Gray Bishop (13 page)

Mason squeezed her hand. Jillian allowed the contact for a moment, because Mason understood. Then she let go, turned, and walked away from the only home she’d ever known.

The Potomac run’s negative reputation had made their addition to Cornerstone a difficult transition for the natives. Tensions still flared, and Bishop had never held any illusion that the issues would settle easily. However, once word of the attack on Springwell made the rounds, Bishop saw Cornerstone come together in a way he’d never experienced before.

Families volunteered beds and spare rooms, attic spaces, dens, offices, and finished basements. The Smythe’s opened up their restaurant to the refugees who were hungry, or who wanted a place to congregate with their friends and family. Private bathrooms were offered so the bloody could clean up. No request from Bishop was denied.

He worked in a kind of fog, on autopilot, desperate to lead and to do what was best for all involved, even though he was in five kinds of physical pain. After Dr. Mike spared a few minutes to set the broken bones in his arm, Bishop had done the most agonizing thing possible and immediately shifted.

The intensity nearly made him lose his mind. Someone had taken his arm, poured boiling oil over it, and then twisted it like they were wringing out a wet cloth. He almost didn’t make it back from beast to skin. Shifting had helped begin the mending process, though, and he’d allowed Rachel to bind the arm in a heavy bandage. He declined the sling, so every bump and movement reminded him of his healing arm.

No amount of shifting could mend the hole in his heart. That pain would only be eased by time and his family’s support.

There had been no announcement, but Stephen Lester and Patrick Barnes had been there to help carry their Alpha’s body into the morgue in Dr. Mike’s basement, where he would remain until cremation. Soon everyone would know.

Mrs. Troost had shed a few tears, and then, like the whirlwind force she was, had jumped directly into helping the wounded. Ordering people around, organizing the supplies as they were brought over from homes and from the evacuees’ cars. Brynn appeared not long after, her eyes swollen and red, cheeks blotchy. She stood with her spine straight and her chin high, assisting where she could. Some of the Springwell loup glared, some snarled, but all knew better than to attack.

Bishop would have ripped their throats out for hurting his brother’s mate.

His cell began to ring off and on with numbers he didn’t recognize. Father’s preference had been to do run business through the land line in his office, but his cell had each of the other Alpha’s number stored in it. Bishop’s cell was on record in case of emergency. He couldn’t make himself answer those calls. Not yet.

Someone shoved a sandwich at him. His stomach ached with hunger but he handed it off to the next uninjured person he saw. The street in front of his house looked like a scene from a war movie. No time to stop and eat.

“Mr. McQueen?” an elderly woman with silver hair approached him. With her came a wash of calm. Peace. Their White Wolf. “I’m Agnes Mayhew.”

“It’s a pleasure, and call me Bishop.”

“I’ll call you Alpha McQueen first, sir. I was never so familiar with Alpha Reynolds, and I’ll not start now.”

He smiled for the first time all day, at ease with the woman and her no nonsense ways. “Thank you for being here, and for what must be a terrible strain on you.”

“Posh, son, I’ve been handling my run for fifty-plus years. I’ve seen and felt it all, believe you me. This is my family, and I’d be no place else.”

“All the same, thank you.”

“You’re welcome. Your White is your brother, I believe, yes?”

“Yes.”

“He’ll be needing a lot of support from his family right now, a time like this. His own grief on top of a town’s worth.”

“I know. He’s been by himself for hours. These last few weeks have been hell on him.”

“Aye, Alpha Reynolds confided in me a few times about what’s been happening. Such a burden to carry for someone so young.”

“Would you try talking to Knight? I don’t think he’s ever had another White to talk to.”

“Of course I will. I’d be happy to, if he’ll let me.”

“Thank you, Agnes.”

She melted back into the mayhem, which was slowly getting under control as groups and pairs broke off, taken in by one of Cornerstone’s families. A.J. seemed to be directing things, standing in the street with an iPad, taking names and keeping records. Good. Jillian would want to know where everyone was.

He checked the time. The last wave of evacuees had arrived a few minutes ago. Jillian and Rook should be there any moment. As much as he wanted Rook home where he belonged, he
needed
to see Jillian. To know she was safe. His beast snarled, angry that he’d left her behind in Springwell when she should have been by his side. He fought that instinct, the one that had wanted her as his mate. Needing someone so badly was a weakness. He couldn’t show any weakness right now.

