Gray Bishop (14 page)

“Sorry, I was thinking. It’s not important.” Not yet.

Brynn’s grip on her shoulder tightened, then left completely. “I didn’t know you had a daughter.”

Jillian scowled, uncertain how Brynn knew—oh. She’d been at the door when Jillian apologized to her father for his lack of grandchild. Old pain rose to the surface and tangled with new. “I don’t. I miscarried when I was six months along.”

“I’m so sorry.”

“My people know, but I don’t talk about it with outsiders.”

“It must be a painful memory. I can’t imagine how it feels to lose a child.”

And a husband. “It’s a loss that never stops hurting, even if the intensity dulls over time. My husband and child left a hole in my heart that will never be completely filled again, but there is still room for new love.”

“I know we aren’t really friends, but you are a smart, fiercely loyal woman. I hope you find your new love, Jillian. Truly.”

“Thank you, Brynn.”

“If you need anything, ask.”

“Thank you.”

Jillian had a feeling she’d be hearing that a lot over the next few days.

She ate a roast beef sandwich and drank a bottle of water, managing both without ever letting go of her dad’s hand. Agnes came up with a change of clothes and volunteered to sit for a while, giving Jillian a chance to use the bathroom and wash up. She threw her bloodstained clothes into a hamper marked “Soiled.” Dr. Mike lived in an apartment on the third floor, and the morgue was in his basement.

Where on earth did the man do his laundry?

The stupid, somewhat hysterical question squeezed her throat closed. She forced it back, tamped down on the tears she’d yet to shed. Not yet. Not while she was needed. The grief was too much, too powerful, and it would overwhelm her when it got out. She had no time to indulge in it tonight.

Her beast whined, urging her to find her mate. To find the man who’d make her feel whole again. A man she couldn’t have.

“Stop it.”

Jillian hazarded a look in the mirror, hoping to see what Bishop saw when he looked at her. Her features were plain, sharp, almost masculine. Not pretty at all, and now marred by red scratches that would heal after one shift. Straight hair, stiff in places with dried blood she’d have to shampoo out later. Pale. She’d taken her looks from her father. Nothing of her beautiful, curvy mother was there—not in her slim build or barely-there hips and breasts. Not a thing for a man to desire.

And yet a man did. Two men. Bishop was the man her beast had chosen, but Mason was a man whom her people knew and trusted. In this chaotic time of death and change, they needed stability. They needed the familiar. Mason would take her if she asked. He wasn’t the strongest choice, and another loup from a different run could challenge him, but she doubted it. Not to lead a traumatized run of less than a hundred.

She didn’t want to give Bishop up, but he’d never been hers to start with. He’d been a lovely distraction and a good friend. A worthy comrade in this fight against the hybrids. He could never be anything more to her.

Her beast snarled against the decision. Jillian ignored that side of herself, and returned to her father’s bedside. Until Dad was at peace, her personal life could wait.

***

Bishop stood at the wide window of his father’s office, looking down over the auction floor and the activity below. He’d sent several volunteers out of town to acquire mattresses and bedding, as well as lumber and tarps. Some of the chairs and tables used during the weekly auctions had been rearranged on one side of the auction floor, closer to the small kitchen. The rest had been stored in the back room where they usually sorted items brought in for auction, and which was now empty.

He couldn’t imagine having another auction here without Thomas McQueen to oversee it, but they’d have to one day. Cornerstone needed the income to survive.

The lumber and tarps were being used to construct makeshift rooms, giving the wide open space a dormitory feel. So many families had been torn apart. Mothers, fathers, children, aunts, uncles, cousins—gone. Most of the families with children had been taken in by someone in Cornerstone, but twenty-three male and female enforcers with no other family left would be living in the auction house until a permanent decision was made.

Alpha Weatherly had been genuine in his grief and condolences. Bishop had never worked so hard to maintain his composure as he had while describing the events in Springwell, including everything they’d done to help the refugees. As their next nearest neighbor, Weatherly was understandably concerned about being a target. Bishop assumed nothing when it came to the hybrid trip—twins, but he didn’t foresee them traveling six hundred miles to Tennessee. Not when they’d be dealing with the death of their sister.

Weatherly had agreed to pass along his information and set up the conference call at five. Bishop glanced at the clock on the wall. Quarter after four. So much to do, so much still unknown. Everyone working so hard to support each other. The simple sight of Jeremiah and A.J. building a frame for another tarp divider made his heart swell with pride.

His phone buzzed with a text.

Rook:
Alpha Reynolds died a few minutes ago.

