Chapter Thirty-Six
T HIRTY - S IX
“No,” Julius whispers as he stares at Bishop’s prone form.
I shout against my gag, telling Julius to take it off. From here, I can see Bishop’s chest rising and falling. He’s alive. Alive but unconscious as Silas bears down on him.
I shout again. This was my deal with Julius. I’d allow myself to be bound and gagged, but if Bishop was in danger of losing, Julius would free me. We wouldn’t sit by and watch Bishop die. But Julius is trapped in the horror of the moment, and in a heartbeat, Silas will be on Bishop—
Julius snaps from his shock and yanks off my gag. Someone else has my hands, and I think they’re stopping me, but they untie me.
Julius runs for Bishop. I open my mouth to shout a binding spell. Silas is on Bishop, jaws swinging toward Bishop’s throat—
Bishop leaps up, and the spell dies in my throat. Silas doesn’t even have time to back away. He was so sure of his victory, his opponent lying there, unconscious. Feigning unconsciousness. Feigning that terrible angle of his head.
Before anyone can reach them, before I can even blink, Bishop grabs Silas’s throat. The sickening rip of flesh fills the room.
Blood spurts. Gouts of blood. The room goes utterly still.
Silas staggers back. I can’t see his eyes, but I can picture them, wide with shock as his lifeblood jets from his body. Bishop backs away, moving with care, his gaze fixed on Silas, just in case.
But Silas doesn’t attack. I doubt he can even think of it. Everything has happened so fast, and he’s still processing it when his body slumps to the floor.
Still, no one moves. We collectively hold our breath. Augustus breaks from the crowd and strides forward. He stands beside Silas’s prone body and waits for the Alpha’s panting breaths to cease. When they finally do, he turns to the crowd.
“The Alpha is dead.” Augustus walks to Bishop and lays a hand on his back. “Long live the Alpha!”
“Like hell!” someone snarls, and I look to see Harry walking in, bearing down on Bishop. “You think I’m recognizing this murdering bastard—”
Charlie leaps into his path, and Harry sends the young wolf flying with one swing of his massive fist. But then two others are on him, pulling him down, and someone else rushes in to help Harry, and the room erupts, werewolf fighting werewolf.
I spin, my back to Bishop, ready to attack anyone else who tries to get at him while he’s exhausted.
No one does. There are fights, knots of them everywhere, confusion and even grief bubbling up.
Blood flies. Bodies hit the floor. But every one of those “bodies” leaps back up and charges into the fray again.
This isn’t an actual battle. It’s tension and emotions running high and looking for an outlet.
These are werewolves—men of war, of physicality, and appetite, and they came for a wedding and got a new Alpha instead, their old one lying dead at their feet.
No one quite knows what to do with that, and so they fight until they’re exhausted, and Bishop only waits it out, as do Claude and Oliver and a few of the older wolves.
Then Bishop growls, and that seems to be the signal. The wolves stop, panting and bleeding, and they look his way.
“Long live the Alpha!” someone shouts.
A roar. A massive figure breaks from the crowd and runs at Bishop, snarling.
It’s Harry Cain again, now streaked with blood.
Julius spins and hits the younger man with a blow that sends him flying.
Harry roars again and tries to charge, but Julius evades and, in a blink, the young man drops like a felled oak, falling flat onto his face, and Julius has his foot on his back.
When Harry tries to rise, Julius slams his foot down and the young wolf yowls.
“Yield!” Julius shouts. “Recognize your new Alpha or leave.”
“I’ll never recognize that murdering—”
Julius heaves the big man up by the back of his shirt and throws him toward the door. “Then leave.” He wheels on the crowd. “That goes for all of you. This is the Law. Bishop has won. Recognize your new Alpha or leave.”
Harry rises, his back to us, brushing himself off and taking one step toward the door. Then he wheels and charges Julius.
I start a binding spell, ready to launch it only if I need to. But before Harry reaches Julius, someone runs through the door and leaps onto him. I give a start, seeing a slender figure in men’s attire, but with unmistakable raven hair.
Marjorie is on Harry’s back, her hands around his throat. He snorts, reaching back, as unconcerned as a bull attacked by a kitten. Then he screams and the smell of burning flesh wafts up.
Marjorie leaps off Harry, leaving welts on his neck. He spins, and she raises her hands as they crackle with fire.
“Forgot we had powers, too, did you?” she says. “We just weren’t allowed to use them. Even against the likes of you. This is for Trina.”
