Chapter 31
The Coyote And The Writer Regroup
SARI
“Our plan didn’t work!” I say. The words burn in my throat with frustration that tastes like stale adrenaline. “That was two months of pain, and nothing worked!”
My fist leaves a dull ache in the marble counter as the echo hangs, a brittle punctuation mark to the white silence of the apartment.
Wilde lets it pass, only the slow exhale through his nostrils betraying the annoyance in his system.
I can see the way his mouth pulls slightly, and the muscles in his jaw working to keep an elegant, glacial calm.
I recognize it instantly because he’s taught me the same restraint—sometimes as a lesson, sometimes as a threat.
But not lately because there hasn’t been time for fun; he’s been too busy ‘convincing’ our allies with his attentions.
I want to shatter something, to make noise enough to chase away the failure that’s settling around our feet like fog.
Instead, I drop onto the velvet settee, hugging my knees as I glare at him.
He doesn’t look up from his drink. “Because I am not as patient as you,” I spit, “I can’t see the future in charts and graphs.
I want results now.” I see the calculation in his eyes before he even opens his mouth.
“Beloved,” he says, swirling the ice in his glass, “our gambit worked, but not how we assumed it would.”
The words come out measured and clipped, like a chess master explaining the postmortem of a match to a petulant student.
He makes failure sound like a step in a waltz—inevitable, maybe even beautiful.
It makes me want to claw his face off, or kiss him.
But I do neither, because it’s not our time, as usual.
“How in the hell do you figure that?” I sit up, arms tight around my knees, the words coming out with a sharp, incredulous pop.
“You saw them. They were supposed to be picking each other apart, and instead, they’re a unit.
They had a month to form a family unit, and they are tight as a drum.
” I want to add that the sight of them—Talia and Taurus with our mates—made something inside me ache, but I don’t.
I’m not giving up that vulnerability when he’s like this.
Wilde’s expression barely shifts, but the corners of his eyes crinkle with a kind of condescending amusement.
“Oh, I very much doubt that,” he says. “Lady Talia and I had many talks, and I believe her psyche is fragile enough in relation to her self-image that she will be a weak spot in the square. She will always think people use her to get to Mr. Taurus because he is so much more outgoing and draws people in. They have major cracks in their foundation because of her.”
He sets the glass down and leans back, his fingers steepled in a picture of someone about to deliver a lecture.
“You focus on the surface,” he says. “You see their embraces, their determined public unity, and you think that means they are whole. However, underneath, it’s all fissures and fault lines.
” He gestures at an old picture of us with Deli and Rafe on the mantle as if it’s an example.
“My Darkness is the center, yes, and the others orbit her, but orbits are defined by distance as much as gravity. The closer you get, the more acute the risk of collision.”
I scowl. “You’re just using metaphors because you don’t want to admit we got outplayed.”
Wilde laughs, and the sound is shockingly genuine, a burst of static in the room.
“Beloved, no one outplayed me. They merely played into my hands in a way I did not expect.” He stands, pacing slowly, and for a moment I catch the shadow of the old Wilde—the one who led revolutions with a smile and a lie, who could make a man betray himself with just a word or a look.
“You forget,” he murmurs, “that our game is not to break them up, but to make their unity unsustainable. To force their togetherness to work against itself until it collapses.”
I want to push back, but he’s probably right.
We left the party with more than we came with, especially in terms of intel.
I saw it in the way Talia’s eyes darted to Rafe when Taurus touched him, and the flicker of envy and hunger in the crowd when they realized that the leaders of the Resistance had been claimed by people who espouse monogamy.
The kitty and her small group were pretending to be a family, but it was held together with spit and hope.
Wilde sits beside me, close enough that his warmth seeps through my skin, and he speaks softly, almost tenderly.
“Do you remember the night of the accident? When my Darkness came running with him, and it was as if Taurus and Talia did not matter?” I nod reluctantly, and he continues.
