Chapter Twelve
Connor
The air inside Morrigan’s shop felt too thin, too still, as though the walls were holding their breath around the three of them.
Connor stared at Adrian. Not at the mark, but at him. Something old and instinctive unfurled in his chest. Protectiveness. Fury. And beneath all of it, a bone-deep certainty he couldn’t yet name.
Adrian adjusted his coat. He’d paled, but his eyes, green and bright, never left Connor’s.
“This can’t be our problem,” Adrian said, his voice low. “The Council isn’t after me alone, surely? They moved an entire village. They’re testing the Veil. They’re sending these Nightwrought things through cracks that shouldn’t exist. We can’t handle that alone.”
Connor nodded slowly. “Aye. We’ll need both the clans.”
Morrigan arched a brow. “Unity? Between wolves and wanderers? Between Brannigan pride and Gauthier fire? Now there’s a novelty.”
“We need to get them ready,” Adrian said. “Prepared. Informed.” His voice tightened. “I’m not letting the Council anywhere near my people.”
Connor’s reply came without hesitation. “Or mine.” Nothing is going to harm anyone in my valley. Or you. I’ll die first.
The bond pulsed again between them, quieter this time, as if acknowledging the truth they’d spoken aloud.
Morrigan clasped his hands behind his back. “Then gather them. Bring both clans together. Tell them what must be told. Train them for what must be faced.”
Connor shot him a look. “You’re enjoying this.” Damn the man.
“Immensely,” Morrigan said without a hint of shame. “Prophecy is rarely this entertaining.”
Adrian pinched the bridge of his nose, exhaling. “Right. Connor, we need to get everyone together at your castle.”
“Right. They’ll want answers,” Connor said grimly. “And they’ll want them from us.”
Adrian nodded grimly. “Then we give them the truth.”
Connor nodded, his jaw set. “Let’s go.”
Morrigan watched in silence as they left.
The walk back through Glengáill was silent at first. Lanterns flickered in doorways. Windows glowed warm behind old glass. The scent of rain lingered in the air, mixed with something strange and metallic. Magic gathered. An impending storm gathering in more ways than one.
Adrian’s steps slowed once they reached the edge of village. “Connor,” he said softly.
Connor stopped and turned.
Adrian hesitated, the wind catching his coat. “What if the clans don’t accept this? What if telling them we’re Valours, telling them about the Council, makes everything worse?”
Connor held his gaze. “Then we remind them who their Kings are. Remind them what loyalty means.”
Adrian gave a wry smile. “And if they’re afraid?”
“Then we stand in front of that fear,” Connor said. “Together.”
The bond thrummed. not in warning but recognition. Warm.
Adrian exhaled. “You’re starting to sound like a Valour.”
Connor scowled. “Don’t push your luck.”
Adrian smiled. “Let’s get going. We have two packs to appease.”
***
Connor
The great hall of Brannigan Castle had not held this many bodies, this much heat, or this much uneasy silence in years.
Firelight glowed along the stone walls, catching on weapons mounted high and tapestries older than any living clan member. A long table ran down the centre of the room, polished to a mirror shine by Moira’s hand.
The Brannigan clan had gathered on one side, Connor at the head, Cairo and Sallie at his feet, Fraser at his right. Louella sat in the near corner, Laird fidgeted nervously near the hearth, Angie and John murmured quietly together, while Briar sat silent and watchful.
Graeme sat quietly reading a book, seemingly untroubled by the activity around him. Moira hovered over everyone, a den mother to the fullest. Little Alicia was already in bed. The rest milled around, talking among themselves.
The opposite side of the hall remained empty until the heavy oak doors swung open. The Gauthier clan entered like a storm and a procession.
Adrian came first, snowflakes still clinging to the dark waves of his hair, Max a step behind him.
Rowland shooed everyone aside with a grandfatherly roll of his eyes, Piper, Jasmine and Laurence swept in, and Garrett stalked in last. Connor couldn’t fail to see the anger and mistrust on his face as he glowered at everyone in the room.
That one’s going to be trouble.
Marilee entered after everyone else, her body shrouded in wariness.
Connor rose to his feet. If the bond hadn’t been tugging at him, winding through his chest like a taut thread, he would’ve stood anyway. But the sensation—the heat beneath his skin—tightened in Adrian’s presence.
Adrian paused near the end of the table, his gaze catching Connor’s for a moment too long.
“Welcome to Brannigan Castle,” Connor said, his voice steady though his pulse jumped. “We’ve a lot to discuss.”
Adrian inclined his head. “Indeed we do.”
After brief introductions, everyone was seated.
Piper leaned forward, warm as ever. “Smells heavenly in here, Moira. Did you put rosemary in the bread?”
