18. Chapter 18
Conall
Sawyer Castillo sat in a stiff leather chair in front of the sprawling, messy Senator’s desk with his head in his hands, his fingers splayed against his scalp as if holding his skull together.
They were just finishing up an early morning meeting with Senator Bryne from Colorado when Parker’s call came in.
The Senator’s office was paneled in wood and filled with gifts, plaques, and binders.
The reception area held too many desks, and even the Senator’s office looked like organized chaos.
Senator Bryne was a tall, older woman with steel-gray hair, a deep dimple in her chin, and a brisk, no-nonsense manner.
Most of her staff looked like they were half the Senator’s age, and Conall caught a whiff of fear from a couple of them as they walked in. But Bryne was one of the few politicians Conall could tolerate, and she was leading the opposition to the proposed shifter registration legislation.
The politician stood behind her desk, looking helpless. “Alpha, my deepest condolences,” the older lady murmured as she gazed at the Alpha’s bent head. She slowly slid into her seat. “I’m so sorry for you and your Pack’s loss.”
Sawyer Castillo was grieving. His heartbreak and rage pulsed around him and slammed through the Senator’s office, setting everyone on edge. Conall’s wolf snarled at the perceived threat, but he reined it in and sat next to Sawyer. He knew exactly what Sawyer was going through.
“Malcolm pushed Cora out of the way and took the brunt. The stupid bastard,” Sawyer whispered.
The Scott’s face surfaced in Conall’s memory. The red hair, the shit-eating grin, and those green eyes that tracked Riley too closely. He’d tangled then flirted with Riley, but he’d also protected and sheltered her in Vegas.
Malcolm had just died a hero’s death in Riley’s arms. Fate was sometimes brutal. The bond tugged at him, a distant thread carrying Riley’s muted grief. Parker said she was functional, with the implant walling off the worst of it and turning her into something efficient and cold.
Ash stood behind Conall, his arms folded. “I’m sorry too, Alpha. Death is a natural part of our journey, but the violent, early death of a good shifter is not.”
Sawyer nodded and stood. “Senator. If you have any follow-up questions, please reach out. I need to go make arrangements.”
They walked out of the Senator’s office and into the corridor of the Russell building. The hallways were filling with staff, and several paused to take in the three formidable shifters who stalked through the corridor, one of them bleeding rage and powerful grief through the building.
When they made it back to The Willard, Conall turned to Sawyer. “Come to my suite. We need to talk in private, and Hudson dropped off an excellent twenty-year-old single malt whiskey last night.”
Sawyer nodded and followed them up. Both Conall and his wolf wanted to hunt down the Apex General and sink his teeth into the man’s throat. When they reached his suite, Sawyer collapsed into an oversized armchair.
Conall poured him a whiskey. “They’re building another Roswell under Yellowstone, guarded by Apex and equipped with Apollo Genetics’ cutting-edge technology. And tomorrow the Pack Council votes on whether to sanction allowing every shifter to line up to be cataloged and tested.”
Sawyer lifted his head, his eyes bloodshot and hard.
“The timing isn’t a fucking coincidence.
Malcolm dies while uncovering evidence, less than a day before we’re supposed to debate whether to politely hand over our people for testing and cataloging so they can handpick which ones they want to modify. ”
Conall started pacing. “Apollo Genetics has defense department contracts, and their board is full of retired generals.”
“The Senate Majority Leader’s close colleague runs Apex.” Sawyer drained half his whiskey in one go, even though it wasn’t lunchtime yet. “Malachi confirmed that Senator White and General Wilson are Normals who’ve openly stated that shifters are animals and Cogs are abominations.”
“Half the Council has been bought or threatened,” Conall muttered. “The Northeastern Pack is drafting a Compliance Statement, for fuck’s sake. And the Southeastern Alpha is waffling.” He stopped pacing and straightened. “Without evidence, we don’t have the numbers.”
Sawyer set his glass down with a hard thud. “Then we dissolve this sham of a Council.”
The words hung in the air between them. Dissolve the Council.
It wasn’t an idea an Alpha threw around lightly.
The Pack Council had stood for over two hundred years as the governing body and voice of most of the North American shifters.
Dissolving it meant returning to territorial squabbling and Pack-isolation politics that had nearly caused two major wars.
Ash tilted his head. “I think it could work. Congress would have to negotiate with each separate Pack rather than with a single consolidated body. The paperwork alone would bury the vote for months.” Conall’s wolf violently approved.
“Christopherson won’t go for it,” Sawyer murmured. “Neither will Alpha Thompson from the Midwestern States. The Council gives them legitimacy.”
“We’re getting evidence of what the Feds are doing that can’t be fobbed off on a few mid-level scapegoats. Photos, video, equipment serial numbers, shipping manifests.”
Sawyer’s eyes narrowed. “You’re suggesting we try to strong-arm the holdouts.”
“Fuck, yes. The registration proposal dies tomorrow, either because the Council votes it down or because the Council ceases to exist as a unified body. Those fuckers have killed or injured too many for us to lose this battle.”
Outside, a siren wailed in the distance over the constant hum of traffic. Malcolm was dead. Gunnar was in the hospital. Jamie had taken a bullet and lost sight in one eye. And Riley had a fucking implant embedded in her cervical spine, slowly freezing her from the inside out.
