Chapter Thirty-Nine #2
Jesse wheels on him. “Shut your mouth or I’ll ask the witch to shut it again.
” He turns back to the others. “He wanted me to recruit young wolves, because he said we needed to make money fast, by whatever means necessary, so we could afford to offer them food and lodgings. I asked you to steal, to bully, to blackmail. I believed that it was a temporary measure, and I wanted to see my family. Then I learned what he was asking you to do behind my back. Murder. Worse, I realized our coffers weren’t filling at nearly the rate they should be.
He told me to leave the dirty parts to him, and soon we’d have enough money.
Enough money for us. Only us. When I balked, he threatened my sons. ”
“I would never—” Doyle begins.
Jesse wheels on him again. “I told you our wolves were not hired killers. I asked what happened to the ones who questioned us and disappeared. I insisted it wasn’t right to keep so much money for ourselves while our wolves lived in squalor.
And how would you respond?” He walks up to Doyle.
“You would ask how my sons were faring. How their mother was. And if I didn’t understand that message, you’d remind me how quickly you could get a telegram to America, remind me that you still knew wolves there who’d do whatever you asked. ”
Doyle’s jaw sets. “I never actually threatened—”
Jesse lunges, and Bishop has to shoulder him back. When Jesse glares at the interference, Bishop murmurs something.
Jesse still glowers, but he rolls his shoulders and steps away before addressing the crowd. “He meant it as a threat against my sons and their mother. There is no other way to interpret his words. So I bided my time, figuring out how to get them to safety before I acted. Then Bishop came along.”
“And you colluded with him to steal my Pack,” Doyle says.
“Raymond?” Jesse calls. “Would you please step forward?”
No one moves. Then the Cambrian wolves shift, exposing a man I noticed yesterday as the oldest of them, his dark hair graying at the temples. He moves forward with obvious reluctance.
“You tended to Hanora,” Jesse says. “As the Pack’s medic.”
“Yes, sir.”
“She had been beaten the night before last. Severely beaten.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Can you tell me who did it? The scent left on her clothing?”
Raymond’s gaze slides to Doyle, and he mumbles, “Him.”
“Raymond,” Jesse says, with great patience. “If you are reluctant to identify who hurt Hanora, please be aware that makes it look as if I have put you up to this.”
Raymond clears his throat. “It was our Alpha. Franklin Doyle.”
“I never—” Doyle says, but Bishop’s hand shoots up, and he nods at Raymond to continue.
“I could smell who did it. Also—” Raymond swallows. “He’s done it before. To Hanny and other girls, so I know the pattern. He hits them in the torso, where it won’t show. They can still lift their skirts and no one is the wiser.”
“Did Hanora identify Franklin as her attacker?” Jesse asks.
Raymond shakes his head. “The girls never tell me who did it, and I stopped asking, but this time, she volunteered the information. She said it was you, Jesse. That you gave her opium to put Mrs. Daniels to sleep and then she was supposed to seduce Mr. Daniels—the Alpha—and suffocate him after he fell asleep.”
Doyle throws up his hands. “See? It wasn’t me.”
Jesse snaps, “If I ever come up with a plan that stupid, please kill me because I’ve clearly lost my mind. That plan is what happens when I’m not consulted. Seduce the Albion Alpha when he’s newly married? To a mate who has a werewolf’s sense of smell and will realize her drink is drugged?”
Doyle flushes at Jesse’s mockery, making it very clear whose plan it had been.
Jesse continues, “I still didn’t betray you, Franklin.
Yesterday, I only warned Bishop to be careful and that someone—not naming you—might try to convince one of his wolves to turn on him.
I held out hope that you might be happy with the alliance and the money it promised.
That you might finally see sense and, gods help me, I might finally see my family again. ”
Bishop lets the silence fall for a few seconds before he says, “You challenged me, Franklin Doyle, and as you well know—from your last failed challenge—you need the support of at least half of my Pack.” He turns to the Albion wolves. “How many of you still support me as your Alpha?”