Damn. He pressed his forehead to the glass and closed his eyes, giving a moment of respect for another strong Alpha taken by monsters before his time. In less than a month, four run Alphas were dead. Three sanctuary towns destroyed. Hundreds of lives lost.

When would it stop?

The footsteps on the stairs, coming up from the ground floor, could have been anyone with a light step, but he knew before her scent met his nose. He drew the blinds, giving them privacy from anyone below who might look up, then turned.

Jillian locked the office door behind her. She was mostly clean of blood. Three scratches marred her left cheek, one line sharp across her nose. Another very close to her eye. Her newest shirt was dotted with blood from the gashes the stubborn woman hadn’t bothered to have bandaged. He couldn’t make himself scold her for not taking better care of herself. Not while she looked so lost. So vulnerable.

“He’s gone.” Her face crumbled, flushed. “Oh God.”

Bishop caught her before she collapsed, and they sat on the floor together. He held her close to his chest, arms around her shoulders, wanting to draw her pain out like the poison it was, but he couldn’t. All he could do was be there, hugging her through her grief. She sobbed against his shoulder, releasing her grief and rage and confusion.

The emotional upheaval burned in Bishop’s chest, but would rise no farther. No tears of his own, only a heavy grief that threatened to consume him. He held Jillian while she cried and together they mourned their Alphas.

They mourned their fathers.

Knight stood at his bedroom window and watched the world go by on the street below. Strangers and friends mixed and mingled, patching up destroyed lives with the smallest of bandages and hoping it all held together. He’d shut off his empathy as best he could, ignoring the emotions of his people. Ignoring his own, as well, because if he didn’t . . .

The SUV was still parked across the street, all doors and compartments long shut. Bishop hadn’t said the words out loud, and he hadn’t needed to. Knight’s nose told him the truth. And he’d run from that truth. Run from Bishop when he should have stayed and supported him.

Should have been me.
It wasn’t. Once again, people had died over him and this loss, more than any other loss, was simply not worth it.

Staying and listening to Bishop would have made it real, and Knight didn’t want it to be real yet. Not yet. A little more time to pretend Father would knock on his door at any moment and apologize for locking him in the quarterly cage. To explain why and allow Knight a chance to apologize for his own childish behavior. To look his father in the eye and tell him the thing he hadn’t been truthful about all of these weeks.

Rook crossed the street at a steady gate, intent on the house. Knight watched him until he disappeared beneath the porch. He didn’t need the heavy footsteps on the stairs or the knock on his door to anticipate his destination. He waited for them just the same.

“It’s not locked.”

The door creaked open and brought the scent of bread and meat. “Shay told me you haven’t come out of here for hours. You need to eat.”

He turned to face Rook, unsurprised by the plate of three roast beef sandwiches he plunked down on the dresser, along with a bottle of water. “You didn’t come up here to feed me.”

“It’s one reason.” Rook sighed, a weary, grief-filled sound. “Alpha Reynolds died a little while ago.”

Knight tamped down on his emotions, desperate for the devastating news to roll past him. To not sink in and add more weight to his guilt. More fuel to his pain. More heat to his rage. He’d done this, all of this, by doing nothing more intrusive than existing. “Jillian?”

“She left Dr. Mike’s. I’m not sure where she went.”

“Probably to grieve in private. She’s her people’s Alpha now. She’ll pretend to be strong for them.”

“Kind of what Bishop is doing right now. He’s not giving himself time to grieve.”

Knight was not talking about that. “How many came back from Springwell?”

Rook frowned. “Ninety-six, not including Jillian and Mason.”

“Or Alpha Reynolds?”

“No.”

Hundreds more had died today—all for him. Not worth it. None of this was worth his life. He turned back to the window. Devlin and Rachel stood on the lawn in front of Dr. Mike’s house, barely visible through a canopy of leaves. He wanted to be closer to the pair so he could better feel the positive things that came with young love. Hope. Joy. Peace. Tempered by grief and fear, sure, but having someone to help you cope with those things made the future a little less dire.

He was glad Rook had Brynn.

“I know I’ve said it, we’ve all said it, but I’ll say it until you believe it.” Rook moved to stand beside him. “This isn’t your fault.”

“I know.” It was so his fault.

“Do you? I know you, Knight. You blame yourself for what happened in Springwell. You blame yourself for Potomac and for Stonehill. You blame yourself for me being tortured by Fiona and for O’Bannen’s death. None of it is your fault. All of those things happened because the Magi lost control of an unnatural weapon that they never should have created in the first place.”

“Is that really how you think of your future wife?”

