30. Deacon
Chapter 30
Deacon
It’s not like Revecca said, ‘Hey, when you’re in Romania, look me up,’ but it’s also not like she said I couldn’t visit. Cade made it a point not to tell Revecca I was coming as payback for her unsolicited visits. Neither of us was sure how this was going to work.
Off the airplane and ushered into customs with the rest of the passengers, I get flagged by one of the agents. He takes my passport, and with one quick look between it and me, he gives a curt nod. I’m then guided off to the side and into a secluded room.
I’ve got nothing to hide. I know way better than to take a flight to another country carrying anything illegal. That knowledge doesn’t stop my heart from beating a little faster. I’m here for answers, and I sure as fuck don’t want to be turned away before I get them.
Inside the more secluded room, another agent is reading something on a computer. The agent with me hands her my passport, and they both do the back-and-forth, double- checking my picture with the documentation silently before the woman pulls the phone off the hook.
The second customs agent, standing with the phone pressed against her ear, says nothing, and the faint sounds of hold music come from the receiver.
The first, holding my passport hostage, thrusts his chin toward me. “What is the reason for your visit?”
“Seeing family,” I answer calmly.
I’ve been through the United States customs as a drug mule before, but something about this, doing absolutely nothing wrong, is making me significantly more antsy. There wasn’t a security threat for me outside of the United States. Finn looked, Cade’s people looked, I looked. There’s no reason there should be any interrogations happening.
“And who is your family?” The agent on the phone raises a brow in my direction.
“Revecca Ardelean,” I answer, flashing them my wolf.
God, that’s got to sound ridiculous. Ah, yes. Here to see the queen.
Flying into the country in business class like a peasant and not a private jet is probably my first mistake, but I should have seen this coming.
Maybe I should have just said Vex O’Brien?
The woman on the phone starts speaking in, what an educated guess says is, Romanian.
“You’ll come this way, sir.” The man doesn’t wait for whatever answers the woman on the phone is going to get.
Whatever she said was enough that he hands me back my passport. He leads me through another door, away from the main section of the airport.
It’s not suicide if you’re killed in a foreign prison when your honest intention is to just visit family, I remind myself, thinking about how angry Lena will be if this is me being led to my execution. But the longer we walk through back rooms and various hallways, the more nervousness starts creeping up the back of my neck.
I don’t get nervous. I don’t have the same healthy sense of fear the rest of the world has because I’m not afraid of dying. There’s nothing for me to be afraid of because the ‘worst’ thing that someone can do is kill me. I already live in a hellscape of my mind, and dying would be an escape.
But the longer we go without seeing a single other person, the more my hackles rise. What will Henri think if I don’t come home? That’s the feeling. That’s the worry.
No doors open. No break rooms or alcoves. It’s just hundreds of feet of hallways before we’re in a stairwell. I follow them down, and when I’m pretty sure this is the dark hole I’m going to get shoved in, forgotten about, and waste away and die in—if only I could be so lucky—the door opens to an underground parking garage, where a black town car is waiting.
Two men in black suits stand by the car and execute steep bows toward me.
The first opens the car door. “This way, Your Highness.”
Not a fan of the title. I force down a grimace and instead give them a curt nod, mimicking Cade when someone treats him like royalty, before climbing in the vehicle.
Rotting in prison inside the royal palace is better than rotting away in one inside an airport. Probably. It sounds better, anyway.
“If you’d have given us notice, we could have been waiting for you at customs and gathered your bag. We did not know of your arrival.” One of the men seems to be both chastising me and fishing for information at the same time.
As we drive through the city streets, I note the heavy traffic and turn on my cell phone. The time, early morning, gives me reason to believe this is Romanian rush hour.
The driver and, presumably, the guard—or security personnel or knight? I don’t fucking know—talk in Romanian on the way to what I’m assuming is the royal palace. I open the map app on my phone, watching as we drive past landmarks.
Exactly forty-six minutes later, we pull up to expensive wrought iron gates, and the car rolls through with ease. It looks a lot like a mansion and a larger, grander-scale version of the sort of home the not-parents tried to recreate for our pack. It’s pretty if you’re into white exteriors and buildings with too many rooms and not enough occupants.
