Chapter 4 - Ronan
It’s already past midnight when we slip into the small harbor, and I let myself enjoy the irony of it all. Me, standing on one of my brother’s docks, about to take what’s his while he sleeps, oblivious.
The fog did half my work for me. Tristen’s series of small ports is the busiest on the island; boats come and go at all hours, and there are always strangers in the port.
This particular port is small but always full of ships, which is why it’s perfect.
A new face here means nothing. No one looks twice at men on a boat, loading and unloading at night.
We even lease a small warehouse under the guise of importing, which is ironic, as all we do is export Tristen’s own produce under his nose.
“Warehouse three,” I tell Cole, who’s dealing with the crew. “In and out. Medicine and the dry stores. Nothing that will be flagged until morning—you know the drill.”
“And you?” he asks, already knowing the answer.
“I’m going for a drink,” I grin.
He doesn’t question because he knows the routine. I don’t come on these runs for the cargo; my men can handle that. I come for something else. Something worth even more than a hold full of stolen supplies. I come to listen.
I watch the crew melt off into the dark toward the warehouses, quiet and blending seamlessly into the other men coming and going along the docks and moving between the bars that are always busy.
I’m tense, my wolf is tense, even though I’d deny it to anyone who asked.
My men trust me; they trust my plans, but I know the risks I take.
I have to be smarter than the three packs that make up this island.
My wolf hates it; he’d prefer a straight fight, but I’ve learned that if you have to just use your fists, you’ve already lost.
This victory is going to be won in the mind as much as in a physical fight, though I’ll welcome that bit when it comes.
I pull my hood lower and turn away from the dock.
I’ve seen plenty of pictures of my brothers, and I often wonder if Ryder and I fit the family mold, if anyone would recognize us as siblings.
I’ve seen a picture of Ralph, too, and I’ve got to admit, we may share the same eyes.
Which is jarring, given that I hate the man so much.
No one’s ever called it out here, though, so any resemblance must be mild, thank the goddess, because I really don’t want to look like those bastards.
The town doesn’t improve my mood; it never does.
Everywhere I look, there are reminders of things we never had.
Warm, well-built houses with glass in the windows and heat pumps.
Clean streets lined with shops and thriving businesses, evidence of a robust economy everywhere you look, from the infrastructure to the new digital investment I see being developed.
These people never went to bed hungry, wondering if their mother could even keep going another day.
This is what my brothers were handed by sheer luck.
This is the very thing I’m going to rip from them with my bare hands.
I take a breath, inhaling the resentment and letting it settle in my chest where it lives. It keeps me sharp.
I head to my usual bar in this port. It’s the kind I like. Loud, low-lit, full of dockhands who clocked off a good number of hours ago and are now drunk enough to speak their minds. I take a stool at the end of the bar, order a whiskey, and do the most effective thing in this situation.
Nothing.
It doesn’t take long; it never does. Men love to talk, especially about the things that frighten them, even if they don’t want to admit it. I’ve barely drained my first glass when two men beside me get into it.
“…third time this month,” the oldest one says. “My cousin runs the freight for the eastern pack. Whole shipment, gone. Magic all over it, he said. Just vanished into thin air.”
“Same as the others,” his friend mutters. “No one saw a thing, you know what that means…”
I turn my glass slowly and say nothing; that’s how you get more.
“Alphas are losing their minds over it,” the first one says. “All of them, up in the mountains again last week at some meeting. My sister works at the mountain hall, says they were up there all night but haven’t got a clue. They don’t know who’s doing it.”
I don’t let my grin show, but my wolf feels it. They don’t know, not a clue. Three packs, all these resources, and they’re chasing my shadow.
“Tristen will sort it,” the friend says, with all the easy faith of a simple shifter who’s never been let down by his alpha. “He’s sharp, that one. Fair, too. Runs the best docks, everyone says. He knows what he’s doing.”
