Ties That Bind: a New Adult Fantasy Novel (The Spire Chronicles Book 2) (18 page)

The man was huge; he seemed to be more muscle than anything. Even sitting down, I could tell he was way over six feet. He was maybe forty years of age and rather handsome in a Hugh Jackman sort of way – which made the fact that he was a werewolf hilariously ironic. He shared Tamlin’s eyes, both in shape and color, though small wrinkles formed around his eyes when he narrowed them at us. Tamlin said his father wasn’t a werewolf, maybe this man was a cousin or an uncle?

“I’ll leave you three alone,” Tamlin said with a polite bow.

“Stay, Tamlin.” The older man patted the spot next to him before turning to address us. His voice was deep and gruff, reminding me of hot chocolate and a warm fire. “I am Alistair, alpha of the Winter pack.”

“It’s an honor to meet you,” I said, bowing like Tamlin while keeping a wary eye on Alex. “I’m Morgan Maxwell.”

“Alex Campbell, sir,” he said politely, cowed by Alistair as much as I had been.

Alistair had a powerful, authoritative presence, strong enough to mute even Alex’s rage. It wasn’t surprising; an alpha led over an entire pack of terrifyingly powerful creatures with control issues. He wouldn’t have lasted very long if he couldn’t command respect. I didn’t keep up with the politics of Dovesport, but the status of the tribes near Order cities was discussed when the family heads met, and I don’t recall hearing about any changes in leadership. That meant Alistair had been the Winter’s alpha for at least eighteen years. That wasn’t very long in werewolf years, but it was still an accomplishment.

“Alistair will do.” He gestured for us to sit on the loveseat across from him. “We have a lot to discuss.”

“You’re accusing the hunters of murder,” Alex, ironically, accused.

Alistair didn’t even bat an eye at the other man’s irritation. “You are upset. That is understandable, but you
will
show me respect in my own home, boy.” His voice deepened into a low growl. “My people and the people of those I call friend are being slaughtered and harvested for parts. My concern is not the species or alliance of those who did it – only that they pay. I expect you would feel nothing less were it your people.”

“And the torture?” Alex asked through a locked jaw.

“We needed answers as to their motivations and organization. However, I will not do you the dishonor of lying and saying it was not an enjoyable recompense,” said Alistair, his voice dropping into a dangerous bass once more. “Do you think the hunters who did this made a clean kill? They cut the flesh from still living bodies and sliced them in half, hearing and watching them suffer as they removed piece by bloodied piece until there was nothing left of value to them. Then, they threw what was left away like garbage.”

The room was silent after that. Alistair leaned forward, his eyes glowing molten gold as his pupils narrowed into thin slits. The air tingled with what I could only assume was an alpha’s dominating presence. It filled the room, almost tangible, and blanketed us in a curtain of fear. I’ve faced werewolves before, sure, but never an alpha. Rogue wolves by their very definition weren’t alphas, and Garou packs rarely drew the attention of hunters, so I’d never even met an alpha before. If I
had
engaged one in combat, I doubt I’d be here today.

Pictures of what it would be like for an alpha to shift and jump us flashed in my mind and I shrank back in my seat. Alex had also melted against couch, caution in his blue eyes as he tried and failed to stand his ground.

I knew all werewolves reacted to their alpha’s mood, and Tamlin was no different. The veins in the blonde boy’s arms bulged as he clutched the armrest, his neck tight and teeth bared. He was trying to resist the shift, the strain his body showed contrasting with his expression. Unease and sadness was painted across his young face, like a little boy whose father just yelled at him in front of company.

“We,” I started, surprised at how solid my voice was, “are very sorry for you and the Levin tribe’s losses, Mister–”

“Alistair,” he corrected.

“It’s just that the man who…escaped is important to my friend here.” I placed a hand on Alex’s shoulder, letting out a breath of relief I didn't realize I was holding when he relaxed under me instead of tensing further or pushing me away.

Alistair raised a brow, one corner of his lips quirking up. “You mean the man you helped escape?”

“I didn’t know he was involved at the time.” I looked down at my hands, grimacing at how clammy they were against each other, as if I were holding a slug. Was I just a huge wimp or was he that scary? One peek up at him confirmed that, yes, he was indeed that scary. And I was possibly a huge wimp.