His wolf wanted blood, and Conall wanted justice. He reached for his phone.
“Who are you calling?” Sawyer asked, glancing up.
“Malachi Hagan. He may have more intel, and we need him in the loop if we’re planning a rebellion.”
Sawyer’s mouth twitched humorlessly. “Texans do love a good righteous rebellion.”
“Then he should be ecstatic.”
Malachi answered. “I’m in the middle of a passable breakfast, and I just saw you five hours ago. Where’s the barn fire?” The Alpha’s voice had that unhurried Texas drawl.
“We need to talk in person. Sawyer’s with me.”
Malachi’s gruff voice came through the speaker. “Mornin’, Castillo.”
“Good morning, Alpha Hagan. I wish we were calling with better news. We need you.”
Malachi sighed. “I’ll be there in ten minutes.”
When he arrived, Conall laid out what Riley had found in the bunker in Yellowstone, Malcolm’s death, and the Apollo Genetics equipment that Apex Mentis soldiers had been guarding. He also told Malachi about the map with sites across the western states, including Texas.
Malachi made a sound low in his throat. “Son of a bitch.” His voice had lost its easy warmth. “I’m so fuckin’ sorry about Malcolm. I always liked that fellow.” Sawyer nodded his thanks, his eyes bleak.
“What do you know about General Michael Wilson and his relationship with Senate Majority Leader Derek White?” Conall asked. “He’s also the senior senator from your State.”
Malachi nodded toward the whiskey, and Conall poured him two fingers.
“They’re thick as thieves. Grew up in San Antonio together and went to the same prep school.
Both are from military families. White’s daddy was in the Air Force, and Wilson’s was in the Army.
They roomed together at UT Austin.” The drawl was slower now, more deliberate.
“White went into politics. Wilson stayed in the military and climbed the ranks. Both of ’em are Normals.
It’s clear as day what they think of supernaturals. ”
Conall’s jaw tightened. His wolf pressed against his skin, sensing the spike of rage before he could fully process it.
Malachi went on. “Three years ago, at a closed-door fundraiser, White called shifters ‘dangerous animals’ that needed to be trained or ‘put down.’ Wilson has said he believes Cogs are an ‘evolutionary mistake’ and inferior to Normals. Rumors say he bought a trafficked Inamorata woman from Eastern Europe when he lived in Germany. She disappeared before he came back to Washington.”
Sawyer’s fingers had stopped drumming. Conall stared at the older Alpha. “You’re shitting us.”
“We might have to go hunting before this is all over,” Ash murmured.
Malachi sighed. “I’d go on that hunting trip, and I wish I weren’t shitting you.
They’re both at the top of the food chain when it comes to the registration push.
White chairs the committee drafting the legislation.
Wilson runs Apex Mentis, which would be responsible for implementing the testing protocols. It’s a handy friendship.”
Conall paced to the window. The city sprawled below him, all those people who had no idea, or just didn’t give a fuck about what was happening in their government.
“There’s more, and this directly affects us. Wilson was spotted twice in the past month with a few Alphas. They seemed chummy,” Malachi went on.
Conall turned from the window. “Who?”
“Christopherson and Thompson, that I know of.” Malachi set his glass down and propped his cowboy boots on the coffee table.
Sawyer’s expression was flat, but his eyes burned gold. “Christopherson sent two female shifters to this hotel suite the other night.”
Conall folded his arms. “They offered ‘companionship’ and anything else we wanted. One of them is a trained Beta with a poly sci degree, and he offered her up like a fucking party favor.”
Malachi was silent for a beat. “My Pack borders three military bases, and the Feds made it clear they’ll station additional troops there if I don’t play nice with the registration proposal. I told ’em to go fuck themselves.”
Sawyer nodded. “So did I. They’re building more laboratories and still kidnapping and experimenting on our shifters. Some of our own Alphas are peddling the rest of us to get ahead.”
“Don’t worry about me, son. You know how I’ll vote, even if it gets ugly.”
“It’s already ugly,” Sawyer returned quietly. “Malcolm’s wrapped in a sleeping bag in a hangar in Wyoming.”
Malachi threw his whiskey back and stared at his glass. “Jesus, when we’re all drinking whiskey instead of orange juice for breakfast, you know it’s bad.” He stood and stared at Conall. “I helped clear out the facility in Austin, and I saw firsthand what those fuckers did. I’m with you.”
When he left, Sawyer pushed back from the table and stood. “Malachi’s in. That gives us the South, the Southwest, and the Northwest. Three of the five major territories. I bet Alaska will go our way too.”
“It’s not enough. We need the Midwest and Northeast to flip so we have a unanimous front, or we dissolve the Council and try and drown the registration proposal in legal paperwork.”
Sawyer nodded. “I need to call and tell Madison about Malcolm before she hears it from someone else. And make funeral arrangements. My wolf wants to rip a few Apex soldiers apart right now.”
Conall nodded in agreement. His wolf paced, restless and angry, wanting movement, wanting blood, and wanting Riley. The bond hummed distantly, carrying nothing but that faint, steady pulse that told him she was alive and unharmed.
Somewhere in this godforsaken city, Christopherson was likely shopping for a European chateau with his blood money, while General Wilson slept soundly in whatever exclusive penthouse the taxpayers had funded.
A knock sounded at his door. He walked over and opened it, then wished like hell he hadn’t.