room, as though she didn’t recognize the space, fat tears slowly rolling down both cheeks. Her gaze landed on Jillian once more. “I still wanna see mama.”
“I know, baby girl. I’m sorry.”
She launched herself at Jillian, climbing onto the bed and burrowing into her lap. Sobbing out all of her anger and grief and frustration. Jillian wanted more arms to hold the child properly. She wanted the words to comfort her. More than anything, she wanted to give Tammy her parents back. All she really could do was hug her. Hug her and pretend, for one lovely moment, that Tammy was Elizabeth and she was finally holding her own daughter.
Elizabeth wouldn’t have been so big yet. She wouldn’t have known her Wolf color or be talking in complete sentences. She certainly wouldn’t have had a reason to cry so fiercely in her mother’s arms. Jillian would have protected her daughter with her life.
Wet heat tracked down her cheeks, and she hugged Tammy tighter. The bed next to her began shaking. Jillian looked down at Rusty, who was crying silently, his eyes scrunched shut. She reached out and touched his leg. He jerked violently, eyelids flying open. Grief stricken eyes watched her a moment, before he twisted around. He wrapped one thin arm around Jillian’s neck and the other around Tammy’s back. Jillian managed her free arm around Rusty’s waist.
She held the grieving family while they wept.
***
Jillian couldn’t do much about the two damp spots on her shirt, courtesy of the Lancomb children. They weren’t the first two to cry on her that day, but her temper probably wouldn’t support any more for at least a few hours. She had the very real distraction of dinner to look forward to, and she walked down Main Street with a new appreciation for the town rising up around her. She’d been in town for nearly a month as a guest, and now Cornerstone was home.
She returned several nods and greetings before reaching the narrow lane to the McQueen house. Her new house. The heat of the day hadn’t dissipated yet, leaving a sheen of sweat on her skin by the time she reached the stone path to the porch. The inviting aromas of roasting meat teased her nose before she opened the front door.
Voices pulled her into the living room. Rook, Devlin, and two blond strangers were in various seats, having some kind of discussion about perimeter security. Jillian only caught a handful of words before she was noticed.
Rook stood up, and the other three men followed. “Jillian, this is Luke and Tanner Westfeld from Rockpoint, Nevada.”
“Jillian Reynolds.” She shook their hands, pleased by the firm grips. They must be Colin’s sidekicks.
“Ma’am,” Luke said. “It’s a pleasure to meet the Alpha female.” He sounded genuine enough, not patronizing or forcibly polite.
“Thank you. I trust you’re settling in well?”
“Yes, ma’am. The Burkes have been very generous in offering us a place to stay.”
“Excellent.” She smiled at Devlin, who nodded, his lips twisted a bit. She didn’t blame him for offering to stash the two Rockpoint loup. He could keep a better eye on them if they stayed close by. “Dinner ready soon?”
“Mrs. Troost said about five minutes,” Rook replied. “I’m sure we can head to the dining room now.”
Jillian went first, surprised at the state of the normally casual room. A white linen tablecloth covered the wide wood surface. White china plates with silver scrollwork on the rim sat at each place, which was set with fancy crystal glasses and gleaming silverware. The whole ensemble was detailed with silver cloth napkins and polished wood napkin rings carved in the shape of a wolf’s head and painted black. A vase of fresh roses, probably from Bishop’s conservatory, held court in the center of the table in a crystal vase.
Most meals in the McQueen house were buffet style, with no ceremony on where someone ate. Apparently an out-of-town entourage required a certain level of fancy, because place cards had been set.
Jillian found her name at the head of the table. She didn’t have to look to guess Bishop’s was at the other end, directly opposite her. Probably for the best. They hadn’t spoken since she dropped her baby bomb on him, and the dinner table was not the place for questions.
It struck her that the men had changed into casual slacks and pressed button-up shirts. Slightly more upscale than usual. Hopefully no one was offended by her t-shirt and khaki shorts. She didn’t have the energy to run upstairs and throw on a dress.
Rook stood behind the chair that would be on Bishop’s right. Luke and Tanner took places next to Rook. Devlin was on Jillian’s right, one seat down. A few moments later, Jonas and Mason entered, both smartly dressed. They took the seats next to Devlin.