“Do you believe her, Tamlin?” Alistair said, his eyes still trained on me.

Tamlin didn’t hesitate. “Yes, sir. It’s not just me, either. You know mom, er, the shaman agrees.”

“Always loyal to family, I see. Though I’d much prefer if you kept that loyalty exclusive to
this
family.” Alistair frowned. “And yes, your mother has made her opinion quite clear. The problem is she bases her opinion on the words of that man.”

“He’s a good man, Uncle,” said Tamlin.

“Of course you would think so. Do not forget he is a man who has done nothing to stop his own people.”

“He had no proof, and his position makes it hard for him to snoop–”

Alistair sneered. “That is an excuse, boy.”

Their disagreement descended into low whispers that must have been clear to them, but were incomprehensible to me. I turned my attention to Alex. I’d been rubbing circles against his shoulder with my thumb, trying to soothe him while selfishly enjoying the contact; it was like we hadn’t touched each other affectionately in months. The fact that we hadn’t even known each other for more than a month or so wiggled its way back into my head, and this time I couldn’t shake it off. How could I care so much about someone I, realistically, barely knew? I had no idea. But I did. I cared. I really cared.

I scooted closer to him, enjoying the way our legs brushed together. He leaned into me, and it was embarrassing how happy that made me.

“Hi,” I mouthed.

My silliness seemed to relax him a little, and he gave me a small, tired smile.

“I’m sorry about Tom, sweetie,” I whispered as softly as possible, knowing it wouldn’t help much with a werewolf’s super hearing. “I’m so sorry.”

He shook his head. “They haven’t got any proof. All of this is just words. Even if hunters are involved, that doesn’t mean Tom is.”

“Things are skewed against him.” I took his larger hands in mine and gave them a gentle squeeze. “When I touched Alice’s body, there was a weird sensation – like my arm had been shoved in quicksand or something. The first time I shook Wright’s hand, I felt the same thing.”

“So? Wright may be involved, but that doesn’t mean Tom–”

I held a hand up to stop him. It hurt to watch him try so hard to rationalize this. I cupped his cheek, my thumb stroking against the minute, nearly invisible freckles across his nose. “When I woke up, one of the first things Tom asked was if Wright sent me.”

“Wright is Sullivan’s right hand man, of course–”

Alistair spoke up. “If you want proof, the shaman will provide it. Contrary to what you may think, we would not capture or punish anyone without being certain they were guilty.”

Alex squeezed my hand. “What proof do you have?”

“Tamlin.” Alistair nodded to the boy, who bowed once more and left the room. “Our shaman has communicated with the spirits of the departed; she has lived through their final memories. They, through her, identified the hunters we found in the forest as their killers.”

“The spirits are too traumatized,” said Alex. “It’s impossible for them to communicate in a coherent manner.”

At Alistair’s raised brow, I said, “Alex is a medium.”

“I’m not an expert on magic, even the arts my people use,” said the alpha. “Tamlin has gone to fetch the shaman. She will explain.”

I nibbled my lower lip, trying my hardest to hold back a “fetch” joke. Was there a support group for people addicted to puns and irony? Alex nodded at the man’s words, but the way he was cutting off the circulation in my hand told me he still wasn’t on board.

The door opened to reveal a woman. She was muscular, but not overtly so. Her hair, a pale, golden blonde, was tied back into a French braid that hung over her left shoulder. With Tamlin standing next to her, it was clear they were related. From the fair hair to the eyes, even her finer, Nordic lines were mirrored on him. The only thing he didn’t appear to have inherited from her was his jawline, which was more square and chiseled, compared to her short and slim one. Unlike her son’s modern clothing, she wore an old-fashioned long-sleeved cream dress that brushed over her booted feet and a heavy blue wrap around her shoulders.

She bowed and gave us a knowing smile. “It is a pleasure to meet you both. I am Catherine, shaman of the Winter pack.”

We said our greetings and she gestured for us to follow her out the door.

“I hear good things about you, Miss Wallace,” she said as we trailed behind her. “Your father speaks quite highly of you. However, I must apologize, Mister Campbell; I know very little about you.”