“I’m talking about the triplets. Brynn was . . . her father needed an heir, and his wife was barren. I don’t know why Archimedes Atwood risked using a White Wolf to create his future child, instead of harvesting eggs from another Magus. Believe me, the Magi make no sense to me on their best days. Despite what Fiona became, Brynn wasn’t created to be a weapon against us.”

“Wasn’t she, though? The Magi hate all loup, because we outnumber them. They’re no more human than we are, but they claim we’re animals because of our beasts. Every Magi born is an enemy to us.”

Rook’s cheeks and neck flushed, a sure sign of his rising temper. Good. Knight didn’t want condolences and comfort. He wanted to be left alone, and if insulting Brynn and pissing off Rook made it so? He’d live with it.

“Brynn is half loup,” Rook snapped. “She’s proved her loyalty to us.”

“You’d better hope so, because all of this started the day she walked into town.”

“She didn’t start this.”

“Damned convenient timing, though.”

Rook’s hands curled into fists. “Her visions have saved lives.”

“Whose? Yours? If she hadn’t tracked us down to that trailer and taken us from Fiona, hundreds of loup would still be alive.”

“Maybe they would, but I’d be dead and you’d be a slave to four insane women who’d make raping you into a daily sport.”

Knight snarled. He’d die before another woman touched him like that again. It was why he’d kept the vial of paralytic poison that Dr. Mike had removed from Brynn’s ring. The heirloom ring she’d worn the day she walked into town and accidentally poisoned Rook with it. Knight wouldn’t chance them successfully kidnapping him again. The vial was in his pocket at all times, like a safety blanket.

His beast stirred at the thought of that vial, against the idea with every fiber of its being. He fought against giving up, even though Knight wasn’t giving up. He was protecting himself from more pain. He couldn’t handle any more pain. Any more loss.

The instinct to survive reared up as his beast reared. Demanding to be let out. The beast could protect him. Stop the agony tearing his heart to shreds. The beast was stronger than him.

“Hindsight won’t change anything, Knight. I hate what happened to Springwell, but I’m not sorry we’re both alive.”

I am
dangled on the tip of Knight’s tongue, but he couldn’t say it. Saying it would only make Rook worry, make him watch more closely. Make him suspect the beast was winning and that Knight didn’t care.

“Victoria’s dead,” Rook said.

Knight startled. He’d been told one of the triplets was dead, but not which. “She’s dead?”

“Our father killed her.”

Father had killed the woman who’d bound him, abused him, and taunted him with the results. He’d killed the woman who, if Victoria was to be believed, had been carrying his child. His
child
. But Father hadn’t known. He only knew that Victoria was his enemy, a dealer of death and destruction, and that she needed to be stopped. He’d had no way of knowing he was killing his own grandchild, because Knight hadn’t been strong enough to tell Father the truth.

Now he was too late.

His beast roared with hate and the need to avenge his child’s death. To punish. To be free. His muscles thrummed with power, demanding he unleash it. That he stop pretending to be the shell of the man he’d been these last few weeks, and that he embrace the animal inside.

“Knight?”

“Can you go away?”

“Eat the sandwiches.” He shut the door on his way out.

Knight’s stomach ached with hunger but he couldn’t walk away from the window. He couldn’t do anything except stare and grieve for all who’d died today—and wonder if fighting the pull of his beast’s rage was really what he wanted.

***

Jillian hadn’t given any real thought to her destination when she stumbled away from her father’s bedside. He’d passed quietly, breathing raggedly one moment, gone the next. Poisoned. A warrior’s death stolen from him. Jillian’s beast had tried to rear up, to come out so she could shift and rend and destroy until it didn’t hurt so much. She’d barely kept control, barely prevented the darker instincts of her animal nature to come out and take her rage out on others.

Instead, she’d allowed her base instincts to lead her away. Straight into Bishop’s arms.

He held her while she sobbed. Until her head hurt, her nose ached, and she had nothing left inside but a dark emptiness. So much like the emptiness she endured when her husband and child were taken from her. The last of her family was gone.

Bishop stroked her hair, her back, her shoulders, soothing as best he could while still holding her right. She hated showing such weakness to another loup, especially one she respected so much, but he wouldn’t exploit it. Bishop was safe. Her beast wouldn’t have brought her to him if she truly believed otherwise.

“He never woke up.” Her voice was ragged, her throat raw. “He never knew I was there.”

“He knew.”

“How is this real? Today feels like a nightmare that won’t end.”

“I know it does. But it isn’t. This is our world now, and our job is to get our people through it with their spirits intact. We can grieve in private, or with each other, but in front of no one else.”

The words penetrated, words she’d told herself over and over, since returning from Springwell. But stoicism only went so far, especially against such huge losses. “What did Alpha Weatherly say?”

