Gray Bishop (17 page)

“Excellent. If you need construction assistance, I have a handful of residents who are quick with a hammer and saw.”

“I appreciate that, sir, but I don’t want to put anyone else in unnecessary danger. Once the remaining two hybrids are dead and this ongoing situation is dealt with, I’d be more than happy to accept your assistance.”

“A wise decision.”

The praise from a seasoned Alpha buoyed Bishop’s waning confidence.

“I didn’t call simply to check in.” Weatherly’s voice sharpened. “I’ve received word that there’s already been a challenge to your leadership.”

Bishop’s skin prickled. “Who?”

“Colin Corman. He’s the second son of—”

“Burt Corman.” Interrupting was rude, but surprise had burned his filter. “Rockpoint’s Alpha.”

“Correct. Burt’s planned to retire in five years, and his eldest son will take his place as Rockpoint’s Alpha. Colin’s about your age and a Black Wolf.”

“And eager to prove himself to his father and brother?”

“I wasn’t informed of Colin’s reasons, only that he will arrive in Cornerstone later this afternoon and issue a formal challenge.”

“Today?” Bishop resisted the urge to hit something with his still-healing arm. He’d hoped for at least a few days to get back to full strength before having to fight a Black Wolf.

“He’ll arrive today, but the official fight won’t happen until at least three other Alphas are present as witnesses. I’ve already volunteered to go. Alpha Corman is forbidden, because he has a personal interest in the outcome. I’ll let you know when the other Alphas have been decided.”

“Are you sure you want to travel to the epicenter of this crisis, Alpha?”

“Andrew Butler, Joe Reynolds, and your father were good friends of mine these past twenty years or so. My wife isn’t happy with the arrangement, but that’s our secret.”

“Of course.” Bishop wasn’t certain if Weatherly was joking or not, so he kept it serious. “I’m not entirely certain of the protocol here.”

“Colin will arrive with two members of his run. He’ll come find you and introduce himself. Ask him to be a guest in your home. He’ll likely accept. There’s to be no fighting, no sharp words, no animosity of any kind before the actual challenge brawl.”

“Understood.”

“There’s also a rule that few other Alphas like to mention, because it’s an option rarely used. Since Cornerstone is your home turf, so to speak, you have the right to call in a second.”

“Call in a what?”

“You can ask someone else to fight the challenge in your place. If they lose, you finish the fight.”

Bishop stared at the untended flower beds at the back of the yard, the words not really sinking in. “Why are you sharing this with me, sir?”

“Because you’re injured, which gives Colin Corman another advantage over you. You were taught to fight by your father, but you’re still a Gray Wolf. This option is an advantage for you, Bishop.”

An option that would make him look weak in front of his people, sending someone else to fight in his place. On the other hand, an uninjured Black Wolf had better odds. “Thank you for the information.”

“Keep in touch. And rest up.”

“I will.”

Bishop dropped his phone on the picnic table, furious and apprehensive about their impending visitor.

“What was all that?” Rook asked. He approached the table with Brynn and Shay in tow, all of them carrying plates and glasses of orange juice.

“There’s already been a challenge to my position.”

“You’re joking?” Rook plunked down on the bench across from him, one of the ladies on either side. “It hasn’t been a day yet. Fuck.” He glanced at Brynn. “Sorry.”

“I’ve heard you say worse,” Brynn said.

“Who challenged you?”

Bishop grunted. “Colin Corman from Rockpoint.”

Rook went perfectly still, which got Brynn’s full attention. “Who’s Colin Corman?” she asked.

“Second son of Alpha Burt Corman,” Shay replied. “Rockpoint is in the mountains about fifteen miles southeast of Reno, Nevada, close to the California border. Colin is his second son, I believe.”

“He is,” Bishop said.

“So you know him?” Brynn asked.

“Not personally, no.”

“Then why the thundercloud?” She directed that one at Rook.

“Our mother was from Rockpoint,” Rook replied.

“Oh. Oh right.”

Born a White Wolf, Andrea had been sent to Cornerstone when she was fifteen, because Cornerstone’s White had died. She’d left her family behind and began a new life, with no allowable contact. Bishop wasn’t certain he agreed with that particular rule, even though he did understand it. Whites born in one run established emotional ties with them, and the best way to establish those same ties after a transplant was total isolation from the past. It was cruel, but believed necessary. Being forced to give up her birth family had been the reason Andrea fought so fiercely for her children. She’d have known all too well the pain if Knight had been forcibly sent away.

Bishop’s gut tightened. He needed to visit Knight, see if he was any better.

“Was your mother related to the Cormans?” Brynn asked.