Catherine’s words were spoken in a calm, rhythmic cadence. Her words seemed to give the impression that she’d marinated over each and every one of them with great care. She spoke with a neutrality that came from years of practice and a wisdom that came with many more years of experience. I could tell this was a woman who wasted no words, and that anything she had to say was worth listening to – and very carefully examined.

The way she exuded confidence from every pore reminded me of Lady Cassandra, which made me even more wary of her. Conversely, she also possessed that same aura of calm the Lady had that made me feel at ease. It was confusing, but I understood it. It was partly a deception; Lady Cassandra would say the “stillest waters were the deepest, which made it that much easier to drown an unsuspecting traveler.” I may have paraphrased that a bit – she always changed it, but the meaning held. I also noted Catherine had a constant small smile on her face, just like Tamlin, though hers made it seem like she knew a secret no one else in the room did.

“It’s quite all right, ma’am,” said Alex, equally mollified by her demeanor.

I shivered as we walked, hoping our destination had a fireplace. “To be honest, if everything you’ve heard about me is from Sullivan, you know as much about me as you do Alex.”

“Hardly,” she said. “Despite what you may think, your father follows the tales of your exploits quite diligently.”

“Oh…” I fell silent, unable to fully process her words. My– Sullivan actually gave a damn? Maybe he just wanted to know if I was besmirching his good name.

Probably.

…Maybe.

“My son,” she continued, “mentioned the young man who escaped today was a good friend–”

“Is,” Alex corrected.

“Of course.” She bowed, knowing smile still in place, though Tamlin’s had long since vanished in favor of shooting us nervous looks. “You’re a medium, yes? You tried to communicate with Alice and failed.”

Alex nodded, and the conversation died there.

We entered the cabin next to Alistair’s and Catherine led us downstairs to the basement. It was a medium sized, square room with a round stone hearth in the center of it. Catherine waved her hand and a fire blazed to life in the hearth, filling the room with shades of red and orange. I wonder if I looked as cool as her when I did that. As we made it to the bottom of the stairs, I noticed there was a large shelf and table against the far wall, much like the one I had in my own basement. From what I could see, the shelf had as many, if not more, ingredients as mine did, though her organizational skills were admittedly much better.

“Mediums are very respectful of the dead,” said Catherine.

Alex crossed his arms. “As they should be.”

I was about to hint that he should pull the stick out of his ass just a teeny bit – y’know, since we were alone with two werewolves and one of them happened to be a mage. Then, I remembered how shitty I felt whenever Alex called me out on being a brat with my father, and I suddenly couldn’t think of anything to say.

“Alistair said you would give us proof,” I told her. “How? And how do we know that you won’t just use your magic to deceive us?”

“I can only show you the truth, child, I cannot force you to believe. However,
I
won’t actually be showing you,” she said. “The victims will. I’m going to summon them.”

“You can’t force a spirit to appear,” Alex said. He stepped forward, and I hurried to hold him back.

“Calm yourself, Mister Campbell, that is what I meant about being considerate of the dead.” Alex opened his mouth to reply, but she quickly cut him off. “There are many methods of communicating with the dead. The tribal magicks of both the Garou and Protean, the polite and unobtrusive communion of the mediums, and the more powerful provocations of the mages – the necromancers, to be specific.”

“And your magicks have a peaceful way to call upon the dead?” Alex asked.

She turned to the flames, her profile bathed in shadow. “Though our methods differ, we call to the dead as mediums do: by reaching through the veil and requesting an audience. However, there are ways to pull information from a spirit without speech or brutality.”

“How?” I asked, placing a hand on Alex’s arm as he bristled.

“Instead of asking a spirit to tell us what happened – since they are usually too shell-shocked to be coherent – we ask them to show us. It can be very painful, even traumatic for the caster, but it is kinder than forcing a verbal account. It is a useful way to learn things that a spirit could not accurately describe. After all, our eyes process things we aren’t even aware of. The caster places themselves in the body of the spirit during their last moments, feeling what they felt, seeing what they saw. As I said, the experience can be hard on the caster, so it is only used as a last resort. The results, however, are almost always very helpful.”

That sounded terrifying. Living through being skinned alive just to see what happened? No wonder they used it as a last resort. The very thought made me shudder.