“Everything you’d expect. We’re on for the call at five.”

She glanced up at the clock on the wall. “We should collect ourselves, then.”

Bishop helped her stand, his hand in hers a calming touch she didn’t want to lose. She found an excuse to let go by shutting herself in the bathroom to blow her nose and splash water on her face. The action made her cuts burn, and she dried the skin gently with paper towels. Her eyes were red and puffy, and that was acceptable for now.

She left the bathroom. Bishop was sitting in one of the chairs opposite the big desk. Opposite the large leather chair that belonged to Cornerstone’s Alpha. She took the chair beside his. His phone rang at exactly five, and he turned the call onto speaker.

“This is Bishop McQueen of Cornerstone. I’m here with Jillian Reynolds of Springwell.”

“Our sincere condolences on your losses, Ms. Reynolds,” a male voice said. “Burt Corman of Rockpoint.” The run out west near Reno, Nevada.

Bishop canted his head but didn’t speak.

“Gratitude, Alpha Corman,” Jillian said. “I don’t know if word has reached everyone yet, but my father, Joe Reynolds, died about half an hour ago.”

Various platitudes rang across the line, voices undistinguishable from another, all genuinely upset. “He was a great Alpha,” Weatherly said, speaking over the din. “As was Thomas McQueen. Our people are all the poorer for their losses.”

“We’ve lost a lot, it seems, with Cornerstone square in the middle of it all,” Corman said. “This must end.”

“No one knows better than we do how devastating these past few weeks have been,” Bishop said. His voice was tightly controlled, his temper thin. “We’ve seen the horror up close, smelled death countless times. We know what’s at stake.”

“Then what’s your plan to end this before another run is destroyed?”

“At the moment, Alpha,” Jillian interrupted, “our focus is on managing the situation here in Cornerstone. I have ninety-seven of my people to look after, to feed and make sure receive proper medical care from an already overworked doctor. The town’s borders are well protected, and they shall remain so until we’ve found and killed the last two hybrids.”

Corman made a noise, likely not happy with her butting in. The conference calls were always for the Alphas, not the Alphas and their females. While Jillian was the de facto leader of Springwell at that moment, she’d always be the Alpha female, and therefore one rung below Bishop and the other male Alphas.

“Cornerstone received numerous injuries, but only one fatality,” Bishop said. “We’re well equipped to protect ourselves here in town.”

“Alpha Weatherly gave us a brief rundown of today’s events,” said a voice who didn’t introduce himself. “Why don’t you and Ms. Reynolds provide us with the details.”

They did, taking turns narrating the pointlessness of her and Bishop’s house-buying expedition—a night that felt like weeks ago—and the unanswered calls from her father. The phone call from Desiree. The advance team going out, backup following. The fights with half-breeds and feral loup, all the way up to the evacuation and finding housing for everyone.

“Leaving Springwell behind was a good call,” Weatherly said. “There were too few left to sustain the town, and no way to explain the carnage to the human authorities. In time, it will become a scary story human children tell around a campfire.

“That said, we’ve been discussing your list of survivors.”

Jillian startled, unaware that they’d been sent that information. “Springwell may be gone, but our run is still ninety-eight strong.”

“Ninety-eight weak,” Corman said.

She resisted the urge to snap at the man thanks to Bishop’s left hand on her knee.

“What Alpha Corman means,” Weatherly said, “is that your numbers are small, and they skew badly. There are few good matches among your younger enforcers, and you need strong matches to ensure children and a run’s survival. To that end, we’ve agreed that the remaining members of the Springwell run permanently become part of Cornerstone’s run.”

Jillian’s heart slammed into her ribs. Tear apart her father’s legacy and merge with another? Lose her position as the next Alpha female to the whims of the other Alphas? Bishop’s fingers squeezed, a steadying grip. She curled her hand around his without thinking.

“Cornerstone is, of course, willing and able to do what you think is best,” Bishop said. “We have the land to build new homes and accommodate new residents.”

“Excellent. And please, Ms. Reynolds, we are not removing you of the position to which you were born. You’re a strong Black Wolf, and you’re the Alpha’s daughter. You will be the Alpha female to Cornerstone’s next Alpha male.”

While Jillian’s beast practically purred at the idea, her thinking mind saw the catch in those words. She glanced at Bishop, whose eyebrows were furrowed. He looked at her, thinking the same thing.

“With respect,” Bishop said, “it was my father’s wish that I become the next Alpha of Cornerstone.”

“A wish that was never officially declared,” Corman said. “Not even after your brother chose his mate.” The derision in Corman’s voice made Jillian want to reach through the phone and slap him.