Chapter 5 #2
Next to Mayfield sat the newly minted Midwest Wolf King himself, that arrogant prick Bridger “Menace” Hardin.
The former Iron Valor pack member was decked out in a three thousand dollar suit, not a hair out of place.
The mirrored aviators hid his eyes, but I’d bet my grimoire they were shooting daggers at those of us who voted against his claim on his fated mate. Those of us still breathing, anyway.
Hardin leaned over, whispering to the formidable Kazimir Kozlov, the ancient Eastern Vampire King.
Kazimir’s sleek black hair cascaded past his shoulders, contrasting with the red satin jacket he wore open, exposing the physique of a man centuries younger.
The close ties between him and Iron Valor struck me as odd, but word was his daughter and their Luna were thick as thieves since college.
I’d never known Kozlov to care at all for wolves. It defied nature.
The newest face at the table was Griffin Calloway, freshly crowned king of the Eastern Packs, courtesy of Hardin.
Griffin, son of the recently executed King Declan Calloway, had ascended mere weeks ago.
Apparently, killing your daughter’s fated mate is enough to get the Council’s attention, even if the angel brought the bastard back.
Griffin looked like a deer in the headlights.
I stifled a laugh. I loathed Declan. Good riddance.
Varek Otero, King of the Western Vampires, was hard to miss in his white silk suit, tailored to emphasize his otherworldly pallor.
He lounged in his seat, one leg carelessly draped over the armrest, idly fiddling with his signet ring.
His long silver hair framed a face that was both alluring and unsettling in its post-human perfection.
Farthest from the door sat Maltraz, the Demon King, disguised as a dark-skinned man with a clean-shaven head and mismatched eyes; one brown, one blood-red.
His suit reeked of new money, and his left hand still sported untrimmed, razor-sharp black nails that clicked against the glass pitcher as he reached for water.
Slade Stewart, ruler of the Western Packs, was the last Wolf King to arrive.
He’d been scarce lately, mourning his dead mate.
His auburn hair had lost some of its luster, and he looked thinner.
In my eyes, it only proved the weakness of taking a mate; the Achilles heel of every ruler who had one.
He nodded to the room, putting on a show of having pulled himself together.
Archon Seraphael, the Angel King, kept his distance from our motley assortment of leaders.
An enigma of ethereal, golden-eyed beauty, who spoke rarely, but possessed the wisdom of the Great Creator.
Of course, he’d clearly fucked up royally to get himself and a thousand of his kind banished to our plane.
Still, his power was unquestioned. He had the kind of power that could raise the dead, as we’d all witnessed weeks ago when he’d resurrected Menace after that fool Calloway planted a blade in his heart.
That left the witches’ covens. We mostly clustered together, while Fallon O’Connell of the Astral Spire Coven tried to set herself apart. She’d been the lone coven leader to side with Bridger and Savannah. Apparently, she’d never owed Declan any favors. Lucky bitch.
The Gloamreach and Emberthorn Covens’ leaders occupied their seats, an eccentric pair. I wondered if they found me as odd as I found them as I graced them with a respectful nod.
Shasta Tierney, the High Flame Caller from Emberthorn, touched my arm and leaned toward me. “Sorry to hear of the death of Laurel Waters.” She whispered, suspicion in her voice.
I fought to keep a sympathetic face as I nodded in her direction and answered quietly. “Yes. Such a tragedy.” My mind was running through the possibilities of how she could have known about her death.
Otero glanced at the clock on the wall and gave a perfunctory yawn. “I must remind everyone, sunrise comes early this time of year. Some of us keep more delicate hours.”
Rafe stopped his pacing and glared. “I didn’t drag my ass to this city to listen to you whine, Otero. But yes. Let’s get to the point.”
Maltraz smiled, all teeth. “By all means, the mighty King Mayfield wants the floor, as usual.” He gestured with his arms wide.
The chair of the Council brought her gavel down and officially brought the session to order. “King Mayfield, I believe you have a matter to bring before the Council.”
Rafe’s voice dropped half an octave, the sweet Alabama in his accent curdling into something darker.
“Several days ago, in a territory under my protection, the Iron Valor shifters lost seven of their pack in a blatant, cowardly attack that had obviously meant to wipe out every member. This was a biological attack in which their water system was infiltrated with a deadly toxin. Every household in the territory was infected. Over the course of a week, pack members became weaker until their organs began to fail. Six of their elderly and one very young child died as a result.”
A few gasps traveled around the room.
Some members sat up.
Rafe withdrew a manila envelope and dropped it on the table.
“Here are the autopsy reports. Our doctors couldn’t synthesize the poison.
It was too dangerous for any wolf to touch.
Kazimir was good enough to have his people run the tests.
” He snapped his fingers, and an attendant, a human, sweat-beaded and trying not to tremble, entered, carrying a locked case.
Rafe opened it, withdrew a heavy glass vial filled with black liquid, and rolled it toward Maltraz.
The demon king didn’t even blink. He took the vial, unscrewed the cap, and took a deep inhalation. His eyes glazed over for a split second before returning to normal. “Curious,” he said, rolling the vial in his hands. “Why bring this to me, Alpha?”
