Chapter 4
CHAPTER FOUR
Aidan
Watching Alistair walk away is a pleasure. I should probably feel shame for objectifying him that way, right? Especially since, technically, I’m in a position of authority over him.
Of course, since I’d never abuse my authority like that, and since I’m just looking, that argument doesn’t hold water.
So I’ll just continue to admire the way his pants fit, thanks very much, and the lovely way his ass flexes with each step.
Whatever he does to stay in shape, it’s working beautifully.
I sigh and tear my gaze away. Too bad he actively avoids me—I wouldn’t mind having the opportunity to admire him more often.
Before you start thinking I’m completely shallow, I do appreciate that Alistair is an intelligent and highly skilled professional, not just an attractive body.
He wouldn’t be here otherwise—Percy isn’t in the habit of putting people in top-level jobs just because they’re pretty, and neither am I.
I sincerely believe Alistair will be successful where I haven’t—I don’t know him well, but I know his record, and he’s excellent at pulling pieces together to show the whole picture.
As a rule, people generally like him and react well to him, even under less than ideal circumstances.
Plus, even though both felids and hellhounds are shifters and we have much closer biology than any other species—proven by the fact that there’s only one magically invested species leader—there’s still a bit of interspecies rivalry.
The Oregon pack will likely respond better to another hellhound than a felid.
I hope.
Because we’re running out of time. The longer we have no idea what Tish’s plans are, the more likely it is that he’ll succeed.
And that just can’t be allowed to happen.
I’ve seen his research files—the number of people he kidnapped, experimented on, and murdered.
Many of them were my people, my shifters.
He can’t be permitted to take any more lives, and he can’t be permitted to expose us to humans.
There’s no way they’ll just accept our existence happily.
Even if Tish had succeeded in increasing our fertility and thus our numbers, the battles we’d face would wipe out huge numbers of us.
I don’t think it will get to that point—I think the magic will step in to protect us as it did before.
But last time, tens of thousands died first, and the “solution” upset our entire world order and changed the way the community existed.
So it’s probably better to just avoid the trauma of all that and stop Tish first.
Plus, we often forget that just because humans are largely unaware that existential magic is real doesn’t mean the magic isn’t aware of them.
Humans are just as much children of the magic as we other species—and what happened with Noah Cage highlights that clearly.
Tish’s plan to enslave all of humanity would likely distress the magic just as much as the events of the species wars did, and the steps the magic takes this time might not work out so well for us.
That’s the thing about the magic: we don’t understand it.
There are hundreds of scholars who’ve dedicated literally tens of thousands of years to studying existential magic, and we still know very little about it.
Even people like me and Percy, who have regular personal contact with it, can’t say how it works or even if it has sentience.
We don’t know how it selects the lucifer or pack/clan/species leaders.
There doesn’t seem to be a pattern in terms of bloodline or upbringing or even personality type.
I never considered myself to be a leadership type of person until one day, when I was 182, I suddenly was.
I can’t even describe it completely—it’s like a sense of awareness.
There’s a part of my brain that feels connected to each and every shifter alive, but it’s not personal .
I don’t form emotional bonds through that connection.
It’s just as well, because at any second, the magic could remove leadership from me and give it to someone else.
That’s how it’s always worked—very rarely has anyone died of old age in a magically invested leadership position.
The magic likes to give people a decent chance at retirement.
But until the day comes that the magic decides my time as species leader is up, I will do my damndest to ensure the safety of all shifters. Right now, that means finding a way to work with Alistair Smythe, even if he’s not fond of me.
And speaking of, here he comes. I stand and slide my phone into my pocket, clearing off the small table between our chairs for him to put his plates on. By the time I get back with mine, he should be done with at least one and have cleared space for me.
“All yours,” he says cheerfully, jerking his head in the direction of the buffet. Getting food has clearly improved his mood. “They were just starting a fresh lot of bacon, if that interests you.”
