Chapter 20 #3
“So the Murphys were the ones who told you dragon slayers were behind it,” he said slowly. “Did you have that corroborated by any other source?”
Jermon shook his head. “We didn’t have any reason to question it, but after what you told us, that has changed, obviously.”
“The timing works out,” Emma said. “We discovered they arrived here before we shifted, so before they could’ve known we were here.”
“What did they tell you, exactly?” Fergal asked. “About the dragon slayers, I mean.”
Jermon scratched his chin, clearly trying to remember. “Alistair told us they’re an ancient secret society from Ireland who took a vow to kill all dragons. He said they started out as Christians who thought dragons were in league with the devil because of their magic.”
“But you said the attackers used magic,” Fergal pointed out. “That you were clearly under the influence of a dark spell.”
“Yes, and the Murphys explained that. They said the dragon slayers are now using warlocks and thus the same magic they condemned the dragons for. And he accused them of using dark magic, stating they only used their magic for good—obviously another big fat lie.” Jermon’s tone was full of bitterness, and Fergal couldn’t blame him for it.
“So what do you think the attack was?” Erwan asked Fergal.
He hesitated, not knowing Erwan well enough yet to gauge if he was strong enough for the truth, especially now that he was vulnerable without his mate.
Erwan’s gaze softened. “I can handle it. Don’t sugarcoat it.”
Okay then. “My gut says they were trying to take you out since you confirmed they only attacked dragons, not wolves. And when it became clear the attack wasn’t successful, they rushed in to supposedly help so they could gain your trust as your saviors.”
Erwan’s only reaction was a long shared look with his brothers.
“But we killed most of the attackers,” Jermon said. “If those were all Murphys, they took heavy losses.”
Gregor shook his head. “The attackers weren’t dragons. If they had been, you would’ve sensed it, even with your limited magical abilities at the time. My guess is they hired some kind of paramilitary group to do their dirty work, aided by one or two of their own who did the magic work.”
“And then offered to train us in magic.” Erwan sighed. “Training sessions where they were deliberately limiting what they taught us, making sure we stayed weak enough to control.”
Fergal’s mind was running full speed now, assembling the evidence into a case file that grew more damning with every new piece of information.
“So the Murphys have been running a multi-generational conspiracy. They infiltrated our clan through Duncan and Donovan. They collaborated with Cladhaire to suppress the White Dragon. They set up the ranch attack to see if they could eliminate you, and when that didn’t work, they rushed to your rescue to embed themselves as allies.
They systematically eliminated the real dragon slayers.
And they assassinated my father and uncle when they got too close to the truth. ”
“And they’ve been using Duff Bás’s name and identity as cover for their own operations,” Gregor added. “The man might not even know his name was used to claim responsibility for Lorcan’s and Brian’s murders.”
A heavy silence fell over the table. Jermon broke it by pulling a print from a stack of papers.
“There’s one more thing. A few weeks before the attack, a man came to our borders claiming he wanted to join the pack.
He called himself Matt Brown. I noticed the man had a shimmer about him, like magic.
Now, mind you, this was before we’d learned anything about magic, so I had no clue, but I still picked up on it.
We tried to find him but were unsuccessful.
We pulled this from our security cameras. Does he look familiar to you?”
Fergal took a long look at the picture, then shook his head.
“He’s obviously using glamour,” Gregor said. “You can tell by how smoothed out his features are. Glamour is a Murphy specialty. Colin and Dempsey are both trained in it. My money is on this being a Murphy operative using glamour to scout your territory before the ranch attack.”
“So the attack was premeditated,” Erwan said. “They sent a scout first, then staged the attack, then showed up as heroes. All planned.”
Fergal nodded slowly. “Which means everything that followed—the training, the kidnapping attempt, the breeding proposals—was part of the same operation. They never intended to help you. They intended to control you.”
The meeting continued for another hour, covering security arrangements, the Murphy omegas still being held captive, and the delicate question of what to do about Cladhaire and Baoth, who were now powerless but still dangerous.
By the time they wrapped up, Fergal’s head was pounding, but for the first time since his father’s death, the conspiracy felt less like a fog and more like a map—complex and vast, but with visible borders and identifiable landmarks.
They were actually getting somewhere. Slowly, painfully, with too many gaps still to fill, but somewhere. Finally.