4. CHAPTER 4
CHAPTER 4
Grayson
Over the centuries, the Refuge evolved from a trading outpost into a defensive garrison. Multi-storied wooden buildings braced against a towering cliff. Connected flights of steps and raised walkways had a haphazard look, more convenience than planning. Upright logs created a defensive outer palisade; towers flanked the front gate. Inside the stakewall, the area was large enough to accommodate a sparring yard, the hodge-podge of connected buildings, several barracks, a separate kitchen, and the longhouse meeting room. The odd, wooden-wheeled carts scattered around belonged in a different era, and I wasn’t sure why they were still here, other than no one bothered to do anything about them.
The river curving in the near distance was called the Claw—a name given by wolves. Humans used a different name, and it wasn’t important. The river was deceptively slow-moving. The old docks still poked out from the shore; once, trading canoes followed the tributaries up from the Columbia River. They came loaded with supplies and returned piled high with bales of fur and tanned hides—beaver, deer, elk. Sometimes bear and fox. Human expansion had ended the river trade a century ago, along with a desire for modern convenience. Food that came from a grocery store and hot water in an instant. But for wolves, the Refuge was strategically positioned and still in use.
It was also in Sentinel Falls territory, but connected enough to the Carmag to be vital to Anson Salas. Especially now, with vampires running rampant through his northern sectors. The Claw that wound past the Refuge also curled around Westvale; what started here often ended up there, and because of that, I’d accommodated Anson’s request to station two Carmag ranger teams at the Refuge. An obligated courtesy but necessary, since he sheltered refugees from Azul in Westvale, with the added advantage of communication. I “asked” Anson through his ranger commander when it was necessary, and Anson “answered” me without violating his stubborn standards.
I had no truce with Anson, though. Not on a personal level. He still smarted from Fallon’s near seduction, how he’d fallen for the ruse—proud male—while I fucking needed him for the medical care that he offered to my second in command, and my mate.
My mate. Noa. The secret we still kept except from those closest enough to have guessed. I would have shouted it to everyone, but she’d warned against it, wanting our enemies to think a bargain is what two people say it is and nothing more. She had an instinct about it, how being fated mates changed our dread-lord-and- faille connection, and one day, it might be vital, having kept that secret.
I didn’t like it, but I’d agreed to support her decision.
Snowflakes coated the ground as we walked through the opening gates. Snow was unexpected, since harsh weather rarely hit until after the Winter Solstice, the end of December.
Torches flared from the garrison walls; they’d been burning when we left. More had been lit in the interim. As we walked, wolves separated off, heading toward the various buildings. Those who’d hunted the creatures had returned, joining our ranks ten minutes ago, bloodied and successful. Paws padding, tails whipping, they disappeared into the barracks with the other men. They’d shift back into human form, get dressed and head for the mess hall where food waited.
Men joined them. I walked with Mace and the group of refugees. Levi and Pond. Carmag brought up the rear.
Thudding boots against wooden steps punctuated the quiet night. The squeaking of boards where the nails were loose. The great hall for the Refuge was one long room with a planked floor, open rafters, and a stone fireplace large enough to shelter a standing man. A roaring fire blasted heat that was too humid after the damp night air. Lights blazed overhead—magic fueling the chandeliers instead of camp lanterns. The King of the Forest had upgraded the amenities, so while the interior spaces were similar to those from a previous century, the conveniences were modern enough to be comfortable. I’d backed up Fee’s wards with wards of my own. Even Anson had come to add a few tricks his Carmag rangers appreciated. We were allies who still did not fully trust each other.
I pulled a chair back and ordered Elana to sit. The old man hovered behind her, his knobby fingers twisting together. I gestured toward a second chair. “Sit.”
His head bobbed, and it might have been fatigue and not a courtesy to the alpha. It didn’t matter. He wasn’t a threat. The others I left standing. To Levi, I said, “Take the children to the kitchen. Make sure they’re dry and fed, then put them in the empty barracks room, north end, and stay until you’re relieved.”
