Chapter Twenty
T WENTY
The two wolves hold my aunt aloft. Silas yanks up her head to be sure I see her face, and when I do, I barely recognize it.
She’s been beaten, her swollen eyes closed, her mouth gagged, as she hangs there, unmoving, her dress streaked with blood, her arms bound, one leg dragging at an angle that tells me it’s broken.
I scream against my gag as I lunge forward. When Bishop catches my arm, I whirl to launch a sorcerer spell, forgetting my hands are bound and instead wrenching my shoulder.
“Your aunt is alive,” Bishop says, his face and tone expressionless.
Silas slaps Lenora hard enough for me to snarl and rage against my gag and Bishop’s grip. She shudders but doesn’t wake.
“Alive,” Silas says. “Whether she remains that way is up to you, Daughter.”
I try to answer, to say that I’ll do whatever he wants, bring the vicar and I’ll marry Bishop right now. My mind gibbers with panic, seeing my aunt at his mercy, and in that moment, I would agree to anything. But the gag means I can’t say a word.
Silas turns to the Pack. “I doubt most of you appreciate the feat in bringing Lenora Levine here. She’s a powerful witch.
If she weren’t, we’d hardly have bothered with the subterfuge required to bring my daughter home.
I see no shame in admitting when a woman is a worthy adversary.
It only proves how strong my daughter’s blood runs.
Still, despite an ingenious plan to trick Lenora into coming, she had to be brought by force.
And in doing so, we lost one of our own. ”
Silence. Then, from the gathered men, “What?”
“Petey died bringing her here. That shows the blood my daughter carries. The strength.”
“No,” someone mutters, deep in the crowd. “It shows Bishop didn’t devise that plan.”
Silas’s head whips up. His gaze scans the crowd. No one moves. No one even glances toward the speaker. They protect him.
They protect him because they agree.
My father has overstepped.
I should be delighted. Instead, ice settles into my stomach. He sacrificed one of his wolves to bring my aunt here, and the Pack doesn’t think the reward is worth the price. They don’t think I’m worth the price.
I keep telling myself that my father wouldn’t dare kill me. But what about his Pack? At what point will they decide they’re better off if I’m dead?
Or have they already secretly decided that?
“Lenora Levine—” Silas begins.
“Bishop brought the girl,” someone else mutters. “No one died. No one even got hurt.”
“Except Bishop.” Light laughter follows, and someone else says, “Because he put himself on the front line, took the biggest risk himself. As a leader does.”
Rage flashes across my father’s face, but he steels himself and says, louder, “My daughter—as strong as she is—isn’t Lenora. This was too great a mission to entrust to someone as young as Bishop.”
Liar.
Did my father not trust Bishop to bring Lenora? I think Bishop would have. What did he say a few moments ago? That he’s a loyal wolf? If I’m right about Bishop’s ultimate goal, his loy alty lies with his Pack, not his Alpha, but for now, he’ll do nothing to earn my father’s distrust.
My father didn’t give Bishop this task because he suffers from a little of the same malady that afflicts Henry.
Jealousy.
It’s one thing for my father to commend Bishop for bringing me in. It’s another when the Pack praises Bishop for it. It’s also another when most agree that Bishop is a worthy heir. Especially when my father has no intention of seeing him in that position.
The king has passed over his cabinet, promising the crown to a young wolf who’ll be grateful for the title of Alpha-elect. A wolf who’ll understand that he’s still too young to take the throne. But now the people favor the heir, begin to imagine life under his rule instead.
I glance at Bishop. He stands stock-still, gaze on his Alpha, as if no one has said a word, certainly not about him.
“We have captured Lenora Levine,” Silas says. “And she will secure her niece’s agreement to my plan.”
I start nodding madly, even as shame rolls through me. I thank the gods Lenora is unconscious, or she’d be horrified.
Never let them see your underbelly.
That’s what she taught me. If someone threatens my aunt, I can get angry, but I must never let them see fear or they’ll know she’s the key to defeating me. Just as she never let her enemies know that I’m her soft spot.
That’s why she sent me out on errands, even though she worried about my safety.
She had to treat me as if I were just an apprentice.
The niece she had been obligated to take under her wing.
And yet she never sent me out at night or to a client she mistrusted.
I knew how she felt about me. And yet my father had made me doubt her, and it’d been too easy, proof that, as much as I told myself she loved me, I always wondered, just a little, whether it was truly love or merely obligation.
Lenora would tell me to stand down, but I don’t care. If my father thinks she’s the key to breaking me, let her be the key.
