Chapter 31 — Ethan
Rhiannon doesn’t give me a choice about seeing Dr. Olcan. She marches me straight to the infirmary, those golden-brown eyes daring me to argue. I don’t. Partly because she’s right — the ache in my ribs has graduated to a sharp, stabbing sensation with each breath.
Once Dr. Olcan takes over, Rhiannon leaves to brief Xander on what happened. I watch her go, fighting the urge to call after her and ask her to stay.
Dr. Olcan patches me up with his usual supernatural speed. The pain-reducing liquid he gives me tastes like battery acid with a hint of mint, but within minutes, the worst of the pain dulls into a manageable ache.
Leaving the infirmary twenty minutes later, I’m still thinking about Rhiannon’s hand on my ribs, our heartbeats falling into the same rhythm, like they belonged together.
For a second, I let myself wonder what it means. Maybe it’s proof of a connection between us — one she feels too.
Then, reality crashes back down on me. I was riding a survival high, and she was just checking for broken ribs. My desperate brain wants to spin it into some cosmic bond.
Pathetic. Like I need to manufacture evidence that she cares about me when she’s made it crystal clear where we stand: Whatever we have is purely professional from now on.
She sure pulled away fast enough, didn’t she? Retreated straight back into Commander-mode. Like it never happened. Like we never happened.
I push these thoughts aside. Whatever happened between us — or whatever I imagined happened — won’t change anything. She’ll still keep me at arm’s length. We’re just colleagues who had each other’s backs in a dangerous situation.
Besides, I’ve got bigger problems to deal with. Such as, what the fuck just happened to Jayme?
The investigation is more than likely over. I can’t imagine how it could possibly go any other way after what we’ve just seen, especially with the pressure from the Shaman.
Honestly, if I hadn’t been right there when Jayme changed, I’d still have a hard time believing he was the one who attacked Haron and Holden.
I haven’t been around Lycan for long, but I can’t shake the feeling that what happened to Jayme isn’t Lycan behavior, even in extreme circumstances.
The way his eyes went white and he transformed without any provocation or self-control, it was like a switch had been thrown.
I’m halfway back to my quarters when voices catch my attention. Conan and Akila round the corner.
“There you are.” Akila’s usual brightness is dimmed. “How are you feeling?”
“Like I picked a fight with a freight train and lost.” I manage a weak grin.
“Ah, but you won!” Conan says with a grin. “And you’re just the human we’ve been looking for.”
“What do you need?” I ask.
Conan exchanges a glance with Akila. “We just heard from one of the guards that Branson’s been placed under house arrest.”
The words take a moment to register. “Wait, what? Since when?”
“Since this afternoon, apparently.” Akila crosses her arms, her brow furrowing. “Which doesn’t make any sense. He didn’t do anything but help when Jayme lost it on us, and no one’s said anything about why.”
I think back to the dungeon. Branson appeared out of nowhere when the alarm sounded, subdued Jayme with that pressure-point move, then disappeared without a word. At the time, I’d been too focused on not passing out to question it.
“That’s weird, right?” I look between them. “I mean, he did help us with Jayme. Do they think he had something to do with the attacks?”
“Only one way to find out,” Conan says.
We make our way through the winding corridors to Branson’s quarters. A younger guard is posted outside the door, standing at attention with the rigid posture of someone taking their assignment very seriously.
He’s probably a few years younger than me, with the kind of fresh-faced earnestness that suggests he hasn’t been in the Alpha’s Guard for very long.
The moment he spots us approaching, his entire body goes rigid, his spine straightening to an almost painful-looking degree.
His hand moves instinctively toward the weapon at his belt, fingers hovering just above the hilt in a gesture that’s more reflexive than truly threatening.
Conan shakes his head. “Relax, kid.”
Akila steps forward. “We need to speak with Branson.” As Second Commander, she outranks him by a mile.
The guard hesitates, then nods and steps aside.
Conan snorts. “Like that kid could actually stop Branson if he decided to leave.”
Akila knocks on the large door.
“Enter.” Branson’s voice cuts through the wood.
As we walk in, I take a second to look around.
Branson’s quarters are sparse, to say the least. There’s a bed in one corner and a single window that faces the training yard. He’s got a desk and a trunk for his clothes, but there are very few artifacts of him in the room aside from some of his gear and some old weapons lying around.
He’s lying on his bed when we walk in. The second he sees us, he sits up expectantly. His eyes acknowledge us carefully before he speaks.
“I didn’t expect to see you three again tonight.”
“We didn’t expect to be here,” Conan says, “but we were just wondering . . .well, what are you doing here?”
He smirks, and it softens his stone face. “I was resting. Considering sleeping, actually.”
Akila scoffs and crosses her arms. “You know that’s not what he means. Why are you on house arrest?”
The smirk vanishes. Branson looks away. “That’s not really for me to discuss. That’s for the Commander to explain, if she chooses to.”
“So, Rhiannon ordered this?” I ask him. “Is there a reason you won’t tell us why?”
“If the Commander saw fit not to inform you, I should probably not be the one to do it.”
“Branson, we’re brothers-in-arms,” Conan says. “If you’re in trouble— If you did something, then you can tell us. We can’t help you if you don’t talk.”
“You can’t help me anyway. Not with this.”
Guilt. It’s as plain as day. I didn’t see it before, but why should I have? Branson’s never been anything but forthright. This can only mean one thing.
“You know what’s going on with Jayme, don’t you?” I ask. He just stares, so I continue, “And so does Rhiannon. Something that only you could know, and Rhiannon figured it out. That’s why you’re on house arrest.”
“She thinks she figured it out, but it’s not that,” Branson says. “I’m sure of it.”