Pond—bright boy—left with Levi, and I waited for Elana to make her objection. Thankfully, she remained quiet.
Mace clomped across the floor, dragging a chair away from the table and throwing himself onto the seat. He did it with a casual disdain, adding a layer of threat when eight silent men filed into the room. They stood with their backs to the walls, witnesses ready to carry out the verdict—if I didn’t do it myself.
Angel shifted her weight, an unconscious movement as she scanned the room. She studied the obstacles, the faces, reading the mood with that one eye. Behind the black patch, a wicked scar ran jaggedly from her hairline to the curve of her cheek. Years old, and faint. She’d had the benefit of a talented healer, able to repair a wound severe enough to take her eye. Perhaps she’d gone to a human plastic surgeon for the repair, but that signified wealth, as did the quality of her leathers. Either the protection racket paid better than reported, or she had the funds. Or a secret benefactor.
“Start with the names,” Mace said.
“I’d be Donnelly,” the old man volunteered. “Elana’s my kin, wife and widow to my son who passed three months ago. These two—” He gestured over his shoulder with his chin. “Jade Pike and William Cashel.”
Jade Pike had been the man on his knees. William Cashel’s quick instinct had him shifting into his wolf, then exposing his belly—both of them pretending to be cowards?
“We’re all from the same settlement,” continued Donnelly while I studied his men. “What’s left of it, that is. Thought it’d be safer if we came south. Paid our way. Took most of what we had, but if we owe more—”
“We don’t charge for sanctuary.” The idea pressed hard against my shoulder blades. What some folks believed so readily.
“Donnelly’s their elder,” Angel said, her gaze skimming the group. “Can’t tell by appearances, but Pike and Cashel are capable fighters under normal circumstances. Worse for wear right now. Before we met up, they spent weeks in the mountains. Limited food and shelter. After what they endured, it crushes everyone. Cariboo,” she added tightly, “crushes everyone.”
Donnelly’s face remained impassive. Elana stared at the table. Mace turned to hold my gaze. Through the pack bond, he said, Those mountains are nearly impassable.
Two kids, an old man, a pregnant female. Two worn-out men. Desperation had a new face. Several faces. My lips thinned. “Sit.”
The scuff of boots and scraping wood against wood blended in an odd rhythm. The weariness was hard to ignore. “Why’d you run?”
“No reason to stay,” said Donnelly. “Three good ones to leave.”
Elana. Raven. Ash. And a fourth reason who hadn’t been born yet.
I thought of a ball team with a bird as the logo, and a little girl, saying, Sometimes Papa liked to watch them.
Normal things. Safe things. Not what you ran away from unless…
“Tell me how your son died.”
Donnelly’s lower lip twitched, but his glance flicked to Elana. Color had drained from her face. I wasn’t sure I’d get an answer. But it was Elana who said, “She killed him.”
“Who?”
“A wolf queen,” Donnelly said. “Claims to have a hidden kingdom beneath the glaciers. Fairytales, the kind no one believed until people started disappearing.”
Amal? Mace shot through the bond.
My guess, I answered. Collecting wolves for hybrids.
“At first, it was hardly noticeable. A man would go out and not come back,” Donnelly said, oblivious to my mental conversation with Mace. “Not so strange. Men get tired, worn down. They want a fresh start. Then the rumors started about a woman who walked through the settlements with those hell-creatures of hers, pointing out who she wanted. Said she needed fighters. Was building an army.”
Elana shifted in her chair.
Donnelly’s voice roughened. “Dragged people away, screaming. Kids, even, took them off to some fortress beneath a glacier. That last time, when they came, it was to our settlement. My son fought back. He had others fighting with him—all dead now.”
I picked up the water jug waiting on the table, filled a glass and pushed it toward him.
“That’d be four months ago.” The old man swallowed audibly. “We used our grief to get through the worst of it.”
Something I understood.