I drain my glass, taking a moment to let it burn so I don’t betray myself if I can’t control my face. Fair. Apparently, my brother is fair; easy to be, I guess, if you’ve never had to struggle for anything. I refocus on the men’s conversation.
“Sharp didn’t stop three shipments just walking off into the fog,” the older one points out, and the other one doesn’t seem to have an answer for that until the barman walks over.
“That’s why they’ve got his mate, the witch, on it now,” he says. “Emily is gifted; she’s already making progress.”
My hand goes still on the glass.
“Well, what’s she found, then?” the friend asks.
“Old magic in all the locations,” the barman says, dropping his voice low. “Masking wards. She’s told the alphas it’s really clever stuff, not seen on the island before. So, you know what everyone’s thinking, right?”
“Don’t even say it,” the oldest one mutters.
“Malik,” the barman confirms, and I tilt my head to order another drink so I don’t just look like I’m listening.
He nods and takes my glass, turning back to the other two.
“Stands to reason, doesn’t it? Rogue forces, weird magic, targeting all three packs.
We all thought he was finished, but I think we were wrong. ”
“Nah, they ended him,” the friend says as the barman pushes my drink toward me. “He couldn’t have survived that.”
“Who’s doing all this then?” he says, shrugging.
No one seems to have an answer, and I take another long drink.
They’ve just handed me something more valuable than tonight’s shipment; they’ve handed me a ghost to hide behind.
Everyone knows about Malik and how close he came to getting the job done for me when it came to my brothers.
He tormented this island and very nearly won.
It turns out he’s even more useful to me dead than if he’d survived my brothers.
“Heard the alphas are putting some kind of bounty on anyone stopping the thefts,” he snorts. “Like we’d go chasing unknowns out into the fog over money when it could be Malik.”
“They’re worried,” the barman says. “And if they’re worried, we sure as hell should be.”
It’s the most useful thing I’ve heard all night, and he doesn’t even know what a gift he’s given me. Worried, scared alphas make loud, clumsy moves. And clumsy moves are easier to read three steps before they happen.
As the evening wears on, I learn more in scraps, the way you do in these bars.
Patrols that are doubling, but don’t have enough cover.
The docks are being watched, but the smaller coves don’t have the same protection.
That they don’t think anyone will hit the south…
which we have and will. I tip my head as I leave, having become something of a regular in these bars as a trader from the mainland.
The perfect cover; they probably think I’m worried about the thefts, too.
The boat is already loaded when I get back, half the crew masked with wards, the others perfectly visible and looking ready to go.
Cole is waiting, and we slip back out of the harbor, as unassuming and quietly as we arrived.
The island shrinks behind us into black water, and I sit in the stern thinking everything through.
Their witch, Emily, can sense the masking, but can’t name it…
or stop it. Good, my witches are better, and the little bit of information they do have is pointing them in the wrong direction.
The island seems ready to go chasing a dead dragon rather than look for me.
A seed I didn’t even plant; I just need to water it a little for maximum effect.
Have my men sprinkle a whisper here and there, leave a clue, perhaps some corrupted magic after the next run.
Let them focus on the wrong things while I move into position.
It’s clean. The kind of plan that wins before the first blow lands. I should be enjoying it more than I am.
It’s my wolf being difficult, as usual, at the moment. He’s been brooding for the last two weeks, and it’s always the same; it’s always about her.
The mate bond, the one I didn’t ask for or need, is constantly pulling me to her, proving what a disaster it would be if I gave in to it. I want the bond magic, but it doesn’t need this complication. My wolf keeps seeing things that aren’t there.
But then, it wasn’t an ancient mate bond that made me laugh last night.
She did. We were three games in, and losing doesn’t even bother me the way it probably should, even though I do enjoy the few wins I’ve managed to sneak past her when she’s been more bothered about trying to get me to talk.
She swiped my queen, yet again, and made a comment about how a great strategist may one day consider strategizing… and I laughed. Out loud.
She looked so pleased with herself. I wrapped up the game and left before it could happen again.
