Chapter 15 #2
I’d been locked in the same physical position for forty minutes: left hand knuckles to the window, thumb tracing slow, shallow circles into the padding beneath.
The mate mark on my shoulder itched. Then, without warning, it ignited.
I choked back a gasp and pinched the muscle, breathing through my teeth.
Bronc snapped to attention instantly. “What is it?”
I flexed my fingers, eyes squeezed shut, waiting for the spike of pain to fade. “I can feel her again,” I said, voice gone raw. “The silver’s off. For now.”
Relief washed over me, hot and dizzy. But it was tainted, because I’d seen what happened to shifters who spent too long in silver.
My sister had died that way—thrown into a bunker by the Greenbriar pack, left to stew for weeks in chains.
When we pulled her out, there was more scar than skin.
I remembered the smell of her as we broke her body from those links, remembered the way she trembled, not from fear but from the craving for release.
She’d killed herself months later, unable to shift, unable not to shift.
I’d never forgiven the Council for the leniency they showed her captors.
Of course, I’d killed their fucking Alpha myself.
The Council was still salty about it. Fuck ‘em.
Bronc must have seen the direction of my thoughts. “She’s not like your sister,” he said, quiet.
“I know.” I forced the words out. “She’s stronger. And she’s alive. I can feel that.”
He nodded and set his report on the tray table. “Do you want to tell me what you’re getting from her? If it’s worth hearing?”
I was surprised by the question, and more surprised by the answer that came: “Nothing concrete. Our bond’s new—barely enough for sensations, not thoughts. I just know when she hurts, and when she’s scared.”
“Can you reach her?” Bronc asked.
“No.” That stung. “But I can track her, in a way. If I had to, I could find the city.”
Bronc’s mouth set in a hard line. “Good. She’ll be near to where we are.”
We sat there, two wolves in a luxury pen, waiting for the next fight.
My mind spun with all the ways I could kill those who hurt her, and whether I’d be able to kill my own father-in-law before the Council stripped me of rank or life.
What if I killed two kings? I wanted to.
But that would take me away from Savannah, and nothing was worth that.
The curtain at the front of the jet snapped open, and King Rafe Mayfield filled the aisle like he was made for it.
Six foot four, barrel-chested, with a beard that looked like it had been trimmed for him to appear for the paparazzi.
He wore no tie, just a black dress shirt and dark slacks, but he radiated authority like sunlight through glass.
He made a show of ignoring the bottle of bourbon in the galley, then plopped into a seat across from us and stretched his legs out.
“You two look like hell,” he said, but there was no smile behind it.
Bronc didn’t answer, so I did. “We’re not here for a vacation, sir.”
“Never are,” Rafe replied. “But I like to think we can make a little progress before the world tries to bite our balls off.”
He leaned in. “Here’s how the Council’s going to go down. First, you’ll meet with an arbitrator from one of the witch clans—she’ll be there to test the mate bond and verify it’s not a false mark. You’ll both submit to bloodwork, magical review, and physical exam.”
“Sounds tedious,” Bronc said, not quite rolling his eyes.
Rafe ignored him. “After that, the Council will convene in closed session. There are twelve representatives—one for each kingdom, but some serve double roles. They’ll hear testimony, then take the findings back to their rulers, who will vote by region.
It’s not a true democracy, but it’s the best we’ve got. ”
I interrupted. “Who’s likely to side with us?”
Rafe counted on his fingers, as if he’d done this a thousand times. “Not Midwest. Dominic wants to claim Savannah, so clearly he’s not for you. Not Eastern Wolves—Declan started this whole shitshow. But you’ve got the Southern and Western Wolves in your corner, at least for now.”
Bronc chimed in. “Vampires?”
Rafe gave a dry laugh. “Western vamps hate the Council, so they’ll vote to cause chaos. Eastern are more conservative, if you could consider Kazimir conservative, but they despise arranged marriages. We can count on a split there.”
Bronc gave a little sly look at Rafe. “Well, the Eastern Vamps Princess Lucia is my mate’s best friend and was a childhood friend of Savannah’s. We can at least hope for some sway from her.”
Rafe looked incredulous. “Fuck me, Bronc. Iron Valor Wolves never cease to amaze.”
I shrugged. “Never count us all the way out.” Then I asked, “Witches?” remembering the shrewd, glassy-eyed witch who’d tested me after my sister’s death.
“Harder to say,” Rafe admitted. “Four covens, each with its own agenda. But two of the four have been on the losing side of mate mark politics for a decade. I think we can get them. The demon and angel factions are a toss-up. The angels are likely a lock for fate, so hopefully they’ll be on your side, but they only hold one seat. ”
I chewed on that for a moment. “So it comes down to three or four swing votes, and who can buy them first?”
He nodded. “Politics isn’t much different from organized crime. You want someone on your side, you either pay them or make it impossible for them to cross you.”
Bronc’s hands balled on the armrests. “Council wasn’t worth a damn when it came to finding Emma. Can’t help but feel like this is the same song, second verse.”
I looked at him with the same sinking feeling. “We’re not losing this time,” I said, staring him down. “I’ll do whatever it takes to bring her home.”
“Good,” Rafe said. “Because the other side is playing for keeps.
Dominic wants to humiliate you. Declan wants to break her.
And the rest of the Council just wants the whole thing to go away.
Some of ‘em might want to make an example of Iron Valor after what happened with Greenbriar. It could go any number of ways.”
I let the silence settle. The hum of the engines was a low, persistent threat, a reminder of the speed with which things could unravel. My mate bite still burned, but I welcomed it. It was the only thing that proved Savannah was out there, fighting.
Rafe pulled a notepad from his pocket, scribbled a few lines, and slid it across to me. “These are the names you’ll need to watch. I’ve already sent runners to meet us at O’Hare. You’ll have support, but you’ll also be tailed from the second we land.”
I scanned the list. Four names jumped out: two witches, one vampire, and the demon rep—an ex-marine named Jones, of all things.
Bronc grunted. “We’ll handle the pressure.”
Rafe’s eyes glinted. “You always do. But this time, make sure you leave something standing for the next generation. I’m tired of patching up the messes left behind.”
He stood, stretched, and stalked back to the galley. Bronc watched him go, then let his head drop back against the seat.
“Think we’ve got a shot?” I asked quietly.
Bronc didn’t hesitate. “We always have a shot. That’s why they don’t like the odds.”
I grinned, wiped a hand over my mouth, and let my body finally relax.
Outside, the sun was starting to set, the world invisible. Inside, we were wolves among sheep, ready to tear out the heart of anyone who got between us and the people we loved.
I closed my eyes and sent a single, silent message to Savannah: Hold on.
We were coming.