When the car pulls to a stop in front of the house, I’m not expecting a lot, but four people rush about, trying to figure out why I only brought a duffle bag. They ask me questions in Romanian, which I don’t understand and, therefore, don’t know the answers, and everyone seems to be suffering the same frustrations. We’re seemingly paused halfway up the stairs leading to a door.
The flight of stairs is either full of some sort of reenactment or ancestors. Given that no one seems to pay them any attention other than me, I’m going with the latter. Just so long as none of them speak English, I should be safe.
I’m about to start saying Revecca’s name on repeat, trying to figure out if I’m being brought into the house or thrown out of it, when a friendly face comes into view at the top of the stairs.
Well, friendly as in, he’s been in my home before. Patrick, an acquaintance or friend of Finn’s, has evidently been placed in Revecca’s royal guard by Magnus O’Brien. And from what Ansel told me, Magnus and Revecca were married in some sort of secret union, and an Irishman as part of the Romanian royal guard is his compromise. Regardless of the circumstances, I’m happy to see someone who at least will be able to tell me some of what’s going on.
“Deacon, Revecca wasn’t expecting you.” His voice booms, and his thick Irish accent makes me reconsider my ability to understand what’s going on.
But the four men arguing around me stop and turn to look at him.
I laugh. “Payback is a bitch.”
“So, your brother didn’t send you?” He examines me, brows pulling together.
He looks at one of the men holding my sole duffle bag before tossing his head toward the house.
The man with the bag carries it up the stairs toward him.
“Definitely not.” I nod and wholly embellish the conversation I had with him. “Distinctively, he told me that if I got stuck over here, he wasn’t coming to rescue me. The fact that he loves me very much doesn’t outweigh the belief he’d never escape Romania if he stepped foot in the country.”
Patrick snorts a quick laugh. “She’s holding court right now.” He waves me up the stairs. “Let’s get you cleaned up and presentable to her standards, and then I’ll see if I can’t pull her away.”
With care, I navigate around the ancestors sitting on the stairs and allow myself to be led into the castle, down corridors and upstairs. I land in a massive bedroom.
“Wash the airport smell off you. I’ll have a suit brought up. Any idea of your measurements?” He extends a business card. It seems like a weird accessory for a royal guard to carry and even weirder for someone who’s a member of the Irish mob, but I take it anyway. “Text them to me.”
The bustle of staff and guards is gone, and I’m left alone. Scoping out the place, I find a bathroom stocked with toiletries and a wardrobe consisting of a robe, cleaned, steamed, and hung pajamas in various sizes, and slippers also in various sizes. Efficient.
With the phone number off the card, I text the suit measurements, which I only know from working so closely with Henri. I wonder how on earth they’re going to get one here so fast.
I at least brought a button-down shirt to go with my jeans. I’m not a complete heathen.
The bathroom door, thankfully, locks, and I don’t waste time getting clean.
I have a mission for my time here in Romania: get in, get Revecca to do something about the wolf, get out.
The white linen shirt and Ardelean-blue vest are too bright for my taste, but when in Romania, so to speak. Deemed presentable now that I’m in a suit, I follow a staff member who speaks English and refers to themselves as similar to a concierge. They lead me to the throne room evidently.
Revecca’s floor-length dress hides her delicate frame, and the crown on her head glistens in the light coming through the window. Revecca has never been what I considered comfortable when she comes to visit. She was normally stiff in demeanor and dressed in business casual. I now understand that was relaxed for her. Her current situation isn’t ‘her’ as I’m familiar with, but it is ‘her’ at the same time.
Tension radiates from her like it does from Cade when he’s crabby and needs to get laid.
The person she’s speaking to bows and leaves.
I’m ushered forward to the long carpet that leads toward her. This feels like a scene from a movie rather than something that happens in real life .
“His Royal Highness, James D. Alden of the Harbinger Bloodline.” A man in a black suit announces me.
Huh. Maybe I should have Revecca give me a title breakdown. I didn’t expect to have one.
