24. Chapter 24
Conall
Conall rubbed his temples as he tried to rein in his fraying temper. Across the table, Malachi Hagan pointed a weathered finger at the polling data on his computer, his Texas drawl at odds with his serious words.
Ash sat to Conall’s left, his braid loose over one shoulder, his dark eyes following the conversation with quiet patience. Conall envied Ash’s ability to find tranquility, even in the middle of these godforsaken Pack Council meetings. Because right now he wanted to rip Christopherson’s head off.
Malachi swiped to a new screen, showing a recent poll.
“The public isn’t sure what to believe. General Wilson’s competence ratings took a ten-point hit after the Yellowstone story broke, but his trustworthiness numbers have barely moved.
” He shook his head. “People still see the uniform and the medals, and they wanna believe in him. It doesn’t hurt that he’s got the looks and voice that could sell ice to polar bears. ”
Conall’s jaw tightened. “So they believe him when he says Apex had nothing to do with it.”
“Some do. Not all.” Malachi pulled up a graph that showed a breakdown of social media sentiment by demographic.
“The younger crowd and educated folks are skeptical as hell. But your average middle-aged suburban voter? They’re split.
If we push harder without something concrete, we risk those folks backing Wilson. ”
Ash leaned forward. “Apollo’s stock stabilized yesterday. Down twenty percent from its peak, but the freefall has ended.”
“That’s the other red flag.” Malachi’s voice hardened.
“The markets believe this will blow over, as these scandals do. They’re betting the hearings go nowhere and that Wilson weathers the storm.
” Conall knew what that meant. The machine kept running, and shifters would likely face federal registration requirements.
“The Council’s fracturing,” Ash murmured. He’d spent the morning in backchannel meetings while Conall was on the Hill. “A few senators are questioning the chain of custody for the evidence, saying it could’ve been planted.”
Conall’s wolf growled at the slight to his mate. “Planted by who exactly?”
“He’s not making the argument to people who care about the truth,” Ash reminded him. “He’s making it to those who want a reason to look away.”
Malachi exhaled tiredly. “The public outrage isn’t about the torture or kidnapping, or even civil rights violations. It’s about Cog and contamination.” He met Conall’s gaze, his blue eyes steady.
The word landed like a stone in Conall’s gut. Contamination. It was the same word Christopherson had used in the Council chamber the other day, his face twisted with disgust.
His phone sat on the table beside him, its screen dark. Riley had called last night but didn’t leave a message. Then she’d sent a short text. He’d seen it just as another crisis blew up his phone.
By the time the dust settled, it was midnight in Wyoming, and something in him had hesitated. The bond felt thin and cold all day. Last night, he’d told himself she was sleeping. Then this morning had brought more meetings and more maneuvering. He’d lost track of time.
His wolf paced, agitated and pissed off. The bond should have felt warmer, even if she was fatigued or angry. He’d been able to sense it more clearly lately, and he found he didn’t want to go back.
“We’ve almost got the registration legislation buried,” Ash murmured.
“The Feds can’t force testing while this scandal’s burning.
But if we push on Wilson and Apex without something airtight, we risk turning him into a martyr.
My advice is to let this play out and hope the journalists dig up some dirt. ”
Conall nodded. Wilson’s energy signature, pulled from that metal desk, processed through the fMRI machine and the government database, would have done the trick. But using them meant exposing how they’d been collected and exposing Riley as a Spooler.
Malachi stood. “I’ll work my contacts among the other Alphas. See if I can peel a few of ’em away from Alexander’s orbit.” He clapped Conall on the shoulder. “Get some rest, son. You look like hell.”
“I’ve looked worse.”
Malachi smirked. “That’s not much comfort.” He nodded to Ash and let himself out.
The door clicked shut, and Ash stood and stretched, his vertebrae popping softly.
“On the bright side, I talked to Jamie today. He’s finally coming home.”
Conall rubbed his eyes. “Thank fuck. How’d he sound?”
“His usual cocky self on the surface. But he’s tired.” Ash grabbed a bag of pistachios and cracked one open.
Conall shut down his computer and poured himself two fingers of bourbon. “I’ll be glad to get everyone home.”
Ash’s dark eyes were calm and reflective. “How is Riley doing with the implant?”
“She’s adjusting. I think the implant is too.” Conall swirled the liquid in the glass. “Drew says the hardware’s integrating more smoothly with her neural tissue, so there are fewer spikes and crashes. She and the thing seem to be reaching some kind of arrangement.”
“An arrangement?” Ash’s mouth twitched. “Like roommates?”
“She says it has its own sentience. The thing is analytical as hell, and the coldness is still there, but she says it helps her reason better and regulate her emotions.” He took another sip. The bourbon tasted faintly of woodsmoke and vanilla.
Ash cracked another shell. “Living things adapt and change according to their environment. Her implant is lucky Riley is its host.”