Don’t hurt her. You’ll need her to keep me in line.
“So you’re ready to marry Bishop?” my father says.
I glance at Bishop. His face remains impassive, but his eyes close and open slowly, as if conveying a nod. This is what he meant in the hall. Remain calm. Do as I’m told. Get through this.
I step beside him. Remember the Bishop from two days ago. The Bishop who played tracking games and laughed and drank with me. Clever and handsome Bishop, ambitious and determined Bishop. Even his arrogance had started to feel seductive.
I remember Audrey teasing me about liking dangerous men, and for a moment, the thought of Audrey herself overwhelms me. I push that aside to focus on what she said. That I like dangerous men.
Bishop is dangerous. And, gods help me, I’d liked him for it, thrilled at it. That fascinating blend of ruthlessness and rationality. Lethal, but fair in his dealings. Even kind when he wanted to be.
I have no idea how much of that is the real Bishop Daniels, but that’s the version I need to remember.
Looking back on all the men I’ve known for less than a week, if I had to marry one, you’d be near the top of the list.
I’d been teasing him, of course, but I’d also been protecting myself by not admitting that he’d be at the top of the list.
Remember that Bishop.
I look my father square in the eyes and nod. Yes, I’ll marry Bishop.
“Excellent,” Silas says. “That will make this much easier. The marriage will be legally binding, which means you don’t ever need to worry about Bishop abandoning you. He’s bound by law to care for you.”
Even in my near panic, I could laugh at this. That’s why my father insists on a legal marriage, recognized by humans, rather than an informal mating. For my protection.
No, he insists on it so Bishop could pursue me if I fled, demand my return, and, if I refuse, legally take our children.
My only recourse would be to threaten to tell the court that my husband is a werewolf.
That would have worked much better two hundred years ago.
Now, Bishop could tell me to go ahead, knowing if I said it, I’d spend the rest of my life rotting in an insane asylum.
Witches exist. People believe in them. But werewolves ? We are not superstitious peasants anymore, my dear.
Legally binding or not, I don’t care. I’ll marry Bishop to keep my aunt safe. I’ll marry him, knowing at some point, my father must lower his guard and Lenora and I can flee. If witches are spectacularly good at one thing, it’s hiding.
“That’s the deal then,” Silas continues. “I’ll hold your aunt captive until you’re married. Then we’ll negotiate—the four of us—how to handle this. Ideally, your aunt will agree to renounce any sentimental claim on you and move to the Continent. That would be best for all.”
I nod. Yes, this would be best. Just let her go. I’ll marry Bishop, and you’ll set Lenora free. Beside me, even Bishop relaxes.
“All right then,” Silas says. “Let’s wake your aunt and tell her the deal, so she understands the situation, and you can rest knowing she hasn’t been seriously injured.”
If Bishop didn’t have his arm around me, I’d have sagged in relief.
“Bishop?” Silas calls. “Come and wake Lenora. I know Cordelia would prefer your methods.”
When I start to follow, Silas lifts a hand. “Stay there, my dear. I know you’re bound, but we’d better not take any chances.”
My heart thuds. Is this a trick? Is Bishop going to hurt my aunt?
No, he was relieved to hear that Lenora will just remain a hostage. This was what he meant earlier when he said that no matter what my father threatened, he wouldn’t dare do it. Wouldn’t dare kill Lenora.
Still I stay tense as Bishop strides to a side table and pours a glass of water. He walks toward my aunt, stops, and throws it into her face. She rouses, sputtering.
“Lenora,” he says. “I need you to wake up.”
Her head lolls, as if she’s about to fall back to sleep. Bishop reaches out and pinches her nostrils shut, and that has her startling and gasping against her gag, eyes fluttering open.
“Lenora,” he says in that same toneless voice. “Your niece is here. Cordelia is here. She needs to see that you’re well.”
That does the trick. Lenora blinks rapidly, as if trying to throw off sleep.
Her head wobbles up, and she looks around.
Her gaze lands on me, unfocused enough that she must not see I’m also bound and gagged because relief courses over her features, and in that moment, I realize how much she loves me and how wrong I was to ever doubt it.
“She’s right there,” Bishop says. “You’ll be able to talk to her later. For now, she’ll stay where you can see her while you speak to her father.”
Lenora’s gaze whips around, sharper now, landing on Silas. Her swollen eyes blaze with hate, but she douses it with a hard blink.
“May I let her sit?” Bishop says. “And remove the gag?”