Chapter Thirty-Eight
T HIRTY - E IGHT
I run for the door. The witch nearest it blocks my path. I raise my hands in a knockback, but the door swings open, and Bishop bursts through, with Julius and Claude behind him. Bishop is still streaked with blood, the slash on his shoulder oozing, his shirt off, feet bare.
Bishop’s gaze flies to me first. I start to run to him and then stop myself.
Do not put him in danger.
I back up. He steps toward me, his face contorted in confusion, as if he’s forgotten his implacable mask.
“Cordelia?”
Beryl casts what seems to be a privacy spell, but I don’t recognize all the words, and the other witches don’t turn away this time.
“Step away from my granddaughter,” Beryl says.
I can hear her, and so can he, which means this must be a higher-level privacy spell, one that lets us all talk without bringing the rest of the Pack running.
Bishop’s gaze turns to Beryl, and the absolute bewilderment in his eyes confirms what Marjorie said—that he knew nothing about this.
I see the wheels turning fast. He notices the resemblance between us and knows this isn’t a trick. Then he straightens, finding himself and pulling his dignity back into place.
“You’ve come to take Cordelia,” he says.
“I understand. I know what this might look like, but I promise you that I would never hurt her. There was a threat. It’s over.
The Alpha—her father—is dead. And Cordelia is…
” He swallows, Adam’s apple bobbing before he empties his expression again.
“Cordelia is free to go with you, of course, if that’s what she wants. I’d never stand in her way.”
“Oh,” Beryl says. “How sweetly said, Bishop. You are a clever one, aren’t you? I’ve heard you’re as cold as an Arctic wolf, but you know when it’s in your interests to play the besotted suitor.”
“I don’t know what you’re implying,” he says stiffly. “But—”
“Did I hear something about a wedding?”
He goes still and then says, calmly, “Her father insisted on it. We had no choice. Obviously, it can be annulled, and I won’t interfere with that—”
“ So sweet. Do you hear that, Cordelia? He won’t stand in your way.
He’ll let you go. He’ll allow an annulment.
Please tell me you haven’t fallen for these pretty sentiments.
He wants you to swoon and say you’ll stay with him.
Because he understands that’s what an independent young woman like you wants.
Freedom. Choice. A cage laid with the one bait you can’t resist.”
I keep my voice steady, my gaze on Beryl. “If that’s his plan, then it’s a wasted effort. I’m going with you, Grandmother.” I turn to Bishop, so only he can see me, my eyes pleading with him to drop this, let me leave—for now. “I belong with my family, and that’s where I want to be.”
I can’t tell whether he understands what I’m trying to convey. I don’t think he does. When I speak, he looks stricken, as if I’ve plunged my knife between his ribs this time. But Julius gets it. He puts a hand on his cousin’s shoulder and whispers something too low for even me to hear.
“We understand,” Claude says, stepping forward with a slight bow to Beryl. “I know you don’t trust Bishop, ma’am, but he never intended to keep Cordelia against her will. This has all been a mess of her father’s making, and Silas is dead.”
Julius nods. “We won’t stand in your way, ma’am. Take your granddaughter, and we are deeply sorry for everything she’s endured here.”
“Oh my, ” Beryl says. “And they say werewolves are brutes. Such pretty manners on all of you. So reasonable, too. Mark this in your diaries, ladies. The new werewolf Alpha and his closest associates are retreating before witches.”
Bishop’s cheek tics, but he only shutters his gaze and says, “We are werewolves. We respect and honor all bonds—Pack, coven, or family.”
“Let’s go,” I say to Beryl. “I’d like to get out of here. Please. Today has been…” I shudder. “A nightmare.”
Bishop flinches, and I want to smack him with a fireball, snap at him to set his ego aside and pay attention, damn it. Help me get us all through this. Luckily, Julius is here to do it for me, elbowing his cousin hard.
“Let’s go,” Julius murmurs. “You need to speak to the Pack. It’s been a long day for everyone.”
Claude clears his throat. “It has.” He tips his chin to me. “Goodbye, Miss Levine. Thank you for all your help. I know this hasn’t been easy, but we’ll make this part easy and leave you with your family—”
“No.”
For a second, I think that’s Bishop. He hasn’t moved. He’s staring into nothing, his gaze intense, as if fighting himself. But it’s not his voice. It’s Beryl’s.
My gaze shoots to my grandmother. “I’d like to go now. Please.”
“Alpha?” She looks straight at Bishop. “Kneel.”
Those words seem to penetrate Bishop’s fog, and his chin shoots up.
“Yes, you,” Beryl says. “You’re the Alpha now, correct? Kneel.”