Jillian glanced at the empty place on her left. Brynn. Odd she hadn’t been put next to Rook. Then again, this was a loup tradition. She was probably lucky to have been included at all. Knight and Shay wouldn’t be joining them—unless there was news no one had bothered to share—so that meant the empty seat to Bishop’s left was for Colin. The challenger she’d yet to meet.
Brynn slipped in, her black hair combed sleek and straight, her floral sundress accenting her china doll features. Sometimes Jillian envied the girl’s simple beauty. She leaned sideways and whispered, “Apparently I didn’t get the dress code memo.”
“Rook said something to me a few minutes ago.” Brynn gave her a once over, then smiled. “You look lovely.”
“I’m a sweaty mess, but thanks for that. So where’s the guest of honor?”
“Still upstairs, I think. I heard someone thumping about in the guest room.”
“Ah.”
“Any news on Shay’s project?”
The oblique comment confused Jillian, then she understood. Brynn was watching her words in front of the Rockpoint loup. Knight’s condition was still not widely known, and there was no sense in alarming their guests. “None that I’ve heard, no. But it appears she won’t be joining us for dinner.”
A pair of heavy footsteps thumped down the main staircase, the sound barely audible from the distance of the dining room. As if she’d timed it to the second, Mrs. Troost appeared in the side door just as Bishop and Colin Corman strode into the dining room through the living room. Same dress code as the other men.
The pair approached her. Colin was about her age, with strikingly pale blond hair and lots of laugh lines around his eyes. He looked like a man perfectly at ease with himself and his situation. Bishop introduced them. She shook Colin’s hand with polite detachment, feeling absolutely nothing at his touch. Meanwhile, her beast leapt for joy at Bishop’s nearness.
They moved around to the other end of the table, and then everyone sat. Mrs. Troost walked around the table, pouring red wine from a rather large bottle into their crystal glasses. It was symbolic, since Jillian would have to guzzle the entire bottle to feel even a slight buzz. She wasn’t a big fan of wine, but she raised her glass when Bishop did.
He must have been coached by Alpha Weatherly on the protocol here, because Bishop said, “To our honored guests from Rockpoint. And to the succession of Cornerstone’s next Alpha.”
To you
, Jillian thought as she sipped her wine.
“Gratitude,” Colin said. “I realize how awkward this must be for everyone involved, and we appreciate your hospitality.”
Mrs. Troost surprised the hell out of Jillian by going from place to place, scooping soup from a china tureen into each setting’s bowl. Manhattan clam chowder by the scent of it—her favorite. Mrs. Troost winked as she served Jillian, as though sharing a secret. How on earth had she known?
The soup was fantastic and homemade for sure. Mrs. Troost didn’t strike her as a fan of canned food and this was a special occasion. She’d gone all out, which was further proved when she began delivering plates of the main course—perfectly roasted brisket, roasted red potatoes, and grilled vegetables. The lack of table conversation didn’t bother Jillian like it would on a normal night. The food was too fantastic to interrupt its consumption with talking.
The meal ended with coffee and cheesecake smothered with a homemade cherry sauce. Licking the plate clean was unbecoming of an Alpha’s wife, but Jillian was tempted.
As she passed, Mrs. Troost leaned down and whispered something to Bishop. Bishop’s eyebrows arched, and then he chuckled. Mrs. Troost disappeared into the kitchen.
“My apologies,” Bishop said, the first words spoken since the soup course. “It’s come to my attention that it’s the host’s job to initiate dinnertime conversation.”
“I didn’t want to say anything.” Colin grinned. “Actually, I couldn’t say anything. It’s one of the old-fashioned traditions that my father still observes at mealtimes.”
“I think Alpha Weatherly forgot to pass that one on.”
“Well, I was starting to wonder,” Rook said. “That was the quietest meal we’ve ever had in this house. It was kind of disturbing.”
“Most of our meals at home are like this,” Colin said. “My father doesn’t believe mealtimes are for socialization.”
“Meals are sometimes the only time of the day when we aren’t all too busy to talk. Thursday nights after the auction is over, Father always has a big dinner with everyone who works with us.” The smile curling Rook’s mouth turned down. Sadness creased his features.
“They were always special evenings,” Devlin said, respect in his voice.