“I have no idea,” Bishop said. “She never mentioned it, and Father didn’t like to talk about it.”

“Did your father and Alpha Corman get along?”

“Father never mentioned any specific animosity, but anything’s possible.”

“It just makes a weird kind of sense, doesn’t it? A member of your run gets sent to Cornerstone, and thirty-odd years later, the run is open for a new Alpha.”

Bishop didn’t like the coincidence, either, but he had no reason to believe that Colin Corman was doing this for any other reason than ambition.

“Okay, so I have a question about all this challenge stuff,” Brynn continued. “Let’s say hypothetically that Colin wins. Does he get the same ten-day challenge window?”

“Yes,” Bishop replied.

“So theoretically, this town could be without an Alpha indefinitely?”

“Theoretically, but not going to happen.”

“You broke your arm yesterday, Bishop. I know you’re a good fighter, but there is a chance you’ll lose.”

Leave it to the little Magus to say what they all knew. “Yes, there is. Determination only goes so far.” He hesitated bringing up the option of a second. Rook would not hesitate to volunteer, and Bishop didn’t want to see him hurt anymore. He’d been injured enough for a lifetime.

“What aren’t you saying?” Shay asked. “You look uneasy about something.”

He glanced at her, only to meet a pair of sharp, curious eyes. Less guarded and scared than in days past. Her spirit was slowly rising back to the surface. “There is another option for the defending candidate. This is my home, so I’m allowed to appoint a second to fight in my place, and don’t get any ideas Rook.”

Rook shut his mouth, but his face said it all. He wanted to do this for Bishop.

“Your odds of winning would certainly increase,” Shay said.

“If I don’t fight, what have I really won? I can’t risk losing the respect of anyone in Cornerstone, especially our refugees.”

“So going into a fight with two handicaps is a better option than bruising your pride?”

Bishop stared at Shay, surprised by the challenge in her tone. She held his gaze, not looking away or backing down. “With all respect, Ms. Butler, you are a guest in my house, but this fight isn’t your business.”

Shay arched one slim eyebrow. “This fight matters to every person living in this town, including myself. I’m involving myself because I’m an Alpha’s daughter, and it’s in my nature to want to be part of the leadership. I know that Jillian will be named Alpha female and I don’t dispute the choice. However, I’m not going to sit around anymore and allow the hybrids to dictate my emotions and my fears. I won’t find my courage again hiding in my room.”

She folded her hands on top of the table, her gaze flickering a bit. “I’ll also take my share of blame for Knight’s current state.”

“His shift wasn’t your fault,” Rook said.

“I didn’t try hard enough to get him to confide in me. There were moments when we’d talk, and I’d see him on the cusp of something. Something important. And then he wouldn’t say anything, because I didn’t ask. I didn’t want to push him. I didn’t want him to push back, and if I had been stronger, perhaps he wouldn’t be locked up downstairs. He wouldn’t have hurt people he loves.” Not an ounce of self-pity colored her words. She made them a statement of fact not to be argued with, and Bishop left it alone.

“Knight hit the perfect storm of emotional backlash and grief today,” Rook said. “None of it was his fault, but he believes it was. He’s taken the blame for every death Fiona and her sisters caused, and no one was going to convince him otherwise.”

“He shouldn’t have been alone.”

“He was in a house full of people.”

“Maybe I fucked up by not demanding Winston sit on him like a flight risk,” Bishop said. “I honestly never thought it would come to this. Never.” Not even after Bishop learned the truth about Victoria’s assault. “But at this point shifting blame is useless. All that matters is reaching Knight and bringing him back.”

Shay’s stoicism cracked a bit. “Do you think that’s possible?”

“I don’t know, but I’m choosing to believe it is. I need to believe that.” He put his fork on his empty plate. “If you’ll all excuse me.”

After dumping his dirty dishes in the kitchen, Bishop went downstairs to the basement. The snarls began before he’d turned the knob, and the greeting made his chest ache—with grief and anger, and for his brother’s obvious pain.

Knight’s muzzle was stained brown with dried blood. The water bowl was empty, and the steaks were gone, and both things gave Bishop a bit of hope. Eating was a step. Fuel kept the loup from going completely mad. Knight watched him from the center of the cell, head down, attack mode.

“Good morning.” Bishop sat down near the door, facing the cage, his back to the wall. “Mrs. Troost said she sent down more steaks for you a little while ago. Apparently you enjoyed them. Just don’t get used to steak for breakfast, lunch, and dinner once you’re back with us. This is temporary.”

Knight didn’t growl again, but he remained stiff, guarded.

