3. Chapter 3 #2
“I will speak to him, make him see reason!” Lyall, hands in fists and jaw tense, says of our brother’s choice to lock Soren away.
“It’s too late, Lyall.” Soren drops his chin to his chest.
“Why would you say that?”
A broken laugh escapes Soren. “I already confessed.”
“To what?”
Soren averts his gaze, lips trembling. “To betraying the pack.”
Lyall stumbles back, shaking his head. “What… why would you…”
A good question, one that makes me hold my breath.
“While you were recovering from the battle, mistrust spread through the village. The townsfolk thought I had turned you against your own family, that you were somehow in on my father’s plan to attack the village and kill Erik.
I couldn’t let them think so poorly of you.
So, I… confessed. Told them I alone knew my father’s plan.
That I used you all for protection until the day I could be rescued. ” Tears well in Soren’s eyes.
Lyall leans on the wall for support, then slashes at it with his claws. “Then I will tell them it’s not true, any of it! I will make Wulfric listen to reason. I—”
“No!” Soren’s broken shout fills the room. “I will not be the reason you lose your family, Lyall. I can’t!”
“You are my family!” The devastation in Lyall’s voice could topple mountains. “And I have already lost so much. I will not lose you, too!”
“So… if you had to choose… myself or your family… you would choose me?”
But my brother says nothing.
If I were in his shoes, I would have chosen Leif and Bjorn, but it would have destroyed me to leave my pack behind.
Just as losing Soren destroyed Lyall. For years, he’s suffered the loss of his mate, but he never left. He stood by us. He chose us.
My eyes sting. I want to fall to my knees in the middle of this court and scream aloud the guilt and despair tearing me apart.
I was so lost in my own grief, so desperate for someone to blame, that I never understood just how much my brother sacrificed for us.
In the memory, Soren smiles despite the tears in his eyes, and gods, the love he feels for my brother could not be any clearer. He sacrificed his life, his livelihood, his connection to our pack—all for my brother.
And we let him. We turned against him, this man who had been part of our family since boyhood. Cast him aside as if all those years of brotherhood meant not a damn thing.
Oh gods.
I have been such a bloody fool.
All this time, I’d been wrong when I believed Soren had played a role in Leif’s and Bjorn’s murders. His father acted alone.
All these years, my rage was misplaced. I thrust all the blame for the attack onto Soren. So long as I had someone to blame, I didn’t have to blame myself.
I can no longer hide behind a shield of Soren’s guilt.
It is no one’s fault but my own that my family was killed that day. I was too weak to protect them. They’re gone because of me.
One by one, my family testifies in support of Soren’s innocence, until the time comes for me to speak. “Innocent,” I say.
Soren’s name is cleared, and he and Lyall share an embrace, the scent of their tears making my own eyes sting.
I want nothing more than to get out of this damn place. To shift and run until I’ve left all my guilt and loathing behind.
“Gunnar and Arlo and Alpha Wulfric, please stay. There are matters we need to discuss,” Harding says.
Arlo? He’s here?
My heart gives a jolt when Arlo walks past my seat and claps a hand on my shoulder. “Come on, stud. Let’s do this.”
Do what, exactly?
I follow him to the front of the room and drop down into my seat, chewing my lip. No doubt there will be some kind of punishment for my actions. But what does the Council want with Arlo?
Councilwoman Harding says, “Gunnar Erikson, you are here because you have been charged with endangerment of humans, unauthorized time travel, and exposure of the paranormal world. Do you understand?”
I want to sink into the floor from shame, but I refuse to display such cowardice. I look her in the eyes. “I do, Councilwoman. I accept any punishment you deem necessary, but please do not punish my family for my foolish actions.”
“It is not punishment we want, Mr. Erikson. We want assurance that you will get your berserker under control before this happens again. You must take a mate, chosen or fated, within the next thirty days. If after that allotted time you are still a risk to yourself and others, we will have no choice but to strip you of your wolf. If you resist, then we will have no choice but to put you down. Is that understood?”
A bitter chill runs down my spine. I vowed over Leif’s body that I would never take another mate, nor love another as I loved him. I will never break my oath to him, but nor can I put my family and friends at risk.
Beside me, Wulfric nudges my shoulder. “Do as she says, brother. You must.”
The pain in his eyes only makes my guilt worse. It’s bad enough I’ve hurt Lyall. I’ll only hurt my family once more if I lose myself to my berserker. Haven’t I done enough harm? I must try, for their sake if not for my own.
I try to swallow, but my throat is painfully dry. “I… I understand.”
“Good,” Harding says. “Arlo.”
I tense at the witch’s name.