A familiar engine hummed.

“Rook!” Brynn’s shout spun Bishop around.

Three people climbed out of the SUV that couldn’t drive any closer because of the people-clogged street. Mason said something to Jillian, then quick-timed it toward Dr. Mike’s house. Jillian scanned the crowd until she met Bishop’s gaze. She stood a bit straighter, nodded at him. Bishop pointed at Dr. Mike’s and mouthed the word “Go.”

She needed to be with her father.

Brynn raced down the street and flung herself into Rook’s arms. He held her tight, his face hidden in her hair. Bishop approached the pair slowly, giving them a moment to share their grief. Brynn was sobbing into Rook’s shoulder by the time he got to them. Rook’s own eyes were red but he was keeping it together.

“How’s your arm?” Rook asked.

“I shifted once already. I’ll do it again in a few hours.”

“Reynolds?”

“No change.”

“Knight?”

“He hasn’t come out of his room since I told him.”

“Damn it. Does he know that Victoria is dead?”

“I didn’t even get that far before he bolted. You really think knowing that will help?”

“I don’t know, Bishop, but she was the one who assaulted him. If you were him, wouldn’t you want to know the crazy bitch was dead?”

The question was pretty rhetorical, so he left it alone. Instead he filled Rook in on the happenings at home while they walked toward Dr Mike’s. “Rachel has been a trooper, helping out. She gets some looks, because of her scent, but no one’s openly abused her.”

“Devlin would break their face if they did.”

Bishop may not understand such a well-respected enforcer’s choice of a mate, but their beasts often knew what their conscious minds did not. Especially when it came to their life mates. Sometimes the man knew better and had to tell his beast to shut the hell up when the match was impossible.

“Listen, I’m going to go check on Alpha Reynolds,” Bishop said. And on Jillian. “Keep things organized out here, okay?”

“Of course.”

Bishop gently cuffed the back of Rook’s head, resisting the urge to tell him to get the scratches on his face and throat tended to. Brynn would get on him once she calmed down and noticed—fussing over him had become her job these last few weeks.

Not that Bishop wouldn’t always feel responsible for his brothers. Especially now that he was their unofficial Alpha.

He found Jillian and Mason in one of the upstairs bedrooms. Alpha Reynolds was still unconscious, every unbandaged inch of skin feverish and pink. Mason paced the narrow space, tense and angry. Jillian had settled in a chair next to the bed, and was holding one of Reynolds’s hands.

“It’s silver poisoning,” Mason said.

Bishop’s heart skipped. “From the nails?”

“No.” Jillian looked up at him, her eyes cold. “Dr. Mike cleaned those wounds. It’s in his system somehow. Possibly an injection of silver nitrate directly into his bloodstream.”

“Goddammit.”

“He’s strong,” Mason said. “He was healthy. He can fight this.”

A young, uninjured loup could fight off infection from silver poisoning. Rook had survived not long ago. But he hadn’t had a dozen nails driven through his body, or his belly cut open. The trauma and blood loss Reynolds had already sustained would take enough energy to survive. With silver in his bloodstream . . . death was only a matter of time.

The ice in Jillian’s eyes said she knew her father was already dead. His body simply hadn’t caught on to the fact.

“Your people are being taken care of,” Bishop said. “A.J.’s keeping a list of who’s staying where, and I’ll make sure you’re copied. So far none of the other critical injuries have died.”

“Right. The orphans?”

“All of them have been taken in by good families. They’re safe.”

“Safe.” She made a face, as though the word tasted awful on her tongue. “How does a four-year-old ever feel safe again when their entire world is shattered so completely?”

He thought of Knight, and the moment his brother’s world was turned upside down twenty years ago by a kidnapper’s insane plan. “Kids are resilient, especially when they know they’re loved.” His phone rang with another unknown number. The voice mailbox was going to be full soon.

“Have you spoken to the other Alphas?” Mason asked.

“Not yet. They’ll have questions and I need to have as many answers as possible. I also wanted Jillian there to speak for her run.”

Jillian shook her head. “They’ll have to wait or we can speak here. I’m not leaving my father alone.”
Not while he’s lying here dying.
The unspoken words were in her eyes.

