Chapter 3
CHAPTER THREE
As soon as I hung up, I hurried into the bedroom. Bran was up and getting dressed. He’d taken a shower—the steamy mist drifted out of the bathroom—and he was pulling on his jeans and a sweater.
“Hey, love—” he started to say, but I shook my head.
“I got a call from Faron just now,” I said. “He’s in trouble. He’s hiding out at the Carlton farmstead. He’s afraid that Daisy might think he had something to do with Lucretia’s death. I told him we’d be there as soon as we could.”
Bran’s smile faded. “Do you really think Daisy Parker believes that Faron killed his wife?”
“I doubt it, but I don’t want to call her until after we’ve talked to Faron because I want to hear him out first.” I paused, then asked, “You’ll come with me?”
“Of course, I’ll come. And I can’t imagine Faron hurting his wife, either.” He hustled to fasten his belt, then slid on a pair of boots. “Go grab my coat, would you?” he asked, leaning down to tie his laces.
I double-checked to make sure I’d turned off the oven, then—after fetching Bran’s coat—talked to Fancypants.
“Bran and I are heading out to talk to Faron. Don’t tell anybody who might ask, not Grams, not May, if they should come over.
Watch the cats, if you would.” I quickly fed him and the cats, then turned as Bran entered the kitchen.
“We can grab coffee on the way,” I said, tossing him his coat.
“And breakfast,” he said, shutting the door behind us.
We took his truck, and stopped at the nearest coffee shop to go through the drive through. I ordered a quad-shot mocha, and Bran, a triple shot macchiato. We also ordered a large coffee for Faron, and five sausage cheese muffins—two each for the men, one for me.
The Carlton farmstead was long abandoned.
The Carltons left it to rack and ruin. They didn’t even bother trying to sell it.
The house had burned down one night, taking several members of the family with it.
Luckily, their cat woke them up and guided two of the kids to safety before the house vanished under the lash of flames.
Carlton and his wife lost their lives trying to rescue the other two children.
Now, twenty years later, there was only the blackened shell left, along with a barn that had managed to escape the fire. Rumors were rife that the mother and father were still there, haunting the charred rubble with the two children who had died.
While most of the walls had caved in, the basement was still intact, though charred, and the stairs leading down to it looked weathered, but still sturdy enough to use.
“This way,” I said. “He’s down there.”
I cautiously approached the stairs, carefully picking through the half-burnt timbers and debris scattered under the snow. Taking a deep breath, I put my foot on the first step. “Faron?” I called out. “It’s Elphyra.”
My boot slid a little, the steps were icy. I hesitated. I could easily break my neck if I stepped wrong. I eyed the rest of the steps, debating the wisdom of attempting the descent.
“Are you alone?” Faron’s voice echoed from the basement.
“Bran’s with me,” I called back.
“I’ll be up. Don’t try to come down here—it’s too dangerous. Hold on!”
I stepped back, standing beside Bran. A moment later, Faron emerged from the depths of the house. Beneath a puffy parka, he was wearing a pair of blue jeans and a sweater. His long brown hair was pulled back in a ponytail, and his eyes—normally sparkling—looked bloodshot.
“Faron,” I said, taking a half-step toward him.
He crumbled, then, staring at the floor, a look of mingled pain and sorrow filling his face. “I didn’t hurt her,” he whispered. “I promise you.”
Right then, I knew he was telling the truth. “Of course you didn’t.” I glanced at Bran.
Bran let out a sigh. “Faron, come back to the house with us. Please, we want to make sure you’re safe.”
“I guess I have no choice. Last night, when I heard Lucretia was dead, I lost it. Given that I’m no longer the king of the Olympic Wolf Pack, and I’m expected to move, I was already stressed.”
“You have to leave the Pack?” Bran asked.
Faron nodded. “Like most Packs, the Olympic Wolf Pack doesn’t keep ex-kings around.
Well, if the king decides to retire on his own, he’s welcome to stay.
But the council called me last week. They ordered me to take a fertility test,” he said, staring straight ahead.
“If the queen isn’t pregnant by the end of the first year on the throne, the council demands fertility testing from the king.
Lucretia was already checked out before the marriage. There’s nothing wrong with her.”
“Talk about nosy,” Bran muttered.
“Right, but it’s our duty to provide an heir as soon as possible. The results came back. The council informed me I’m sterile. I can’t father a child, and that’s formal grounds to remove the king from the throne.” Faron grimaced. “I failed them.”
“You didn’t fail,” I said. “It’s not your fault.”
“Maybe not, but in the eyes of the Pack, I’m not perfect. Pack law doesn’t recognize weak rulers, and given I can’t produce an heir, that makes me weak.”
“What did Lucretia say?” I asked.
“She told me that—while she appreciated the way I treated her—she couldn’t stay with me.
She wanted children, and I couldn’t give them to her.
I took away her chance at being queen of the Pack.
She’s—she was an alpha. She couldn’t stay with someone who lost the crown.
She told me she was divorcing me. I wasn’t surprised.
From the moment I learned they were taking the crown away, I knew my marriage was over.
She’s a social mover—she’d never stay with someone who was so disgraced, even if she loved him.
