Chapter 17 Reed
Reed
The fireplace burns bright with simmering oak, the last of the leaves rustling outside the window. Fall is coming to an end at Wolfston, soon to be replaced by snow and the family’s traditional bone-wreaths. Nothing says Merry Christmas like femurs tied together with sinew.
“So Candace,” I say, drawing out my words. “It would have been greatly appreciated if you could have informed us that our target was an actual Siren, not one in nickname only.”
“I’m sorry, baby brother,” she giggles as Cooper rolls his eyes at my side. “You don’t like a little challenge?”
I watch the firelight dance across Cooper’s cheekbones, highlighting the exasperated curve of his mouth.
My arm is slung over the back of the couch beside him, my fingers gently brushing his nape.
It sends a weird shiver through me. Casual contact in front of others is still something I’m getting used to—you know, contact that doesn’t involve a scalpel or a chokehold.
“Candace,” I say, my voice a rumble that cuts through her giggle. “A little challenge is a corrupt mayor with a security detail. Not a mythological creature with a voice that can turn a man’s brain to oatmeal.” I feel Cooper shiver slightly, and my arms tightens around him instinctively.
Candace shrugs nonchalantly, swirling a dark liquid in her glass.
“You’re both here, aren’t you? In one piece.
Mostly.” Her eyes, sharp as obsidian, flick to the fading scratch on my cheek, then to Cooper.
“And from the way he’s sitting about three inches into your lap, I’d say it was a successful bonding exercise. ”
Cooper snorts. “Bonding exercise? She sewed a park ranger’s vertebrae into a necklace.”
“And you shoved a flashlight in her mouth,” I remind him, a thread of dark pride in my voice. “I’d call that teamwork.”
He leans back, settling more firmly against my side, a satisfied smirk rising across his lips.
Candace watches us, her face hardening into something more dangerous.
"See? This is what I wanted. You needed someone who wouldn't run screaming.
Someone who could handle the... eccentricities of the family business.
" Her gaze lands squarely on me. "And you, baby brother, needed someone to remind you that not everything ends with a body bag.
Sometimes it ends with redecorating ideas for a murder cave and a reenactment of the Salem Witch Trials. "
Cooper was phenomenal.
The memory of the trance replays in my mind, especially his highlight of particular insanity. The way he didn’t freeze. The way he lunged, all humble fury with a rope he had no idea how to use. My murder apprentice in training coming in clutch in my most desperate moment of weakness.
And the fricking earmuffs. God, the earmuffs.
A laugh threatens to escape my lips. Of all the tactical gear, all the weapons and armor at our disposal, it was a pair of fuzzy, brown, ridiculously cute earmuffs that saved the day. He didn’t out-muscle a siren; he out-styled her.
My gaze drifts back to him now, curled up in my arms, arguing with Candace about the ethical implications of burning a female and the generational trauma of it all.
He’s not just book-smart. He’s clever. Instinctual.
He sees the cracks in the world and knows how to fill the space, even if it's with sarcasm and sheer nerve.
He isn’t afraid of the darkness of me—of my past, he embraces it. Bringing his own light to guide the way. He stitches my wounds with trembling hands and then daydreams about using our victim’s teeth for holiday ornaments.
Candace is still bickering about something, but I’m not listening. I’m just watching the firelight catch the gold in his hair, the passion that overcomes his eyes as he argues.
He’s perfect and I can’t get enough of his attitude and humor.
He makes me feel slightly warm inside, like there’s more to the world than slaughtering and patching up gunshot victims.
He’s my precious little mouse and I’m never letting him go.
“Just next time,” Cooper interjects, pointing a finger at her. “A heads-up about the whole supernatural lullaby of death thing would be nice. My therapist is going to have a field day as soon I can find one in this zip code.”
Candace’s laugh echoes to the vaulted ceilings. “Where’s the fun in that? Besides, the next target is much more straightforward. Just a simple, run-of-the-mill cult leader in Arizona. No singing. Probably.”
I feel Cooper go still beside me. Then he tilts his head back to look up at me, his blue eyes wide with a mixture of dread and thrilling anticipation. “A cult? Do they have… matching robes?”
Before I can answer Cooper, the massive oak doors open wide, and a man struts in with the predatory confidence of a lion surveying his domain.
He’s taller than I remember, all lean muscle and sharp angles clad in a black t-shirt that smells of desert sand.
His eyes, the same burnt mahogany as mine and Candace’s, sweep the room, missing nothing.
They land on me, then saunter to Cooper, tucked against my side.
A slow, razorblade of a smile juts across his face.
“Well, hello Zacariah,” I say, revealing none of the tension coiling in my shoulders. Cooper goes preternaturally still beside me, sensing the new dynamic instantly. “Pleasure to see you. How many years has it been?”
Zac’s grin widens. “Long enough for you to acquire a pet, little brother.” His voice is a low purr, laced with a mocking undertone. “Aren’t you going to introduce me to the golden retriever who thinks he can play with wolves?”
Candace lets out a low whistle from the armchair, settling in for the show, like a vulture enjoying the prelude to a carcass.
And in this moment, I realize the first true test of our homecoming isnt't the war with the Baptistes. It’s with him.
My brother who found his first taste of divinity not in the kill, but in the desecration of its flesh.