“We couldn’t stay—her spies were everywhere, watching, waiting. Men we lived with, believed were friends. Not blaming them,” he said with conviction, although disillusionment was hard and cold beneath the surface. “Fear’s a terrible weight. We slipped away and kept running.”
Mace asked, “Anyone follow you?”
“A few from the settlement. Willingly or coerced. They had some of those soldiers with them—hers. The ones she’d changed.”
“Hybrids,” Mace said.
Donnelly nodded. “They kept on us until the avalanche.”
Pike’s smile flashed, and I asked, “You have something to do with that?”
He shrugged. Cocky, but I’d let it pass for now. Took it as proof he could fight.
Mace wasn’t in the mood for the arrogant shit. He flashed some canine and said, “Not much else but snow in Cariboo. Easy to knock down.”
A flush darkened Pike’s face, but he said, “Easy enough.”
I switched my attention to Cashel. “We get why they ran.” I shrugged toward Donnelly and Elana. “Why’d you run? Because it wasn’t safe?”
Cashel twitched. I pictured him on the ground, twisting, whimpering. Maybe he fought the way a cornered cat fought—biting at everything without discipline.
Or maybe he was skilled at deception, a spy who played the witless weakling. Mace’s best spies did that, infiltrating. Most people looked away from drooling fools. The spies became invisible. No different from the furniture in a room while drinking in every drop of information.
I needed fighters who were useful, strategic. Spies who never feared the game and burned with the same thirst for vengeance that I had. People I trusted, when I wasn’t sure who was trustworthy.
The interrogation ended when two women bustled in, carrying trays loaded with bowls of steaming stew and thermal pitchers filled with coffee. The clatter of dishes against the table filled the silence while Doona—a refugee from Azul—flashed her mother expression, the scowl when she’d scolded me as a child, the orphaned ward of the pack. I wasn’t the perfect host, apparently. Hunger wasn’t something I was used to, but the refugees from Cariboo had been without hot food for a while because they ate silently, steadily, the way a person eats when they’re expecting a warning to run.
Elana searched for a napkin. Doona pulled several from her apron. Spoons clattered and scraped against the empty bowls. Hands reached for the slices of warm bread. Then Elana said, “Wasn’t the only reason.”
I waited while she gulped the water, leaving the coffee untouched as she glanced at Angel, who had finished her portion of stew as rapidly as the others. Something silent passed between them.
“When’s your child due?” I asked to disrupt whatever secrets they planned on keeping.
Elana shifted her gaze back to me. But she wasn’t the only one staring. Doona’s disapproval scorched my skin.
I sent a quick stab through the pack bond: Trust me.
The woman huffed. But she was nearly as old as Hattie, and her huffs were as ineffective.
“I’ll send you and the children to a safer location,” I explained. “But I need to know how much time I have.”
“Three months.”
“Thank you.” Cooperation was the first step. “I’m also a healer, so I ask as a courtesy. May I touch you? See if your pregnancy is progressing without incident? After your ordeal.”
She held out her hand. Her fingers trembled as I pressed mine against her wrist. The energies moving through her were what I’d hoped: a strong heartbeat, both for her and the pup. What she needed most was rest and security—but what I picked up about her pack, and their intentions, left no doubt: fear drove them.
Bone-cutting fear. Something terrible had happened that Elana kept locked in her memory and covered by unending grief. Searching for it would only traumatize her further.
I leaned back, signaled to one man in the group standing against the wall—our contact with the Carmag. Through the mental bond, I asked him to relay a request to his alpha. I wanted to send four more refugees to Westvale: an old man, two young children, and a pregnant female who would need his healers, but I needed Anson’s permission.
I’d get an answer in the morning. It was enough. I gestured toward a second bowl of stew that Doona offered, but Elana shrugged the food away. While the table was being cleared, I issued new orders.
Silently, Elana rose and followed a young guard through the door. He’d take her to the barracks, where she’d join her children, rest, bathe, sleep.
As for Donnelly, Pike, Cashel.
Angel.
We had more to discuss.
I wanted to know what really drove them from the Cariboo—a reason worse than the risk of dying.