Bishop struggled for words. He wasn’t great with them. He and Knight didn’t talk much about things. They were simply understood between them, and what he’d once considered a strength felt very much like a weakness. Rook or Shay were more likely to reach Knight at this point.

“I’ve been challenged for Alpha. Colin Corman from Rockpoint. Our mother came from Rockpoint. Did you know that?” He swore Knight’s ears swiveled forward a bit. “He arrives today. I don’t know when we’ll fight, but I need you there when we do. I need you and Rook to stand by me. You’d have written a fantastic memorial speech for our father, too. I can’t even get a sentence down. There’s so much to do.

“If you were yourself, you’d probably tell me to quit hiding in the basement and get my ass in gear. Rook’s not as good at calling me out as you are.”

His phone chimed.

Devlin:
Situation at auction house. Old seller asking Qs.

Bishop thunked his head against the wall. The last thing he needed on his plate was a curious human with items for auction. He texted back:
On my way. Keep him outside.

He is.

“I have to go, Knight. Maybe the next time I see you we can have an actual conversation, okay?”

Knight didn’t react to his leaving, which was both good and bad. Good that he didn’t snap and snarl. Bad that he didn’t seem to care at all.

Chester McGrath was leaning against the side of his beat-up blue Chevy pickup, haphazardly parked in the otherwise empty lot outside of the auction house. Devlin hung around nearby, rocking impatiently on his heels. Bishop trusted him to have had enough sense to warn the loup inside to stay out of sight. He didn’t know how to explain them.

“Bishop, how are you?” Chester stood straight and hooked his thumbs in the sides of his stained overalls, the perfect picture of a mid-state farmer who hauled junk on the side.

“Not very well at the moment.” Bishop went for as close to honesty as possible. Chester had been consigning things to the auction house for years, and he was a decent guy. For a human.

“Heard you closed the place for a family crisis?”

“Yeah.” He took a careful breath to keep his emotions tamped down. “Dad got sick very suddenly. He passed away yesterday.”

“Shit, son, I’m sorry to hear that. Thomas was a real good man.”

“Yes, he was.”

“You pass my condolences along to your brothers.”

“I will, thank you. We’re still processing everything.”

“Figuring on selling the business?”

Bishop hadn’t given the auction much real thought for the last few weeks. Father had shut it down for safety, and they were not reopening until the hybrids were dealt with. That plan hadn’t changed. And he’d never entertain selling. “No, we aren’t selling. We’ll probably stay closed for a while, allow everyone to mourn. I’ll let you know when we’re taking consignments again.”

“Fair enough. You boys take care, all right?”

“We will. Thanks, Chester.”

Chester climbed into his truck and drove off without any indication that he didn’t believe Bishop. The last thing they needed was suspicion from outsiders. Devlin limped over to stand beside him, arms crossed.

“How’s the leg?” Bishop asked.

“Sore. Dr. Mike had to give me a few stitches.”

“Did Chester see anything odd?”

“No. We hung a curtain between the front doors and the bathrooms for additional privacy. Jeremiah heard him knocking and called me.”

“Good.”

“One more wrinkle we didn’t need.”

“At least it’s taken care of and done.”

“Until the next curious consigner comes by.”

Bishop frowned. “We’ll have to hope that doesn’t happen. The regulars were called when we shut down. Chester hasn’t been out here in a while, so we didn’t have him on the list. You heading back?”

“Yeah. You going upstairs?”

Into his father’s office. Bishop didn’t have any business requiring the use of the office. Not until Colin Corman arrived. “No, I’ll walk back with you.”

Devlin waited until they’d passed Smythe’s restaurant to ask, “How’s Knight? Any change?”

“Well, he didn’t go nuts and charge the bars when I saw him earlier. I call that progress.”

“I hated hurting him.”

“Don’t take it personally, Dev. He’d already bitten Rook. You were doing your job trying to keep him from hurting anyone else.”

“I just can’t believe he force-shifted. I know he’s been through hell recently, but he seemed like he was handling it.”

Bishop stopped on the sidewalk in front of Dr. Mike’s. Devlin paused, his head down, trying to hide how upset he was. “Dev, none of us noticed how bad he’d gotten. Maybe I shouldn’t have left him alone after he found out our father died. Maybe Rook should have stayed and made sure he ate. I don’t know. But this is the situation we’re dealing with, and everyone second-guessing and blaming themselves isn’t productive.”

Father wouldn’t have stood for it.

“You’re right,” Devlin said. He straightened his spine, his face less troubled. “Thanks. I mean, thank you, Alpha McQueen.”

“I’m not Alpha yet.”

“You will be.”

Bishop nodded, unsure how else to respond.