“Because,” Rafe said, voice low, “I couldn’t help but notice your sigil stamped on all the bottles.”
Maltraz licked his lips, feigning offense. “I can assure you, the demons have no interest in hunting wolves. Not in this age of peace.”
Otero let out a bored sigh, tapping his nails on the tabletop. “I fail to see how a little old-fashioned pack culling requires all this melodrama. Wolves die. So do vampires, so do humans. What’s your point, Mayfield?”
Rafe’s fist hit the table. “Iron Valor is the strongest pack in my territory! How ‘bout I cull a few hundred vampires, Otero?”
The lead Councilwoman banged her gavel. “This is getting us nowhere. Threats and flippant remarks about people dying are not acceptable.”
Rafe took a deep breath before he continued. “There was a secondary attack that occurred as well. There was an attempt to drain the Iron Valor pack’s bank accounts the same week the water supply was poisoned. The person who attempted to funnel money from their accounts also had your sigil Maltraz.”
Maltraz sat up, amused now. “Prove it.”
Rafe bared his teeth. “Already did. The records are in that file. You can pretend to be bored, but we know damn well what you’ve been up to. Curious if you knew those funds you were draining weren’t real.”
Maltraz froze. A look of surprised anger crossed his face for a moment before it vanished.
He quickly recovered. “I can assure you it makes no difference to me, real or false, funds moved here or there, as I had no part in it. However, if some rogue demons in my organization acted without my knowledge, they will be dealt with.” Maltraz’s smile widened.
“Of course. The demons want only peace.”
It was Menace’s turn to let out a sarcastic laugh.
“Oh yes. Demons are well known for being peaceful creatures. You see, Maltraz, I was there when the Greenbriar pack attacked Iron Valor, thinking they had succumbed to the virus. They brought a few vampires and several demons to fight with them. Curious, don’t you think? ”
Voices raised around the room.
The gavel came down again. The Councilwoman gave Maltraz and Otero a chance to answer the charges.
Maltraz thoughtfully dragged his finger along the edge of the table.
“I’m as shocked as anyone to hear that demons were a part of the fight.
I have no beef with Iron Valor. I am the king of demonkind.
Why would I care about a random wolf pack?
Sadly, it sounds as though there may be rogues who hold a grudge against them for one reason or another.
I vow to put my people on it. This act of cruel violence against innocent people should be answered.
If I find who was involved, rest assured, King Mayfield, they will be dealt with. ”
Otero gave the same simpering assurances.
I almost grinned at how smoothly they lied.
And the looks of utter disbelief on Mayfield and Hardin’s faces were priceless.
This Council was such a farce. Rarely was justice ever served.
I thought of little Aspen Waters, running for her life.
For the first time in years, I felt a pinprick of pity.
How would she survive when even here, in the sanctum of peace, it was all just theater and power games?
The meeting wound down with the usual empty resolutions. Maltraz signed a statement of intent, Rafe added his blood to the paper (a ritual I’d always found tacky), and everyone pretended to be satisfied. The room emptied, the echoes of boot heels and designer loafers bouncing off the stone.
I stood, motioned for my girls to pack up, and slipped into the corridor.
The Council’s administrative maze was a warren of marble and glass, but I knew the shortcuts.
I rounded a corner and nearly collided with Maltraz, who loomed a foot taller and radiated the sort of hungry, patient malice that set every hair on my arms bristling.
“Wyrdmother,” he said, and the word oozed out, thick as sap.
“Maltraz.” I didn’t waste time on pleasantries. “A word?”
He gestured for me to lead the way. We ducked into a side chamber, a space just wide enough to be private, just small enough to feel like a threat.
He leaned against the wall, arms folded, those mismatched eyes boring into me. “You want something.”
“Don’t we always?” I asked. “But this time it benefits you, too.” I waited for his nod, then continued. “There’s a witch on the run. Waters line, name of Aspen. She’s taken a grimoire, possibly two, and she has no idea what she’s holding.”
He smirked. “And you want me to retrieve her?”
I shook my head. “Nothing so crude. But I thought you’d want to know. She left Georgia over a week ago. Trust me when I tell you, this girl is a mystery worth unraveling. She could be a key to…something.” I told him, raising an eyebrow.
Maltraz’s eyes glittered, the red one flashing briefly. “And if I decide to pass?”
“Your choice,” I said, turning to go. “But if you let her slip, the next time the Council meets I might be the person holding all the aces and you’ll have no choice but to fold.”
He watched me walk away. “You’re colder than your reputation, Rowan.”
I glanced back, letting the mask slip for just a second. “That’s because I don’t have a soul to burn, Maltraz. Remember that.”
As I merged back into the crowd, Olive fell into step beside me, voice low. “What did you tell him?”
I smiled, savoring the bitter aftertaste. “Enough to kick him into gear.”
The chamber was emptying; the night outside was deeper than sin. I paused at the exit, listening to the bickering of two centuries’ worth of monsters, and felt—just for a second—the old, exhilarating certainty of having the upper hand.
Let them chase the bait. Let them tear each other apart.
When the dust cleared, I’d be the one left standing.
And the weapon in my hand would be enough to have them all on their knees before me.