She lowers her hands as Harry charges and grabs his groin, her fingers flaming red. He screams and tries to hit her, but she ducks around him and dances back. He staggers, holding the seared front of his trousers as he whimpers.
Marjorie walks over and drops to one knee by Bishop. “Long live the Alpha.”
Julius does the same, and all around me, wolves fall to one knee. A few don’t, but it’s remarkably few—only four by my count—and they only walk past Harry and out the door.
“This wasn’t how anyone expected the day to end,” Oliver says, and I need to resist the urge to break into snorts of laughter.
“But I think we can all agree that Bishop didn’t intend to challenge Silas after his wedding.
My brother forced his hand by threatening Bishop’s mate and his cousin.
We can also agree that Bishop fought fairly and earned his Alphahood fairly.
Now, we will allow him to retire and transform, and Julius will tend to his wounds. Then he’ll speak to his new Pack.”
Cries of “Long live the Alpha!” ring out. Julius follows Bishop from the room. He glances over to catch my eye, but I motion that I’ll stay. I don’t trust that there won’t be another outburst of rebellion, and I’d like to be here to help.
Bishop and Julius have left, and I’m walking toward Marjorie when a noise comes from the hall, a cry of rage that doesn’t sound like anything from a human throat. Marjorie turns, her eyes going wide. She starts running for the door just as Tabitha races in, screaming that terrible scream.
Tabitha slows only enough to spot Silas’s body.
Then she runs to it and starts kicking it with all her might, her face red, eyes glowing as she howls twelve years of pent-up rage.
She hits him with her little knockback, which only makes his fur ruffle, but it’s symbolic, and my eyes fill with tears as I start toward her.
Marjorie reaches as if to stop me, but I shake my head, letting her know I won’t interfere with Tabitha’s catharsis. Julius peeks in the door, sees what is happening, and then withdraws. He won’t interfere either.
“Hold on,” calls a voice from the doorway. “I believe I can make that much more satisfactory, Tabi.”
Ann strides in. She walks toward Silas and then stops, her gaze focusing on an empty spot beside his body.
“Hello, Uncle,” she says. “Seems someone finally put you in your place.”
I’m confused for a moment. Then I remember what she is.
“Necromancer,” someone whispers, and more whispers join in.
“No, no,” Ann says to the ghost we can’t see. “Don’t leave so soon, Uncle. We aren’t finished with you.”
She lifts her hands in an incantation. Confused murmurs rise from the Pack. Don’t they know what a necromancer can do with a dead body? Let’s hope Silas has forgotten, too.
Ann’s hands slam down, and Silas’s corpse twitches, shuddering even though Tabitha has stopped kicking him. His head lifts. Muffled cries ring out behind me.
I walk over, circling wide so Ann doesn’t think I’ll interfere. Silas is blinking, trying to comprehend what’s happened. Blood has stopped flowing from his neck, and he lies in a puddle that snakes out around him. He starts to rise, but Ann says “Down!” and he drops like an obedient dog.
She walks in front of him, where she can see his eyes, and crouches.
“This is for my mother. For Tabitha. For her mother. For Cordelia’s mother.
For her aunt. For every woman you have murdered and mistreated.
You’re mine now. You obey me. This is what it means to be a zombie, trapped in your own ruined body.
Not even as a man but a wolf. Maybe I should keep you in there, have you fetch my slippers and guard my door while you rot. ”
She rises and looks at Tabitha. “Now he’ll feel it.”
Tabitha runs at Silas and kicks him with all her might. She keeps kicking him, vicious enough for Marjorie to flinch, but Ann and I stand strong and bear witness. Marjorie slips out, as if she doesn’t want Tabitha to see her discomfort.
When Tabitha finally backs off, panting, I step up to Silas’s head as he whines in pain, frozen there, unable to move, commanded to remain still by the necromancer who raised him. I bend to look into his terrified eyes.
“You had everything,” I say. “And you lost it. Do you know why?” I lean toward his ear and whisper his favorite insult. “Because you were weak.” Then I grab him by the muzzle and yank his head sideways, hearing a satisfying crack as his neck breaks, just as he did to my aunt.
“Begone!” Ann says as she raises her hands, freeing Silas’s spirit from his earthly form.
I look over at Tabitha, who stands with tears running down her face.
I put out my arms, and she runs into them, burying her face against me as she sobs.
I reach a hand toward Ann and for a moment, I think she will ignore it, but then, with something like an exasperated sigh, she reaches and takes it, and the three of us stand there, looking down at Silas’s body and hoping his spirit is winging its way to exactly the afterlife he deserves.