“So what is this ‘it,’ then?” Conan asked. “Tell us, so we can defend you both.”
Branson hesitates, his jaw working like he’s chewing through barbed wire. Finally, he exhales hard through his nose.
“Jayme is a Scarlet Wolf.”
Conan and Akila both gasp. Akila’s hand flies to her mouth, the color draining from her face. Conan just stares, mouth slightly open like someone punched the air from his lungs. The air is thick enough to choke us all.
I glance between them, trying to read the horror etched into their faces. Whatever being a Scarlet Wolf means, it’s clearly worse than I understand.
“How is that possible?” I ask, my analytical mind breaking through the shock in the room. “I asked Dr. Olcan if Jayme could be a Scarlet Wolf, and he told me it would be physically obvious if Jayme was.”
Conan recovers enough to speak, though his voice sounds hollow. “That’s true. His hair and fur aren’t red. How could he be a Scarlet?”
Branson stands, pacing toward the window. His reflection in the glass shows deep grooves carved around his mouth.
“Because he’s been hiding it.” Branson’s hands curl into fists at his sides. “For years now.”
“Hiding it how?” I ask.
Moving to his desk, Branson retrieves a tea set from the hutch. He runs his fingers over the delicate porcelain, tracing patterns worn smooth by years of use. His voice drops, quieter and more vulnerable than I’ve ever heard from him.
“Our mother used to drink Blackroot tea every morning. This was her set.” He sets it on the desk with careful reverence. “We were young when she passed, just seven and nine. Not long after, Jayme and I found her stash hidden in the back of a cupboard.”
Blackroot?
Conan shifts his weight. Akila’s expression softens.
“We’d sneak away to drink it,” Branson continues. “Just the two of us. The taste was awful to us at first, so bitter we’d gag.”
His mouth pulls tight, fighting against the words. “But it made us feel close to her somehow. Like we were keeping a piece of her alive. Eventually, we got used to it. Started drinking it every day.”
A long breath escapes him before he turns to us, arms crossed.
“Then, one morning, we realized Jayme’s hair was noticeably darker.
It was so strange to us that at first we thought that— we thought that he’d finally gotten his wish.
All of his life, he only wanted to be like every other wolf in our pack. ”
Conan and Akila exchange a loaded glance.
“But then our father saw his hair,” he goes on.
“When he asked us what we’d been doing, what we’d been eating, we told him about the tea.
” He pauses, his eyes fading into the rapture of memory as his face slips into a slackened expression.
“He beat us both bloody and told us to throw it all out. Fortunately, he couldn’t bring himself to destroy mother’s tea set.
But he made it clear that Jayme must pay his penance for being born an abomination.
Concealing his true nature was forbidden. ”
“Branson,” Akila says. “Are you saying what I think you’re saying?”
No answer. Instead, he continues, “When I left the Gorg, Jayme didn’t leave right away.
He said that he would never be accepted no matter what pack he joined.
Even when the Moon Curse was fast-approaching, I left my only brother to their mercy.
I’ll never forgive myself for that.” His gaze locks on the teapot like it might shatter any second.
“But the Curse was what woke me up. I knew I had to get Jayme out of there. I recalled then how the tea had darkened his hair.”
“Goddess above.” Conan buries his face in his hands.
“Branson, how could you?” Akila says, disappointment dripping from every word.
Seems I’m the only one not quite catching how serious this actually is.
“So, what does that mean?” I ask.
“It means our pack is danger.” Akila’s face flushes with anger. “Throughout history, Scarlet Wolves have been known to act as henchmen, spies, and murderers Because they’re violent. Blood-thirsty. But they’re also unpredictable. They don’t pledge themselves to any pack for long.”
“Now you’re getting carried away.” Branson says.
“What Jayme turned into today is a Scarlet Wolf?” I ask.
“No, that was something else entirely.” Branson shakes his head. “His wolf is just like you’ve always seen him, only with naturally red fur. I’ve never seen him like what he was today.”
“Allowing such a creature into Kortan is treason,” Conan says.
“My brother is not a monster,” Branson says. “Whatever they say he did, that wasn’t him. He would never—”
“But he did,” Akila says. “Branson, he could have killed us. You saw what he became!”
“I’m telling you, that wasn’t him. He’s not violent.
My father beat him every day of his life.
Sometimes, almost nearly to death. Never once did Jayme raise a hand to him, and believe me, there came a point when he could have.
There were so many times he could have ripped his throat out, and by Gorg law, he would have been justified. ”
“What’s your point?” Akila takes a wider stance, chin lifted.
“My point is that he chose not to. Prior to this summit, have you ever seen him attack anyone here at Kortan? Act aggressively toward anyone? It’s not like him.”
I can tell that Branson isn’t lying. He means every word he says about Jayme. That doesn’t guarantee he’s right, though.
“What if someone’s controlling him?” I articulate what I’ve suspected for some time now. “Making him do things he wouldn’t normally do?”
Akila shakes her head. “Lycans cannot be mind-controlled.”
“Mostly.” I repeat the exact answer that Dr. Olcan had given me.
The answer has been there all this time.
“Dr. Olcan said that Lycans cannot be mind-controlled because you aren’t connected to magic.
But hybrids with connections to magic, like Scarlet Wolves, possibly could.
We ruled out that possibility at the time because we didn’t believe Jayme was a Scarlet Wolf, but now. . .”
I look between Akila and Conan. Both of them stare back, eyes huge.
“We need to inform the Alpha right away,” Akila says.
Conan nods.
We start to leave, but I stop and turn to Branson. “You come with us too. You’re the most important part of this.”
“I’m under house arrest. I’m not supposed to—”
“Fuck that. You’ve got a brother to save.”