I don’t laugh. I haven’t since I was a pup.
And I’m annoyed with myself that I know I like her.
Not just the magic, or what she means, but her.
The way she talks, the way she refused to fear me from the off, the way she looks with her hair down and color in her cheeks, and the way her eyes sparkle with mischief when she wins.
It’s even worse than it sounds. I’ve started building my days around my evenings, clearing my work early so I can find things to take her.
Grabbing another book from Ryder, buying more of the good tea because I caught the face she made when I took the other stuff.
Small things, but they’re the type of stupid things that I’ve seen men do over women. And I need to be better than that.
I let myself sit with it for a moment, but then brush it off, because it doesn’t actually change anything.
So, I like her. Fine. I’m going to sleep with her and let my wolf have her, so I might as well enjoy it.
I just need her to be willing to share my bed long enough for the bond magic to strengthen my wolf.
The magic doesn’t care if I bring her tea or a good book; it doesn’t even care if she likes me particularly.
It just needs the physical act of mating.
And I’ve never had a problem finding willing women.
Perhaps I just need to step this up so I can fuck her out of my system.
Once I’ve seen a woman come apart under me, I tend to lose interest, anyway.
This is a seduction. It’s a game. And I’m very good at games—except, apparently, chess at the moment.
My wolf continues to grumble his discontent all the way back. I ignore him.
Ryder is on the dock when we come in; he often is. He waits until the crew unloads and heads back up toward our warehouse before falling in step beside me.
“Clean run?” he asks.
“Best one yet,” I tell him, and then give him the rest, everything I heard in the bar. The meetings, the fears over Malik, and Emily’s ward-work. I expect him to be pleased, but I know what it means when he falls silent for too long.
“So, they think it’s Malik?” he says, finally.
“Yep, and they’re terrified. Let them chase their tails while I build our presence with the warehouses, safehouses, and the networks in the smaller coves. It’s a gift, Ryder.”
“Is it?” Ryder replies, stopping and looking at me.
“We have everything here, more than Mom could ever have dreamed of for us. Full stores. Trade, some of it even legal. A thriving pack that looks up to you. We are winning by every measure that should matter. And you want to risk it all for that island.”
“I want what’s ours,” I snap.
“The best revenge on those three would be to find out about us one day, look across the water, and see that we thrived without them or our father. Hell, despite him,” he says. “That’s the win.”
“That’s not revenge,” I growl, losing my temper. “That’s surrender with nice scenery.”
“It’s keeping your pack safe and alive, and thriving,” he fires back, and I see a little of the fire he likes to pretend he doesn’t have.
“I’ve watched you move the line for years.
First, it was raids to build the settlement.
Now, it’s raids to destabilize them. Next, it will be taking the island.
How far do you go before you become someone you don’t recognize?
It isn’t a weakness to be satisfied with what we’ve built. ”
“Yes, it is,” I reply, not even trying to hide the edge to my voice. “You’d let them keep it all and call it a victory. You’d rather read about a great battle than win one.”
The barb lands, and I’m not proud of it, but I don’t take it back, either.
His jaw is tense, and he stares at me for a moment; there’s no anger in his expression, which begins to feel worse.
I think I’d rather see the fire again. That I’d know what to do with.
“One day you’ll get a hold of the thing you’re chasing, and you’ll realize it’s not enough,” he says quietly.
“Go to bed, Ronan, you always pick fights when you’re tired. ”
He walks off, and I let him. Standing on the dock, I listen to the creak of the boats behind me, and my wolf pulls and pulls and pulls me toward the hill. I probably should go to bed; Ryder’s right about that much.
Instead, I listen to my wolf and find myself on the path out toward the outskirts of the town. I tell myself this is strategy, a seduction that needs tending to if my plan is going to come off. I see that her lights are still on, and I palm the key in my pocket that will disable the wards.
Stopping at the bottom of the steps, I pause and realize that I’m not actually sure what I’m doing here.
I knock anyway.