“She stayed with you for so long that they had to retrieve her. The guilt and damage from all things past is deep within Delilah, and it will trip her up every time.”
He leans in, voice barely above a whisper. “In the past, we could work with that, my love. We made them keep secrets from each other—ones that almost broke up her entire household. That control is still there, buried within her heart, and all we have to do is make it work for us.”
I look at him, really look, and see that he’s not gloating.
He’s tired—the lengthy gambit of his death cost us more than I realized.
Maybe that’s what he means—even in failure, we are changed, but things remain the same outside of our home.
I growl, hating the feeling of being both the predator and the prey.
“Then what will work? How do we attack this new stronghold they’ve built? ”
Wilde watches me from the couch, his gaze unwavering. The empty Cabal Quarter is visible in the window behind him, cold and indifferent. I realize we are now in another closed system that Taurus and Talia have created, just like when the Resistance was formed to fight the Cabal so long ago.
“Division, my beloved. The lines drawn at the party force everyone to choose a side; they cannot avoid it. We possess unique knowledge, having been her mates and confidants, of how Darkness feels about the members of the community. Her veneer of polite politics is what they experience, but we know what was said in the shadows. We know the truth, and we will use it.”
Oh, that’s ingenious.
Wilde’s words click into place inside my head like the tumblers of a lock.
A long, quivering silence, then I laugh—sharp and delighted, the sound bouncing off the cold glass and polished marble. “That’s it, isn’t it? It’s not the rupture; it’s the rot. If we can’t break them from the outside, we ferment something on the inside.”
My mind slides into the groove of the game, the one Wilde always played better than me.
He doesn’t attack with brute force, but with the slow, inevitable pressure of secrets, grievances, and lies.
It’s a long con, but it becomes reality by being believed.
This sort of game doesn’t allow for any winners but for those who are running it—everyone else is automatically a loser, though they cannot see it.
Thinking back, every move we made fits with the sick elegance of a trap snapping shut. The party, and the little rumors scattered like breadcrumbs in the dark beforehand. Our drawing Belle and Amanda’s families into the fold to have more support to use against our enemies.
I’m suddenly giddy. “Holy shit, Wilde, we hit her where she can’t defend herself—her connection to the masses.
Taurus and Talia will want monogamy, but agree that she doesn’t have to give it.
But that will eat at them, and it will cause internal fractures.
She’s damned if she tells them ‘yes’, and damned if she doesn’t.
The second she or Rafe do anything with previous mates or lovers, it will cause an enormous issue. ”
I see it clearly now; she won’t be able to connect with people physically as she did in the past, and the story of evil Taurus and Talia will mutate and multiply.
They will become villains once more, and no one will be able to stop it.
All we have to do is encourage the right folks to do the right things and get denied; the rest will spread on its own.
Wilde’s smile is slow and secretive. “You see it now. She’s vulnerable, not for what she did, but for what she will not admit.
” He drains his glass and sets it down with a click.
“Perception is power. Their loyalty is built on the image of her, not the woman herself. All we had to do was dull the image.”
The gears in my head spin faster. “The ones who are still orbiting her will start turning on each other, too.”
He nods deliberately. “Some will not be baited by the scandal—but others will accuse her and, in doing so, reveal their insecurities. Friends will become enemies, and enemies will become convenient allies.”
I grin, baring my teeth in eagerness. “Such a wonderful gift means you really love me,” I say.
Wilde’s eyes flicker, just for a second. “You’re the only one who truly understands and accepts me, beloved.”
We fall silent, both of us staring at the empty quarter beyond the glass. Our conversation is over, but the echo lingers in the space between us.
I want to savor the coming chaos, but a splinter of worry works into my flesh.
The plan is beautiful, yes, but it is ugly, too—something that can’t be unwound once set in motion.
“What if it backfires?” I whisper.
He considers this, and then shrugs. “It won’t. The truth is the most stable element in our world, yet no one wants it. They want only the version of reality that flatters their bruised egos. We’ve already done the damage. The rest is just…watching discord spread.”