The fact that I’m being called Harbinger’s Bloodline makes sense though. I’m not really Cade’s brother—we were just raised together. I’ve said before that it’s convenient for the only two Ardeleans who can’t figure out where they came from at least have the decency to be blood related.
Revecca’s lips twitch as she fights a smile, and she eyes a spot on the floor, indicating for me to approach. I do, walking slowly, hands in my pockets, until I’m standing before her while whispers flutter around the room.
“Is this the part where I’m supposed to bow?” I wrinkle my nose at her.
“Traditionally, yes. You’re also supposed to wait until I address you.” She corrects me, her voice low.
Pinching my fingers together, I mime running a zipper across my lips and bow. The etiquette lessons that Ebenezer and Karina beat into us slowly start to come back.
A woman dressed in a fluffy white dress and a black apron comes running forward, screaming at the top of her lungs, and flings herself down on the floor between me and Revecca. The lack of movement from the royal guards is a good indicator that I’m the only witness to this. It’s heart-wrenching.
“What brings you to the home country?” Revecca sighs.
I’m not her favorite person. And I admit I’ve done plenty of things to specifically provoke her, half in fun and half for the betterment of Cade’s arguments. It’s understandable.
“I want you to take my wolf.”
A gasp comes from the people behind me.
Poker face intact, Revecca does and says nothing, but for the tiniest fraction of a second, there’s a glint of something in her eye. If I hadn’t seen her fight with Cade, I wouldn’t have noticed it. Their snarling matches are legendary.
“No wolf, no gift, no problem,” I explain as the silence, from the living, ticks by. I fight to keep my voice at normal speaking volume. Instinct is to raise it over the wailing woman, but I’ve had to learn throughout my life how to act as though the ancestors aren’t there. “I’m being tortured by it. Enough is enough. I’m chasing the bliss of those days when you borrowed it.”
“To?i afar?,” she says to the room, but her eyes don’t leave mine.
Footsteps, shuffling bodies, and not-so-hushed murmurs file out around us through various doors.
“I can’t believe he’d even dare to ask that of her,” I catch one of the voices ‘whispering.’
Well, if I do nothing else skillfully, I’ve got a knack for upsetting people.
I assume they’re not an Ardelean and don’t know what it’s like to have a curse like this.
Even Cade, with The Leviathan, struggles on many levels. It would be too easy for him to slip into a dictatorship, which would go against what he believes, but The Leviathan is a monster craving blood and control. He’s a machine built for a violent war in an era of civility and political games.
None of us are gifted, all of us are cursed.
Revecca stands from her throne and walks down the three short stairs, stepping through the ancestor and dissipating her, until she’s standing before me. Her eyes lock on mine. This is what she did to Lena. Maybe it’ll be quick and painless .
Revecca pulls her eyes from mine and then scrutinizes the rest of me.
“Why do you want to be rid of him? He’s more than perfectly acceptable for you.” She folds her arms in front of her chest and adopts the less-formal Revecca I’m more familiar with.
“Remember when you borrowed my gift without asking?” I level with her. Was it as life - changing to her as it was to me?
“I recall.” Her statement is short and unapologetic.
“It was the best four days of my fucking life.” I make my plea, explaining the dream I’ve been chasing. “I slept for more than two hours, food had taste, and I could think and feel. It was better than any high I’ve ever had. More exhilarating than any toy or partner I’ve ever fucked.”
She scoffs and holds her hand up. “You fully understand what you’d be giving up?”
Henri crosses through my thoughts. It’s a montage of every smile she’s ever given me and those little moments I’ve stalked her where she didn’t know. The peaceful silences within her presence that quiet the roar of the thoughts in my brain.
I try to keep my resolve, and even though everything inside me is screaming not to, I answer her. “I understand.”
“You’re a bigger idiot than Cade.” She walks a few small steps before she turns from me and begins pacing. “You’ve figured out she’s your mate.”
“Assuming. She hasn’t been off suppressants since I met her, and I’ve been keeping myself more than a little blitzed,” I answer and then turn on the offense. “But how would you know that anyway?”
How much did she see of Henri when she visited? Is this a Mother of Wolves thing or just an intuition thing? I decide against voicing those questions because the resulting overwhelm of information wouldn’t be necessary given my ask of her.