“Of course. I’ll call Alpha Weatherly in Tennessee. Ask him to put together a conference call for five o’clock.” If Reynolds hadn’t passed yet, they’d put the call through on his cell phone.

“All right. Thank you, Bishop.”

“Of course.” And damn Mason for being in the room, because she needed something he couldn’t give her in front of an audience. Especially another enforcer. He wanted to hug her, kiss her, tell her he would make everything better. Somehow. Some way, he’d fix things and keep her safe.

His beast growled his agreement.

“I’ll have food brought up for you,” Bishop said. “After the energy you spent today, you need to eat.”

Jillian leveled him with an intense stare. “I will if you will.”

“Deal. I’ll see you at five.”

***

Jillian watched Bishop leave. Something else left the room with him. Something she couldn’t explain to herself or anyone else. The rightness her beast felt when he was around. The instinctive knowledge that he would protect her no matter what. She didn’t understand it.

She’d been married. She had chosen Derek as her mate, and they’d loved each other. Yes, she had missed him when they were apart, but her beast never reacted the moment he left a room. Or walked into a room. She’d never had the chance to ask her dad if he’d felt that with her mother. And now she never would.

Grief and anger had been her constant companions for the last several hours, allowing her to consider little else beyond survival. The survival of her people—not only Springwell, but all loup garou, whose population began small and was dwindling still. The Magi had created and unleashed a more effective weapon than they’d probably expected. This wasn’t the war that Archimedes Atwood wanted, but the slaughter must have him celebrating with his Congress buddies.

“Can I do anything for you?” Mason asked.

“You can eat and take care of yourself.” Jillian met his gaze and tried to smile. “You’ve done so much for me these few weeks. You’ve been away from your family and by my side through everything.”

“I don’t regret it. My sister is alive, her children as well. I’m more worried about you.”

“I won’t lie and say that I’m all right. You’ve known me too long to believe it.”

“You’re right.”

“I have to pretend to be all right for now. Our people will need me to be strong for them.”

“Who’s going to be strong for you?”

Jillian smiled sadly at her oldest friend. “That’s not your job, but thank you. Now go check on your family. I’ll be okay alone.”

Mason kissed her cheek as he left, and she couldn’t bring herself to scold him for the intimate gesture. He was being kind, supportive, and she needed that. More than a friend though, she needed Bishop.

“I am your daughter, and you’ve taught me so much.” Jillian placed her other palm on her dad’s feverish cheek, her other hand clutching his tightly. “But I am not done learning from you. I have so much to ask you, so much to tell you. I never gave you the grandchild I promised you. She was taken from both of us too soon.”

A floorboard squeaked, followed by the scent of bitter orange.

“Come in, Brynn.”

The young Magus held a tray of sandwiches and bottled water. Her face was blotchy, her eyes swollen. She’d grieved hard for a man she’d known less than a month. Perhaps she’d also grieved her mate’s loss.

“Bishop asked me to bring you food,” Brynn said. “Well, he demanded it.”

“If he was rude—”

“It’s all right. He’s grieving. Or trying to with the eyes of the entire town on him.”

“I know how he feels.”

Brynn placed the tray on the bedside table. “Alpha Reynolds?”

“Silver poisoning.” The words made Jillian sick to her stomach. “It’s only a matter of time.”

“I’m so sorry.”

“He deserves a better death than this.”

“You’re with him, Jillian. He’s not alone.”

Brynn settled a warm hand on her shoulder, a supportive, feminine touch that Jillian appreciated. She had few female friends to lean on. Her status alienated many of the women her age, even the female enforcers. Agnes was her only real confidante.

“How’s Rook?” Jillian asked. Friends asked these things, didn’t they?

“He’s trying to be strong for Bishop, but he’s in pain. They all are. Knight won’t speak to anyone, not even his brothers.”

Jillian needed to tell him about Victoria. Knight needed to know. He needed to know that the woman who assaulted him was dead—and that she’d been carrying his child. A child who’d died with its mother. Then what did Brynn’s vision of Knight holding a black-haired infant mean? Another child with a different hybrid? Something else altogether?

“Jillian?”

“Yes?”

“For a moment, you looked confused.”