“No,” I say, running between them. “None of this is Bishop’s fault. Like Marjorie said, he didn’t know my father had promised to give me back to you.”
Bishop’s gaze flies to mine, confusion and then dawning understanding.
“The attack on my town house,” I say to him. “The supernaturals Silas hired. They weren’t mercenaries. They’re part of my grandmother’s cabal. Henrietta was… She was my…”
I can’t say the word, my heart hammering too hard at the thought, so I push on.
“My father arranged everything with my grandmother. Supernaturals would invade our home, along with you and Julius. That would leave Lenora with too many people to blame, diverting attention from who really had me. My grandmother.” I look at Beryl.
“You said you had a deal with Silas. I’m guessing that meant you paid him.
You’d heard he needed money, but that was outdated information.
His controller fixed their finances, and so Silas double-crossed you to take me. ”
Beryl says nothing.
“Bishop was my father’s general,” I say. “Carrying out his orders. Deciding strategy. Overseeing the operation. But he didn’t know about you.”
“I never claimed he did. That’s not why he’s going to die.”
Julius surges forward, but Bishop puts a hand to his cousin’s chest, stopping him.
Beryl continues, “If Bishop wants his Pack to live, he’ll sacrifice himself. The mark of a true leader.”
Julius snorts. “You have four witches and a half-demon. I’m sure they’re all powerful, but there are two dozen wolves in this house.”
“Eighteen now,” she says calmly. “Still a formidable num ber, even if they are exhausted from fighting each other. But if you think this”—she waves at the others—“is all I brought to fight the Albion Pack?” She nods at the partly open drapes. “Look out there.”
I hurry over. When Bishop tries to follow, Beryl says, “Not you. You stay where you are.”
When Claude, Julius and I reach the window, Julius’s hand squeezes my shoulder.
We all scan the yard. At first, I see nothing.
Then Claude inhales, and I follow his gaze to a man lying just inside the forest’s edge.
A wolf. One of the ones who walked out. I think—hope—he’s just unconscious.
Then I see his head, resting a few feet away.
My gaze lifts to see another dead wolf pinned to a tree. Then another on his back, his insides spilling out.
I’m still staring when, as if at a signal, figures emerge from the forest. Six of them, four women and two men.
“That is only a fraction of the force I brought,” Beryl says calmly.
“And they aren’t all witches. We aren’t the Britannia Coven.
We are a cabal. Spellcasters stand at the center, surrounded by other supernaturals.
Our employees. Our servants. Those who owe their livelihood to us or, in some cases, their actual lives. ”
My gaze flies to Marjorie, who only shifts in place, avoiding my gaze.
“Your guards are dead, too,” she says, and I see Julius swallow, grief flashing.
“There were more guards than usual,” Beryl muses. “It’s almost as if Silas knew I was coming.”
Because he did. I told him that Reginald claimed to be taking me to my grandmother. I’d meant to show how absurd Reginald’s plan had been. Instead I’d inadvertently warned Silas that Beryl was coming.
In response, Silas had acted fast, seeming to relax and throw a hunt while planning to test Bishop’s loyalty and get me married as soon as he could, so my grandmother couldn’t take me. Which proves, yet again, that he was never the brains of the Albion Pack.
“Now, Bishop,” Beryl says. “If you want to save your Pack, you’ll pay the price for what you did. Kneel and let me snap your neck, like you did to her.”
“ What? ” I say.
“But he didn’t kill Lenora,” Marjorie blurts, curtsying when Beryl looks her way. “Begging your pardon, ma’am, but it was Silas, as I said.”
“I know. This isn’t for my daughter. It’s for my granddaughter.”
I say, carefully, “Bishop didn’t do anything to me. I don’t know what you heard—”
“I mean your cousin. Henrietta.”
I flinch. She doesn’t seem to notice. Her gaze is on Bishop.
“You were supposed to let them all live,” she says. “Those were the orders I gave through Silas. You could hurt them. You could pretend to kill them, to fool Cordelia. But you were not—under any circumstances—to kill any of them. And the one you did murder? My granddaughter. ”
“It was an accident,” Bishop says, his voice calm. “She fell down the stairs.”
“You murdered—”
“No!” I say, running between them again. “Bishop didn’t touch Henrietta. That was me. I hit her with a knockback. It was only supposed to be a light one, but I must have panicked. She fell down the stairs and broke her neck. I killed her. Bishop wasn’t even in the house yet.”
Beryl fixes me with a stare so intense that sweat breaks out on my brow. “You’re lying for him?”
“What? No.” I spin. “Bishop. Tell her—”
“I don’t know what happened, ma’am,” he says. “If I was responsible—”
“You weren’t, ” I say.
I want to slam him with a spell, knock a little sense into him. What the hell is he doing?