An icy shiver works its way up my neck, but I like it.
There is a knock at the door—a nervous, urgent tapping that makes me squint suspiciously. Some people in our house right now are not made for the plotting we were just doing. It would be rotten luck for them to have overheard.
Wilde raises a brow, then gestures for me to open it. I pad over, still in my pajamas, silent as a ghost. Belle is on the other side, wild-eyed and clutching a bottle she seems to have been using as a stress ball.
“She’s gone,” Belle blurts, barely through the threshold. “Chaos. She left sometime last night. Mayhem is in pieces. You need to see this.”
I pull her inside, shutting the door with a soft click.
“Tell me everything and don’t leave out the ugly parts.
” Belle looks from me to Wilde, then back to me, and I realize she’s trembling.
“It started after the party, but it got worse. Roman and Janus had a fight about whether they should have been part of our little event. Calista won’t even speak to either of them, and because Mayhem, Veruca, and Chaos got involved, the argument spread. ”
Wilde’s lips twitch. “Predictable,” he says under his breath. “You think she headed for my Darkness’ principal residence to see Hex?”
Belle shrugs, looking smaller than usual. “Nobody’s seen her since morning. The others believe your assumption is correct, but I don’t know. Chaos isn’t programmed for linear reasoning; it’s not who she’s supposed to be. She may have run off simply to get my attention.”
I whistle low, giving Belle a knowing look. “Sounds like it’s working.”
Wilde stands, moving with the lethal grace of a predator who knows the game is already won.
“It is, but we cannot get distracted by juvenile behavior. We knew the ties between Roman and Janus to Philomena, plus the one between Chaos and Hex, would be a sore spot. However, they need to fall in line or find other accommodations. We do not have room for defectors within our ranks.”
I nod, mind already running through the next steps.
If one blow doesn’t kill the animal, you bleed it slowly until it lies down and dies.
“We need to put Amanda to work. She’s the best at sowing gossip among the lesser members of the Resistance. Belle, you focus on the ones who already hate Talia. Don’t let them forget it. Wilde—”
He cuts in, voice low. “I’ll handle the rest. Trust me.”
A heartbeat of silence echoes, and then Belle says, “What if Chaos turns?”
I glance at Wilde, who looks uncharacteristically thoughtful. “Then we make sure she doesn’t get what she wants. We find the worst potential outcome and nudge others toward it until she has to return. Framing her as a spy will cause a very public, very ugly collapse.”
Belle nods, and I see new respect—or maybe fear—in her eyes. “You two are scary, you know that?”
“It’s why he keeps me around,” I say, and Wilde’s smile is like a knife-edge.
Belle leaves after a few more whispered instructions, and for a moment, the room is still. Wilde pours himself another drink and offers me one. I take it, though my hands are shaking with adrenaline.
“Do you ever,” I start, then stop.
I don’t know how to express what I’m feeling.
“Do you ever worry this is too much, even for us?”
My mate thinks about it as ice cubes melt in his glass. “No,” he says. “Not for us.”
I want to believe him, but already I can feel the aftershocks rattling through our own little world.
There’s always a cost to madness like ours, and we’ve just written a very expensive check.
For a moment, I close my eyes. I see our mate’s faces as the betrayal was revealed, and the inevitable splintering of their emotions when Wilde came into view. I think about texting Deli—just to see if she’ll answer. But I don’t because I can’t.
If I do, it means I care, and I can’t afford that luxury.
I set the phone on the nightstand and breathe.
The glow of the stars outside casts strange, beautiful patterns on the ceiling. I watch, wondering what’s happening in the Resistance Quarter after we blew up its entire existence with one simple wave. Then I lie back, close my eyes, and let the satisfaction wash over me.
When morning comes, I will deal with the fallout of Chaos’ exit and Belle’s worry. I will do it with Wilde at my side, the two of us perfectly matched in the only way that matters.
Her disloyalty will not do at all. I will find her and reprogram it, or there will be hell to pay.