Only Harry hesitates. Because he has to hesitate, to be very clear that he might have helped Rufus, but that doesn’t mean he’s jumping in to support Bishop. Still, his hand eventually joins the rest.
“All right then,” Bishop says. “That’s settled. My Pack doesn’t want you. But would your Pack want me? That is the new question.”
“W-what?” Doyle says.
“I issue a counterchallenge. Cambrians, how many of you would accept me as your Alpha?”
A few hands rise, most uncertain, and I understand that because they don’t know Bishop, and they’re confused by what has been revealed. But when Jesse’s hand goes firmly in the air, more rise.
“I don’t understand this thing about the money,” someone says. “There’s more money?”
“There is a great deal of money,” Jesse says. “Enough to build a proper home on a proper piece of land. We’ve had enough for over a year. Franklin just wanted to see how much more he could get before we abandoned all of you.”
“But he said he was going to build us a house.”
“He wasn’t,” Jesse says flatly. “He talks about it, but he has not made a single move to investigate properties.”
Another says, “I have heard there was lots of money, but I heard you were the one stealing it.”
“Yes,” Doyle says quickly. “Jesse was—”
“The money is in a bank,” Jesse says. “Both our names are on the account.” He takes papers from his coat pocket. “I can show a statement of the account.” He passes it out to the man who was complaining.
“It’s false,” Doyle says. “A forgery.”
Bishop steps forward. “This is all inconsequential. The Albion Pack has money. If you are part of it, you are entitled to everything that our Pack enjoys, which includes a comfortable lifestyle. You are expected to work. But it’s legal and respectable work, unlike what Doyle has you doing.
And for the Caledonians among you, the only Albions who work in the fields are those who voluntarily take on gardening duties. To my wolves, do I speak true?”
The Albions all agree.
“And under me,” Bishop says, “that wealth will grow, as it has been growing since I returned to the Pack with the former controller, whose son has been trained to succeed him. We have factories and mills and, recently, investments. It doesn’t matter what becomes of the money Doyle amassed.
While it would help with the rebuilding, I would accept responsibility for his Pack without it. ”
“It’s a good life,” Augustus pipes up.
Oliver nods. “It was difficult under my brother’s reign, while our controller was gone, but with Bishop as Silas’s second, creature comforts returned. It was the tyranny that was hard to take.”
A few strained laughs.
“But Bishop is no tyrant,” Oliver says. “Even those who didn’t initially support him acknowledge that.”
Oliver looks straight at Harry, who grunts and says, “He’s probably too soft. Trying to make sure everything’s fair. I’d prefer a tougher leader.”
“Well, some of us like tyrants, apparently,” Oliver says to quiet chuckles, and Harry looks confused.
“But a soft leader doesn’t challenge and conquer a powerful Alpha.
A soft leader wouldn’t be challenging a second Alpha today.
Personally, I’d rather you all just make your choice and leave the fighting out of it but sadly, that is not how werewolf Packs operate. ” A pause. “Perhaps someday.”
Oliver is right, of course. Ideally, the wolves would elect an Alpha. Yet even while I may not have grown up as a werewolf, I understand why it must be done this way. A werewolf Alpha needs to prove his strength and cunning, prove that he has more of both than the current Alpha.
More Cambrian hands rise, enough that only a few stay down, and those seem uncertain of their choice, as if this has all happened too fast and confused them.
“It’s done,” Oliver says. “Of the twenty-four wolves present—excluding Bishop and Mr. Doyle—twenty have cast their support behind Bishop, if he wins the challenge fight.” He glances over to where Tabitha adamantly waves her hand to get his attention.
His face softens in a smile. “Twenty wolves and one adopted Pack daughter.”
At that, her face glows, and I squeeze her shoulder.
“Your challenge failed,” Bishop says to Doyle. “Mine passed. I will, however, give you the opportunity to concede without a challenge fight. If you do, you will be escorted to a ship bound for America—”
Doyle’s hand flies up, and then there’s a pistol. Pointed right at Bishop.