And she didn’t love me. We were fulfilling our duties.
I didn’t argue. It wouldn’t be of any use. ”
“Why did you come here?” Bran asked.
“I was running under a lot of adrenaline last night. I couldn’t handle any more stress.
I grabbed my keys and left. I don’t know what I was thinking, but I just had to get away.
So I drove around, trying to figure out what to do.
I ended up here. I have no idea why, but I guess I thought I could just hide out while I regained my composure.
” He shivered. “I didn’t even think about the weather. ”
“You’re freezing,” I said. “Get in the car now.”
Faron seemed almost in a fog. I had never seen him look more broken, except when he was healing up from the injuries he had received helping Bree and me. That had been bad—very bad. I hoped to hell that the shock of what had just happened didn’t trigger some return to the amnesia he had had before.
He followed us to the truck, which had a back cab on it. As he hoisted himself into the backseat, it occurred to me that he looked like he had aged five years since I saw him a few months ago. Stress had a way of beating people down, and for Faron to say he was overwhelmed, well—it had to be bad.
Bran and I closed the doors, and Bran turned on the heat. I could hear Faron’s teeth chattering, and I looked around, then pointed to the other side of the bench seat.
“There should be a blanket beneath that seat. We keep one there in a plastic bag,” I said.
Faron found the blanket and shook it out, wrapping it around his shoulders.
“I’m so tired. I’ve been awake most of the night, just sitting down there in the basement watching the ghosts play.”
“So there are really ghosts there?” I asked.
“Oh yeah,” Faron said. There are ghosts aplenty in that old burned-out shell of the house.
Right now, I think I’d rather face them than my own ghosts and demons.
I just can’t believe this has happened. My life hasn’t been perfect, but the past year has been good enough.
Lucretia and I were finding our way to a mutual peace.
I never expected a love match when I was told I had to marry for the crown.
And while we didn’t love each other, we had a mutual respect and that made up for it.
She wanted to be the queen, and she played her part as best she could.
I did my best to treat her well, and make sure she was happy. ”
“I know you did,” I said.
During the times that Bran and I had gone out to dinner with Faron and Lucretia, it was obvious that they respected one another.
I could tell there wasn’t love behind match, but there was an affection that was hard to miss.
They were both doing their best to make the pack happy, and to lead it as best as they could.
But now, that was shot to hell. The Pack Master had to have an heir, it was tradition.
“What did she say when you told her what the Council told you?” Bran asked.
Faron let out a long sigh. “That’s the thing—they didn’t tell me first. They told the both of us together. I don’t know what happened. Somehow, fate decided to throw me under a bus.”
“Isn’t there anything they can do? Medically?” Bran asked.
Faron shook his head. “Even if there was, it wouldn’t be allowed.
Much like many of the Celtic kings of old, any disfigurement, disability, or imperfection is seen as a sign to cast out the leader.
At least they didn’t kill me. That was common among some of the older tribes.
In some of the high northern packs, a king who’s found wanting is driven into the snows and left to die. ”
“Can’t they just evict him from the pack and let him go? And can’t they fallen kings just turn into their wolf selves and run off into the woods?” Bran asked.
Faron shook his head as we drove down the road toward our house.
“No. In fact, their shapeshifting powers are taken away, and they’re forced to trek through the snow without any protection from the weather.
It’s just another way to insure they don’t come back to exact revenge.
And it absolves the Pack. They can say, “We didn’t actually kill him.
” The ousted leaders freeze to death if it’s winter, and during summer, they seldom make it far before being attacked by a bear or other such creature. ”
“Pack life isn’t easy, is it?” I asked.
“It’s definitely not for the faint of heart. I don’t think I’ve ever entertained what it would be like to be on the outs, but truth is, plenty of shifters are considered rogue or pariah. I’m just the latest victim.” Faron seemed to be taking the blow awfully well.
“Will you ever be able to go back to them?” I asked.
“No,” Faron said. “Once you’re in exile, that’s for life. There may be a rare exception, but they’re so rare that I can’t even give you an example.”
Bran made a quick stop at the corner market nearest our house. “I’ll be right back. Both of you stay here.”
As he ran inside, I unbuckled my seatbelt and turned around so I was facing Faron, kneeling in my seat. “You can stay with us until you can figure out what to do.”
“Are you sure Bran won’t mind? I know we’ve been friendly at our couples’ dinners, and he seems to be happy to see me. But given our history…” Faron’s voice drifted off, and he turned to face the window.
“It was his suggestion.”
Faron glanced back at me, holding my gaze. “Really? You’re not just saying that?”
“You know I wouldn’t lie to you about something Bran said.” I nodded. “It’s settled. You’re staying with us. I’ll call Daisy and see what I can find out about the accident. I won’t tell her you’re staying with us, if you don’t want me to,” I added.
Faron debated for a moment, then said, “No, you can tell her. I haven’t done anything wrong. I would never hurt Lucretia. Even when she told me she wanted to leave, I understood.”
We sat in silence until Bran returned, carrying two bags of groceries filled with pastries and chips and what looked like several sixpacks of beer. As he started up the car again, I wondered what the hell was going to happen next. Everything had shifted in such a big way.