“Shit. That sounds strange when you say it. It’s our bond that troubles me. It’s been distant and quiet lately.”
“Distant how?”
Conall tried to find the right words. The bond was an intimate connection, and describing it to someone else was like trying to explain colors to someone born blind.
“Normally, I can sense her. Not with thoughts or words, but feelings and textures. Warmth, irritation, fatigue. That device muted everything and made the bond feel cold, but it’s been improving. Until yesterday.”
Ash studied him, his gaze steady and unnervingly perceptive. “Did you call her back?”
Guilt pricked at him. He’d meant to, but the Pack Council had devoured his time. “No. Let’s head back to the suite.” Suddenly, he had a strong urge to go to her.
When they walked into the suite, Conall threw his jacket over the back of the couch in the living area and pulled out his phone to find her contact.
Her contact photo popped up. It was a picture he’d snapped in Colorado when they’d been out riding horses.
Her dark hair shone in the late-afternoon sun, her white streak falling across her face.
She had that calm but guarded look in her eyes.
Right before he tapped the call icon, another call came in. Conall frowned as he noticed it was a Canadian number.
“This is Segerson.”
“Alpha Segerson, this is Alpha Whitlock.” The other Alpha’s voice sounded measured and cautious. “I apologize for the interruption. How are your U.S. Pack Council talks going?”
Something shifted in the air, almost like a premonition. The faintest edge of his Tracker ability woke as his wolf stirred.
“It’s a pain in my ass and a complete shitshow, so the same old. What’s going on?”
“I’m calling about Anna.”
Conall’s grip on his phone tightened. The woman had caused so much pain and trouble. Even hearing her name made his hackles rise.
“What about her?”
Another pause, longer this time. Conall could picture Whitlock in his study behind his massive mahogany desk, carefully choosing his words.
“Anna gave birth last night to a healthy little female shifter. She weighs seven pounds, four ounces.”
His mouth went dry. “Who’s the father?”
“We ran a DNA test immediately. Conall, your markers are a fifty percent match.”
Fifty percent. Conall’s mind raced. What did that mean? Fuck, he wished Riley were here. He forced himself to focus and do the math with brutal efficiency. Fifty percent meant a sibling, parent, or offspring, which left one possibility.
Owen.
“We don’t have a confirmed sample from your brother,” Whitlock was saying, “but the probability is extremely high since your father is dead.”
His brother. His insecure, cruel, rage-filled brother.
The same brother who used to crawl into bed with him late at night after their father berated or beat them for some stupid infraction.
The same brother who’d sneak him food when he was being punished and re-homed Conall’s favorite dog so his father couldn’t put the little border collie down.
His wolf clawed and snarled inside him as his Pack bond flared white-hot with rage, a surge so violent it nearly blinded him. Ash let out a pained grunt.
“There’s more.” The Alpha’s voice was quieter, as if sensing Conall’s mood.
“Anna rejected the child. She refused to hold or name her. Fuck, I’m sorry, Conall, but I think you have a right to know.
During the pregnancy, she made two attempts to harm herself and the child.
We have her under watch. She’s stable, but not in a good place mentally. ”
Conall’s vision narrowed, the edges tinged with gold. The glass in his hand shattered, sending shards and pungent alcohol onto his lap. Ash went still, his dark eyes assessing Conall as blood dripped from his hand.
“The child is healthy, and she’s being cared for, but we wanted you to know.”
“Don’t let Alistair or Anna near the infant. My brother will be there tomorrow to execute his parental claim.”
“Conall–”
“Don’t fuck with me on this. I’ll be in touch.” He ended the call and set his phone on the coffee table so he didn’t break it.
Ash’s face was carefully neutral. “The father of Anna’s child is Owen.”
“That stupid fucking jackass.” His wolf wanted out, wanted to hunt, wanted to sink its teeth into his brother and shake until something broke. The bond thrummed with it, a snarl of pure, animal rage.
Ash exhaled slowly. “You’re sure.”
“Yes.” Conall’s fist unclenched, sending glass fragments clattering onto the coffee table.
Owen had been with Anna after he and Sawyer banned her from their Pack lands, and then Owen had kept his mouth shut as Conall and Riley suffered through the mate bond withdrawal.
His brother got a woman pregnant, knew she was pregnant, but still walked away.
And he let Conall nearly destroy himself and his mate in the process.
Conall’s phone lay on the table, Riley’s call still unanswered. The bond had gone cold again, the brief flare of rage already receding, leaving something hollow and aching in its wake. He stared at the blood and glass in his palm and tried to breathe through the fury that threatened to choke him.
His brother had a daughter, and he had a little niece. A child born of jealousy and spite, and god only knew. Anna had rejected and tried to harm her before she was even born.
“We need to find Owen,” he growled. “Tonight.”