“Is it all right for me to visit with Knight?” Devlin asked. “I can’t patrol for a while because of my leg.”

“Sure. Go downstairs slowly. Talk to him like you would in any normal conversation.”

“Okay. Thanks.”

Devlin limped off toward the house, and Bishop watched him go, then walked the path to Dr. Mike’s porch. He spent thirty minutes visiting with the wounded, holding hands and answering questions—something he’d seen his father do countless times when someone was sick or wounded. Offering the support of the Alpha, unofficial or not. On his way out of the house, he spotted Rachel folding linens in one of the downstairs exam rooms.

He knocked on the door jamb so he didn’t startle her. “Rachel?”

“Alpha.” She nearly dropped her sheet anyway. “Can I get you something?”

“I’m fine. I wanted to thank you for everything you did yesterday, and for what you’re still doing. I’m sure Dr. Mike appreciates the support, and so do I.”

“I was happy to help, Alpha.”

“Are you medically trained?”

“Not in a school or anything. I learned from my mom. She was our run’s doctor.” Grief flashed briefly in Rachel’s eyes. “She taught me so much.”

“Was she killed in the attack?”

“A few weeks before. My mother was full-blood loup, and she caught pneumonia. She was gone in three days.”

“I’m sorry.”

“And I’m sorry about your father. Truly sorry, Alpha.”

“Thank you.” He’d been thanking people for their condolences so frequently he wanted to have a t-shirt made up. It would save his voice. “I’ll let you get back to your work.”

***

The knock on her bedroom door startled Jillian into turning away from the window, uncertain how long she’d stood there staring at nothing. She had come upstairs to collect herself before the memorial, but her racing mind wouldn’t allow her to concentrate. Too many thoughts. Too many worries.

“Come in,” she said.

Bishop opening the door didn’t surprise her. He’d changed into the same suit he’d worn two days prior when they left on their wild safe house hunt. An idiotic plan, in retrospect, now that they knew the triplets had been too busy recruiting soldiers to bother following them to the city.

“It’s nearly time.” He tilted his head. “You said you were coming up here to change.”

She glanced down at the jeans and tank top she’d changed into after her post-run shower. The dress she’d chosen for the memorial was still spread out on her bed. “I did. I’m sorry, I got lost in thought.”

“Any thought in particular?”

“There are plenty to choose from.”

“Yeah. I’ll step out and let you change.”

“I’m changing into a dress for my father’s funeral.” Saying the words out loud didn’t make them feel any more real now than when she’d said them an hour ago. She still expected her dad to call her and ask for an update on the hybrid situation. She still saw him sitting on his front porch with a glass of iced tea, relaxing after a long day at the market.

Twenty-four hours still didn’t make it real.

Bishop didn’t hesitate in folding her into a hug. She melted into his warmth, fingers digging into the back of his suit jacket, needing him near. Her beast stirred at his touch, craving it, especially now. Needing him. Her throat tightened but no more tears came. He stroked her hair and back, saying nothing. No more condolences or platitudes. They’d both received enough for a lifetime.

“Saying it doesn’t help,” she whispered.

“No. I keep thinking my father’s down in his office. I keep waiting for him to text me about some auction issue.” His voice was low, hoarse. A tone she only ever heard when they were alone. When he allowed himself to be vulnerable.

Jillian had mourned many people she loved. Her mother had died five years ago from an illness. Her husband and child had been killed two years ago. Now her father. Experience told her that the pain faded over time. Knowing that didn’t help the ache in her chest today, or help her let go of Bishop and change her clothes. This brief moment of calm and safety was too precious to lose.

It ended too soon.

“We shouldn’t be late,” Bishop said.

“Yeah.”

Her beast rebelled at losing him. He waited outside while she put on the dress and ran a brush through her hair. No jewelry, no makeup. She was attending a funeral, not a party. Mourning the strong man who’d raised her to be a leader. Today her grief mattered less than the grief of her people. She had to get them through this.

Rook, Brynn, and Shay were waiting for them on the front porch. The others in the house must have gone ahead to the park. Jillian hadn’t spent much time there. The small square of land in the center of town was dotted with pine trees that reached to the sky. A swing set and carousel occupied the north corner, and picnic tables littered the center.

Today the park was filled, the attendees spilling out into the streets. A small stage had been erected on the south side. A wreath of white roses stood on the stage near a microphone stand. Speakers had been hung on trees and buildings, so even those who couldn’t see the stage could hear the words. Words meant to comfort so many hurt souls.