“Yes, Councilwoman?” Arlo’s voice is as chipper as usual.
“Your arrival at the scene calmed Gunnar enough for us to contain him. Only a wolf’s fated mate has such an effect on a berserker wolf.”
He was there? I don’t remember that. I throw a questioning look at Arlo, but he just rubs the back of his neck and looks away.
“Is Gunnar your fated mate?”
Arlo is quiet for a long moment. “Yes. Though I haven’t a clue why the gods decided my perfect match was a grumpy git.”
The contempt in his voice makes me bristle.
“Gunnar, do you confirm this?”
“Aye,” I say with such derision that it surprises even me.
“Then in thirty days’ time, you must report back to the Council as claimed mates.”
My stomach cramps, and I wonder if I’ll be sick.
“Um, is that not a tad… forceful? What if I don’t want him to mate with me?” Arlo says.
Oh, he would want it. I would make damn sure of it. If I had that witch in my bed, he would fall onto the sheets and beg for me to take him.
“Gentlemen, this is nonnegotiable. Unless you find losing your wolf form preferable to mating with Arlo, Mr. Erikson, you will do this.”
Arlo barks a laugh. “Oh, I’m sure he does.”
Far from it, in fact, but he need not know that I’d have claimed him the very day we met if it were not for my vow.
“And, Arlo, you will do your part to ensure he follows through, or your position as an enforcer of the TTA will be terminated.”
Arlo does not seem to find anything humorous about that. He clears his throat. “And what if I proposed another way?”
Harding frowns at him. “Another way to cure his berserkism? If there were another option, we would have found it by now.”
But Arlo shakes his head. “There is another option, Councilwoman. One where Gunnar wouldn’t need to take a mate at all.”
My breath catches. Surely he’s jesting. “What do you mean?”
“I’ve been researching berserkism thoroughly. Norse shifters had discovered a potion capable of soothing a berserker’s rage permanently.”
I was not aware of such a discovery. It sounds too good to be true. But if it is… Hope lifts my heart for what feels like the first time in years, but I fight to tamp it down. “That can’t be possible.”
“Oh, it is,” Arlo insists, pulling a bundle of notes from his bag. “Take a look at these, Councilwoman Harding. Please.”
Though she continues to frown, she waves a hand, and the notes fly from Arlo’s fingers into her palm. Her eyes dart back and forth over the papers, then widen in surprise. “This is… remarkable, Mr. Tenanbaum. If you succeed in making this potion, it would literally save lives!”
Arlo’s confident smile does nothing to kill the hopeful racing of my heart. “I will succeed. But I need time.”
“Could you finish the potion by the end of the month?”
Arlo swallows, wetting his lips. “I…” He looks my way, and when our gazes collide, determination furrows his brow. “Yes. I can.”
“Good. Then within a month’s time, you must present proof that this potion has helped cure Mr. Erikson’s berserkism. If you fail to do so, you must take Gunnar as your mate. This hearing is adjourned. Have a good day, gentlemen.” Her gavel comes down with a bang that echoes through the room.
Wulfric and Anders take me home while Lyall and Soren remain in Jamie’s time to celebrate the outcome of the trial. I am unable to speak to Lyall, though I wish I could. He deserves an apology, and so does Soren. Mayhap it is good. I need time to compose myself.
As soon as I can, I curl up in my cabin and sleep until midday.
I’d like nothing more than to stay in bed and ignore my responsibilities, namely the one that demands I take a mate.
I’ve thought many times about locking myself up in this cabin and letting my beast claim me.
But my family would come looking and I could hurt them, so I’ve never acted on those darker thoughts.
There’s a knocking at my door. With a growl, I kick off my blankets and don’t bother throwing on anything but a tunic.
I yank open the door, and my heart and stomach feel as if they’ve switched places when Arlo smiles at me.
It doesn’t touch his eyes. “Morning! I brought you some lunch.” He carries a plastic bag that smells like something fried, fishy, and greasy.
“Not hungry,” I lie.
My stomach roars, causing Arlo to stare pointedly at it. “Are you sure?”
Scowling, I leave the door open and take a seat at the table.
Arlo joins me, untying the bag. “I thought we could talk.”
He hands me a carton. Inside are pieces of fried fish and a pile of French fries. “Interesting combination,” I remark, tossing a fry into my mouth.
“It’s called fish and chips. It’s quite popular where I’m from.”
I won’t ask. I’m not interested.
“Which is?” Damn my traitorous mouth.
“London.”
“Never heard of it.”
Arlo scrunches up his face. “Erm… Wessex. Northumbria. Mercia. Any of those sound familiar?”