Chapter 3 - Conan #2
My beta pauses, then takes a deep breath. “Conan… You know that if you found her, it would be an advantage, right? I know what I said earlier, and I was fucking around. But the truth is, you need your true mate to regain your powers. Your ability to heal.”
I shake my head firmly. “The research team can figure something else out. Another method. A mate can’t be the only way.”
“What if it is?”
“Then Iron Breath’s fate is decided. I am not interested in taking a mate.”
“You would do that to your people?”
I purse my lips, a growl rumbling in my chest. “Did that witch say something to you?”
“No. I’m not under any influence, Conan. But you are. The demons got to you so badly that you haven’t just lost your powers, but you don’t care about your pack.”
“What the fuck has gotten into you?!”
“I don’t know,” he responds with a shiver. “Maybe it’s because we’re here, and you just told me that Amalia confirmed that your mate is, too. This changes things.”
“She’s really gotten under your skin, hasn’t she? In the van—”
“I know what I said in the van, and it was only because it wasn’t a sure thing. If it is, and we came all this way…” his voice tapers off, and he raises his brows.
I grunt under my breath, curling my hands into fists at my sides. “I need you to be my friend right now, not my beta.”
“The war is worse than we thought, Conan. People are losing their lives. The threat isn’t contained in Bitterroot. It’s spread outwards. But the demons are still draining power, energy, from the south ruins of Bitterroot. You can’t ignore that forever.”
“I do not need a mate to restore power to Iron Breath,” I growl, spinning on my heel. “If you’ve changed your mind, it does not mean I have to as well.”
With that, I march forward and leave the room without another word.
***
I’ve been putting off going to see the High Priestess all day, hoping that she would forget that she wanted to speak to me. That’s why I leave the mansion in the afternoon for a run and only return once the sun has set.
Perhaps if I can avoid her until tomorrow’s conference, I won’t have to deal with her breathing down my neck about the witch who is suspected to be my true mate.
Besides, it’s just a suspicion. And as I head back toward the mansion, it’s as if the visitor’s quarters call my name. I’d much rather be done with this day, anyway.
I’m about to climb the first step onto the porch when my chest tightens, and I’m forced to stop dead in my tracks. Goosebumps awaken across my forearms, and the fine hairs on the back of my neck prickle at attention.
The air in my lungs dries suddenly, and feeling choked, suffocated, I’m just about to turn my head when the front door slams open.
“Alpha! There you are!” Milly comes rushing forward, appearing too excited, too eager to see me.
“Sister Amalia sent me out to come find you! She’s waiting for you in her study.”
I frown as Milly casually slips her arm through mine and leads me into the mansion. It’s like she’s too friendly, too trusting.
But nothing about her scent or her presence appeals to me in a way that would lead me to suspect that she’s the witch I’m supposed to be here for.
We reach Amalia’s private study after two flights of stairs, the scent of lavender wafting out through the crack of the door. Milly pushes it open and hangs back, slipping her arm out from under mine, and I get the message to head in alone.
“You called for me,” I say as I stand at the doorway, hearing Milly’s footsteps disappear down the corridor. Amalia is perched on a leather chair behind her desk, wearing her pride as if she’s seated on a throne.
“I did. Shut the door, will you?”
“I wasn’t planning on staying long.”
Amalia smiles as she flicks a lighter and lights another stick of incense on her desk. “This is not going to take very long, Alpha. It is only for the sake of privacy.”
Grunting as I close the door with a deliberate thud, I cross my arms and move toward the window in the study, suddenly feeling suffocated.
“Talk, Amalia,” I say without looking at her. “I’m guessing this has nothing to do with Marcus Hale or the alliance. I know you already spoke to my beta. So make it quick. Nothing else is important enough.”
“Why was your head researcher asking about the witch with a certain power?”
I stare out the window at the village nestled behind the main mansion, eyes flitting between faces, heads, activities, and the chatter I can’t hear from up here. As a distraction, my mind conjures up voices, conversations, and jokes flying between the village folk at the bottom.
A village full of women—witches, to be exact. Among them are the alphas of the surrounding packs, accompanied by their betas and a handful of soldiers from all sides.
“The Bitterroot Valley Council believes that if the alphas find their true mate, the mating ritual will bring back the strength we’ve lost because of the demons. It worked for Red Moon and Silver Stone.”
“And what is it that you believe, Alpha Conan?”
I clench my hands into fists at my sides, narrowing my eyes at the village below. “This isn’t about me. It’s about what the council believes is best for the valley.”
“It is about you, Conan. That is why you are here, is it not? We both know that the Bitterroot Packs hardly need this alliance. You wield magic already, apart from shifting. You have an advantage over the Helena Valley packs. And Marcus Hale?” she chuckles.
“He is hardly a threat, and he is useless if he does not talk. The demons are quiet for now, but it is only a matter of time before they strike again. We will find their entry point into our realm. And we will find out what they want and how to stop them. With or without Hale.”
I take a deep breath through the uncomfortable silence that stretches. “What are you getting at, witch?”
“You are here to find your fated mate, Alpha Conan. Even with all your resistance and denial, you are still here, where your fated mate wields both the power of fire and the power of air.”
“I’m not interested,” I grumble through gritted teeth, just as I spot the head of a young girl walking down the street with a skip in her step.
What stands out like a sore thumb is the color of her hair when she stops beneath a streetlamp, her tresses appearing as if they caught fire.
Copper hair.
The recognition is instantaneous, but it’s like I’ve walked into a memory of something that happened twenty years ago.
My breath catches in my throat, and Amalia’s voice as she replies becomes a distant, faded white noise in the background.
The woman standing beside the little girl, holding her hand, turns to face her, and that’s when I see it.
She doesn’t need to step into the light for her hair to catch fire; even appearing with a dark head of hair, the shape of her eyes, the shade of her lips…it’s unmistakable.
Before I can stop myself or even give thought to what I’m doing, I’m walking out of Amalia’s study and marching down the stairs with the kind of determination that I thought was lost to the demons draining our powers and dampening our spirits.
I walk with fierce steps until I’m out of the mansion and in the backyard that leads to the village beyond it. I count three lights from the bottom of the paved street, but the woman and child have already walked ahead, and they’re passing the fifth streetlight already.
My heart hammers in my chest, my breath shallow, and watching the woman’s back as she disappears ahead of me becomes too much to bear.
I stop, hearing nothing else around me, sensing nothing else but her. Smelling nothing else but her.
The richness of sweet lavender hanging in the air where she’s already passed beckons to my inner wolf as strongly as it had eight years ago.
“Hannah!” I call out naturally, no doubt in my voice, and the woman stops in her tracks.
My heart skips a beat.
“Hannah Young?”
She turns around then, tossing her hair over her shoulder as the child remains firmly at her side.
Our eyes meet, and it’s like the world stops and time stands still.
“It is you…” I murmur as shock drains the warmth and color from my face.
“Mommy?! Who is that?” the child asks her, and tugs on her hand, forcing her to break eye contact with me, leaving me reeling from the shocking discovery that she’s here at all.
Hannah Young is here, in Augusta.
And she has a child.