She followed Bishop and Rook onto the stage. Brynn and Shay stood with Mason, Devlin, Rachel, Jeremiah, and Mrs. Troost. Dr. Mike and Agnes were nearby, too. Jillian looked out over a sea of faces, some familiar and others not. The face of their new run. While her husband was not yet decided (no matter her beast’s claim), her future was.

Cornerstone was her future, and these were her people.

Bishop took his place behind the microphone. The crowd had gone quiet the moment they stepped up onstage, and every pair of eyes was riveted on Bishop. He stood tall and proud, arms loose by his sides, the only tension in the hard line of his jaw.

“Many of you know that I’m a man of actions, not words,” he said, his voice booming from the many speakers. “I stared at a piece of paper for a long time this morning, hoping for words to come to me. Words that could adequately express the profound losses we’ve suffered. Yesterday we lost three hundred and forty-two loup garou lives. We lost mothers, fathers, brothers, sisters, children, and friends. We lost two dedicated leaders, and our hearts are broken.

“But we lost something else much more profound. We lost our sense of safety. No longer are we facing a single enemy, but we’re being attacked by our own people. Feral loup, but full-blood loup nonetheless. And it will not go unpunished, nor our losses unavenged.”

Emotion tightened Jillian’s throat. Her eyes prickled. She clenched her hands, nails digging into her palms, unwilling to cry. Not when she had to speak in a few moments.

Bishop continued. “Thomas McQueen was not only my father and my Alpha, he was my role model. He was the kind of man I strived to emulate. He had a family and a business, but he always had time for his people. To shake a hand. To come over for coffee and a chat. To visit the ill. He was fair in his decisions, whether settling an argument or allotting a punishment. And he will be missed.” He swallowed hard, tension hardening the line of his shoulders as he gazed out over the crowd. “I’m so sorry.”

He stepped back. Jillian’s fingers lightly skated across his wrist as she took her place in front of the microphone. Her blood pulsed in her temples and her mouth went dry. Not even a sixth of the faces were from Springwell, but she knew so many from her time in Cornerstone.

“I suppose I could simply say ditto to everything that was just said about Alpha McQueen, and apply it to Alpha Joseph Reynolds,” she said. The echoing sound of her voice disturbed her. “We are mourning a profound loss today. Not only of our Alpha, but of our town. Our livelihood and our roots. I know every single face not among us today, just as my father would have.

“He would not want us living with vengeance and hatred in our hearts. He would want us to love each other. Support each other. Laugh and cry with each other. He was more than Alpha. He was a father to all of us, and he will be missed.”

Jillian invited others to speak, as was tradition. For over an hour, person after person came up to the microphone to honor the fallen Alphas. Jillian stood next to Bishop, Rook on his other side, all three of them stiff, silent. A storm of grief and anger buffeted her, unsoothed by the kind words spoken to the town. Words for both Alphas. Words of love and support and loyalty.

No one mentioned the McQueen not present at the memorial.

Once the last speaker left the stage, Bishop stepped back up to the microphone. “On behalf of myself, my brothers, and Jillian Reynolds, thank you for coming. Go in peace.”

It took more than an hour for the crowd to thin out. Jillian endured conversations and platitudes, because it was expected of her. Rook and Bishop, too. Mason stayed close by, watchful as always, and she loved him for his unwavering support. They would all need to be strong in the days to come.

***

Bishop’s internal mantra of
calm, calm, calm, stay calm
was barely keeping a lid on his boiling temper. Not that he was angry at anyone in Cornerstone. Certainly not the mourners doing their best to offer support and love and kindness. He was angry at the situation and his inability to fix it. He solved problems at the auction house, he solved problems around town.

He couldn’t solve this.

The bandage still wrapped around his healing arm gave him a good excuse to avoid shaking too many hands. Few tried, and he was grateful for that. The bandage didn’t save him from the conversations or condolences, though. He maintained the highest level of politeness possible in dealing with a crowd when he craved solitude. Solitude and time to think. Time to come up with solutions.

Shay approached, a shadow of anxiety peeking out from behind a façade of perfect calm. “I’m going to head back to the house,” she said. “I’d like to visit Knight. Give Winston a break.”

“That’s probably a good idea,” Bishop replied. “But be careful. He could be agitated. I’ve honestly never asked how emotions affect him while he’s shifted.”

“They don’t.” Agnes appeared behind Shay’s shoulder, her age-lined face drawn and serious. “Our beasts are our protectors, same as any Black or Gray. Does your brother shift very rarely outside of his quarterly?”

“Hardly ever.”

“He doesn’t change because he doesn’t want to lose his connection to the run by shifting. His beast protects his psyche from the emotions of others for as long as he’ll allow it. Right now he’s alone inside of his own head, the poor lad. The only time he truly is.”