“Do none of you know anything? I’m the Mother of Wolves. I know all wolves and their mates. I know every Ardelean and assign their gifts.” Revecca scoffs. “Furthermore, don’t be ridiculous. Of course she’s your mate, suppressants or not. Why wouldn’t you be able to recognize her as such?” Revecca shakes her head like I’m being childish. “Given how long it’s taken for you to bring your wolf to power, claiming her may help you.”
“I would rather give her up and give her a chance at a better life, a better mate, than go through life trying to get through each minute of every hour feeling like this,” I tell her, fighting back the obstruction clogging my throat. I clench my fists and stare at the ceiling, trying to regain my composure. I told myself a hundred times I’d leave emotions out of this, but here we are. Returning my gaze to Revecca, I continue. “I know it sounds selfish. No, I know it is selfish, but if anyone is going to understand what it’s like to want to do one thing for yourself for once, it’s going to be you.”
Revecca sets her jaw, and the thick, dense feelings of an Alpha wolf about to boil over permeate the room.
Brace for impact.
Coming to a standstill, Revecca turns to face me. Where I expected deadly calm, fury contorts her features. “Excuse me?”
“Oh, come on. Not too hard to figure it out.” I raise an eyebrow at her. “Cade returns to Romania and to his rightful place on the throne, and that leaves you as... duchess, princess, or whichever, and Mother of Wolves. You wouldn’t be tied to Bucharest and could be with Magnus.”
“Lena?” Revecca narrows her eyes at me.
I shake my head. “Deductive reasoning. You’re familiar enough with Finn that you screamed at him, but not in the awkward familiar way that you were fucking him at one point. So, most likely siblings. Finn has an older brother. Not too far of a jump.” I can’t help but smile. I love being right. “Then Lena confirmed it for me after the wedding.”
“How is it you can figure that out but are completely oblivious when it comes to your wolf?” Revecca draws a deep breath and begins walking again. “Come with me.”
She leads me out of the throne room and into a courtyard. It’s packed with people.
I hesitate, looking over the crowd. There aren’t enough clues for me to be sure how many people are here. But Revecca starts walking through the crowd, and they dissipate.
“Is there a problem?” Despite the short question and direct phrasing, Revecca speaks with kindness.
She’s an Ardelean. She understands my gift.
I try to fight down the embarrassment and disappointment that comes with freezing. “This part of your home is pretty haunted.”
“Ah, at one point they held executions here.” She nods knowingly and turns toward another door on a different wall from where we entered the courtyard. “This way.”
Down several hallways, through doors, and past guards, who I know are real based on the clothing, we finally come to a chamber with a desk.
“As I did not receive advance notice of your arrival, I have a packed schedule for today. I would love to work with you and speak a bit more before I grant your request.” Revecca stops at the desk.
“I don’t have any plans. I’m guessing I’m on castle arrest?” I gesture to the giant house we’re in.
She shakes her head. “Not necessary. You’ve been assigned royal guards. I encourage you to visit the city.”
The tension in Revecca’s face, the twitch in her jaw, and the stiffness in her shoulders are more obvious versions of Cade’s ‘I need to ask you something’ pause.
“Is there something you’d like to ask me?” I try to handle her more carefully than I do Cade .
“It’s just that I could perhaps have you...” Revecca gets a glint in her eye. “Crea un dezastru at dinner tonight?”
“Assuming that means what it sounds like.” I snort before falling into a laugh. “There is one thing I’m good at, and it’s being a near disaster.”
Revecca bites her lips together before saying, “There are some other Ardeleans from out of town who could perhaps use a bit of the... charm you bring to a room.”
“You want someone to tell them where to shove their bullshit?” I pause, waiting for more.
“If it isn’t a bother.” Revecca slightly backtracks. “We don’t need to bother with anyone from the afterlife who may be connected to them, but just perhaps speriem?”
“Sounds dirty. I love finding exactly which buttons to push.” I shrug and look back to the hallway. “Maybe I can get a nap in before dinner. Point me back to my suite?”
“Patrick will take you.” She doesn’t even get the words out before he’s standing in the doorway.