“It certainly does.” My stomach growls on cue. I did have a light breakfast of sausage and eggs before I left the hotel, but that was well over an hour ago, and shifter metabolism doesn’t appreciate “light” meals. “Back soon.”
I wait until we reach cruising altitude before turning to Alistair. “Are you ready for a briefing?”
He sets down the empty package of nuts he wheedled out of the flight attendant before takeoff and nods. “Yes. Do you mind if I take notes?”
Ah, words to make my heart rejoice. “Go for it.”
It takes him only a moment to pull out his phone and open what I recognize as the secure app CSG uses for file sharing. “Okay. What do I need to know?”
“Some of it you’re probably already familiar with.
The Oregon pack includes parts of Idaho and Washington, territory-wise, and has a little over two hundred thousand members.
” I make sure to pitch my voice at a level that only he can hear.
The extra space in first class, the drone of the engine, and his acute hellhound hearing all work in our favor.
“The current hellhound pack leader is based in Portland, which is unusual for them but convenient for us, and his name is Jun Chew. He’s been in his position for about seventy or so years, and he’s quite well respected by his pack and others within the community.
The pack as a whole has a good reputation amongst the community and has solid relationships with other species, particularly the felid clan in the area. ”
He’s rapidly taking notes in some kind of shorthand, even though I’m positive this is information he’d already have. I wait for him to catch up and glance at me.
“The subgroup we believe is involved lives in Beker County, just outside Beker City. The community population there is lower than usual for a rural area, although nobody I’ve spoken to can say why.
Further, the vast majority of that population is made up of hellhounds, which is also highly unusual.
” I have a theory about that, of course, and Percy agrees, but I’m interested to see what Alistair’s thoughts are.
Sure enough, he looks up from his phone. “When you say ‘vast majority’…?”
“Of the twelve hundred-ish community members, more than half are hellhounds.”
“Whoa. There’s something not right there. How many of those hellhounds are connected to the families of our captives?”
“Connected how?” I counter. “It’s a small section of the community. I’d say they all know each other by sight and name, at least. Blood and marriage ties are rife, since it’s rare for new people to move into the area. There’s probably three degrees of separation at most between any two of them.”
He shakes his head. “What did Jun have to say about the Beker County community? For that matter, what did the local felid clan leader say?”
See? I knew he’d cut to the heart of the matter right away.
“Jun has had concerns for some time, but since there have been no complaints and no overt trouble, there’s not much he can do.
Everyone is helpful and respectful when he visits.
The numbers in the area are unusual, but there’s no indication that’s due to anything the hellhounds have done. ”
“Bullshit,” he says firmly. “You know that’s bullshit.
I can see the numbers for vampires, demons, and incubi and succubae being lower outside a big city, but the number of cats should come a lot closer to matching that of hellhounds.
Population density is low, and if I’m visualizing the right part of the map, it’s a mountainous and largely forested area.
That’s paradise for shifters. And it’s not exactly cut off from the rest of the world—if I remember right, Beker City even has a small airport.
” He stops abruptly. “You never did say what the Oregon felid clan leader had to say.”
“The clan leader—her name is Riona—said pretty much the same things as Jun. She’s spoken to her people in the area several times, assured them that she can help if they ever feel threatened or unsafe, but they’ve always responded that they’re fine.
She even went so far as to chase up some families who’d moved away, but nobody had a single complaint to make.
They all had reasons for leaving that didn’t include being run out of the area.
” I wait a beat, then add, “Percy and I agree that it still seems odd, so he reached out to other species leaders and asked them to speak to their local counterparts.”
He raises his eyebrows, but it’s kind of lopsided. Like he meant to raise only one but can’t do it.
“And?”
I drag myself away from my fascination with his eyebrows.
“And they’ve all had similar experiences.
If hellhounds have genuinely been running other species out of the area, they’ve terrified those people so much that they’ve all become champion actors and don’t feel safe talking about it even years and half a continent later. ”