Moira preened. “Ach, someone has taste. But it was Angie doing the baking, not me.”
“You have a wonderful set of stone wolves at the entrance to your home, Connor,” said Adrian. “They are almost real. Except I did see one was missing an ear.”
Connor nodded. “We had another vicious storm about a month ago, and in the process, the wolf on the right—she’s called Luna—was damaged by a fallen tree. Nero on the left fared better. A local sculptress made them. Her name’s Violet Brinkman and she’s a true artist.”
He winked at Fraser, who glared at him. Connor knew he had a thing for Violet. It was about time the two of them got together.
The tension thinned, and the air in the room grew warmer.
Connor cleared his throat, forcing the room’s attention onto him. “You all know by now that Glengáill, this village from another world, didn’t fall out of the sky.” His gaze swept the room, lingering on the worried faces of his clan. “It was brought here. And not by accident.”
Garrett snorted. “Aye, that’s not exactly comforting.”
Adrian cut him a look sharp enough to slice bone. “You’ll let him speak, Garrett.” He grumbled but obeyed.
Slowly, before the room filled with stunned faces, Connor and Adrian recounted the story of how Glengáill came to be, and why. Murmurs turned to silence, and as expected, panicked questions began in a never-ending stream.
“What exactly is the Council of Veils? What power do they hold?”
“Why were the Valours chosen?”
“Does the binding grow stronger? Does it…fuse them?”
“Is war coming to the valley?”
“What is the mark’s purpose?”
Between them, the two Kings tried to reply, but the shouts were getting louder, and fear became a heavy blanket.
Adrian and Connor looked at each other. “Enough,” they thundered together. And the noise ceased.
“Slow it down,” Adrian commanded. “One at a time, please.” He inhaled deeply. “In answer to that last question, I don’t know the exact reason for the mark or why it chose me. But the mark is waking.”
Gasps rippled through the hall. Piper stepped closer to him. Fraser clenched his jaw, and Max’s entire body went still.
“It reacts to magic,” Adrian continued. “To the Council. To Nightwrought beings, whatever the hell they are. And apparently,” his voice faltered for a heartbeat,” to Connor.”
The murmuring intensified. Connor raised a hand and silence fell.
“We’re linked,” he said simply. “Bound. Valours.”
The word hung heavy in the air, throbbing with questions.
“The bond is not a curse,” Adrian said gently. “But it is a warning. A tool. A demand.”
Garrett’s voice cut through the tension. “A demand for what?”
Adrian smiled faintly. “Unity.”
Connor stepped forward. “There’s something coming.
Something worse than shadows in the woods.
Worse than storms that pull towns apart.
If we stand divided, we’ll fall divided.
Xiathen has explained that the Veil is thinning.
The Council of Veils, whoever or whatever the hell they are, sent that storm.
The village didn’t escape him. The Council moved it. ”
The murmuring swelled, and Fraser leaned forward. “And it’s no’ the worst of it.”
“No,” Connor agreed. “Because the Council didn’t want the village.” He inhaled deeply. “They want us.”
“The Valours,” Piper whispered, her eyes darting between the two men.
“It’s time everyone knew,” Adrian said softly. “The Council used the storm to force an awakening. To bind us, the Valours. Connor, the Veilwarden, and me, the Marked.”
Gasps scattered across the hall. Adrian lowered his gaze, his shoulders tight. Connor swallowed hard.
Garrett stood so abruptly his chair screeched. “You’re saying this fuckin’ Council brought them all here because of him?” He jabbed a finger at Adrian. “And him?” Then another at Connor.
Max rose slightly, his eyes narrowing. “Sit down.”
“Make me,” Garrett spat.
The shadows along the walls flickered at the challenge.
Adrian slammed his palm on the table. “Both of you. Enough.”
Silence crashed, smothering the commentary.
Piper gave a small, exhausted laugh. “Well. At least the Council didn’t steal all our theatrics.”
Adrian stood, his fingers tapping against the wood. “I won’t pretend this is easy to hear,” he said, addressing both clans. “But the Council marked me. Literally.” He hesitated, then tugged his shirt collar down enough to expose the faint, darkening curve beneath the skin.
A ripple of shock moved through the hall. Louella gasped. Laird took a step back. Alicia whispered, “It’s like the drawing.”
Adrian replied, his voice quieter now. “This mark isn’t a brand, it’s awakening. It reacts to the Council. To magic. And apparently,” his eyes flicked involuntarily toward Connor, “to him.”
Connor’s breath caught. “The bond between Valours pulls us together. Proximity strengthens the Veil. Distance weakens it.”
Fraser exhaled sharply. “Which means if you run from each other—”
“We could drag the valley down with us.”
Moira stood, hands on her hips. “So what happens now? Tell us plainly.”