My mind flashed back twenty years—Zac, at fourteen, not just hunting a doe for food, but chasing it to exhaustion for sport, his laughter ringing through the pines as he finally slit its throat, then leaving the magnificent corpse to bloat in the sun, a wasted monument to his own cruelty.
He never respected the cycle of life and death—the difference in the innocent and guilty.
He just wanted to revel in the spoilage.
The four of us in the room might not make it to the clan battle.
Before I can shield Cooper with my body, he shifts forward, a sharp and witty flame flickering in his eyes.
“A golden retriever?” Cooper repeats, his voice dangerously amused.
He looks Zac up and down, assessing him for a long moment as if he can see the rotten core beneath.
“Cute. But if we’re using canine metaphors, you strike me as more of a rabid stray.
One that gets put down for chasing its own tail. ”
An absolute silence follows, broken only by the crackles of the embers.
Zac takes a step forward, the floorboard creaking beneath his weight.
“A rabid stray,” he drawls, his voice descending to a deadly whisper.
“You have a quick mouth for someone who looks so… digestible.” His gaze flicks to me.
“You always did pick up strays, Reed. But this one seems to have picked up a death wish along with his sass.”
He takes another step forward, closing the distance. The firelight catches the hilt of a knife sheathed at his hip. “You think you’re a wolf, little dog? Wolves understand power. They understand hierarchy.” His lips twitch. “Let me give you your first lesson.”
My body ratchets with tension, heart racing, ready to spring between them, but Cooper doesn’t afford me that opportunity. He rises to his feet in a smooth, graceful motion, meeting Zac’s predatory advance with a surprising calm.
“Hierarchy?” Cooper asks, tilting his head. “Funny. The only thing I see is a puppy who is barking above his place.”
Zac freezes, his entire body rigid with an incandescent rage I haven’t seen since his days of rabid fury. “My place,” he says, his words coming out as gurgled syllables. He steps within a breath of Cooper, looming over him. “You have no concept of the world you’re standing in, you little—”
“Enough!” I shout.
The word commands their attention enough to prevent a snarling match. “I’m the eldest son,” I state, stepping forward in between them. “Therefore, I’m the alpha of this estate. You will apologize to Cooper for your rude and disgraceful introduction. Understood?”
The silence is astounding, quiet enough you could hear a mouse squeak. Candace watches on, her expression asking for a bowl of popcorn. Zac’s eyes are wide with a mixture of shock and rage. He’s not used to being challenged.
“Where is father?” he asks, spitting venom. “He wouldn’t stand for this outsider to be in our den.”
“Father is indisposed. He’s ill and elderly,” Candace chimes in. “Until he’s well again, we will all follow Reed’s command.”
Zac stutters, his lips twitching. “Indisposed,” Zac echoes. “Fine. I’m sorry,” he spits out at Cooper.
He turns his venomous gaze back to me. “You want to play alpha, Reed? Then you better be ready to prove it. The Baptistes won’t care about your… pet.” He hisses the last word. “They’ll skin him alive and hang him from the tower just to watch you break.”
He strides toward the door, his boots breaking the silence. He pauses at the threshold, withholding eye contact.
“Welcome to Wolfston, golden retriever,” he snarls. “I hope you enjoy your stay. It’ll be a short one.”
The heavy oak door slams shut behind him.
“A real piece of work,” I mutter under my breath. “So anyway, Candace, tell us more about this Arizona cult.”
Candace lets out a snarky chuckle to break the tension, shaking her head as she leans back in the armchair. “You two are going to be the death of me. Or the death of Zac. I’m fine with either outcome.”
She takes a lengthy sip of her drink, the ice clinking.
“Right. The cult. The Children of the Unspoiled Dawn. Sounds lovely, doesn’t it?
They’re not. Their leader, a charmer who calls himself Father Sol, has a particular fondness for recruiting underage runaways and lost souls.
His followers believe he’ll save them during the impending rapture. ”
Her lips twist into a grim smile. “In order for his followers to be raptured, they have to free themselves of their sins. AKA, donate their organs so he can sell them on the black market to fund his fanatic lunacy. They are an offshoot of the Latter Day Saints who believe the Church is straying away from the original teachings of the Book of Mormon.”
“God, there really never is a shortage of sick fucks to kill, is there?” Cooper asks.
“No, there is not, we have over five-hundred targets on our books. The world is definitely not sunshine and rainbows,” Candace says.
“No,” I agree. “It’s not. It’s a garden that’s been left to rot. And we’re the gardeners with the shears.”
“If Reed didn’t decide to take ten-plus-year hiatus, the list would be a lot shorter,” Candace chimes in, smiling all perky.
Before I can jab back at her throwing knife, Cooper cuts in, his voice as smooth as silk. “Lucky for you, Candace. Your brother found the best murder apprentice of this century. We’ll grind through that list in no time.”
Candace blinks, momentarily stunned, before a deep laugh bursts from her chest. “Oh, I take it back, Reed. He’s perfect for you.” She points a finger at me, her eyes dancing with wicked amusement. “He’s just as much of a condescending little shit as you are.”
I look at Cooper, at the defiance in his shoulders and the unwavering loyalty in his pupils.
The guilt of leaving is replaced by a fierce, possessive pride.
My hiatus wasn’t a complete dereliction of duty.
I came back with the family’s greatest asset.
One who might help us hold back the maple-scented Canadians.