Chapter 25
Chapter Twenty-Five
The day of the hierarchy battle
Winter hurried out the door with Magdalene, walking towards the archives. She left her broom behind and her wand was still at the cabin. Who was she? Someone who required a babysitter, apparently.
“For fuck’s sake,” Winter spat, stepping around the wolf snoozing on the front porch.
“Everett?” Magdalene asked, “What are you—”
“Don’t ask.” Winter stalked down the icy footpath, snubbing him. She wondered if he’d shift and give Magdalene a show. After all, that was all he was good for. Everett, the showman—all bark and no bite. He’d pissed her off as thoroughly as West had last night.
“Wait for me.” Magdalene hurried to catch up with Winter. “What’s going on?” She glanced back, then spoke through the side of her mouth. “He’s following us.”
Winter rolled her eyes. This couldn’t be about making sure she was okay, could it? “It’s a werewolf thing, I guess.” A dumb thing, she wanted to say.
Magdalene raised an eyebrow. “I know a few werewolves, Winter. This I’ve never seen. Do you think he’s in love with you?”
She barked a laugh. “No.”
“Then what’s going on?”
Everett was a few steps behind, probably listening. Winter could hear his paws crunching through snow. There was no easy way to say this so she spit out the answer. “According to the wind, West is my mate. And now Everett is assigned to make sure I’m feeling okay.”
“Mate? As in, true mate?”
Winter bristled. “Yes. And Everett is taking his role as West’s second far too seriously.” She used her eyes to shoot daggers over her shoulder, making sure he got all of that.
Magdalene shook her head. “That is the most absurd thing I have ever heard. The wind doesn’t speak … does it?”
All immortals understood the concept of true mates, but mages were used to bending the wind, not talking to it. It had taken Winter time to understand as well—almost twenty-four years. “Yeah, well, it talks to me. Is there a wolf trailing us, or not?”
Magdalene looked back for unnecessary confirmation. “There is.”
Winter huffed, her aggravation condensing into a thick cloud.
The snow-dusted streets lined in thick evergreens would be a much more pleasant sight if they didn’t remind her of him.
Everett should be seeing to his alpha, not her.
There was a battle tonight. Or was West too busy with all the preparatory sex he was having?
Not that she cared.
Westley was on the roof of the archives, waiting for Winter.
Someone had patched the shattered skylight since his last visit.
The view of Elmwood was nice from up here, even admirable.
The decent-sized human population had filled the streets with small shops and shrubbery.
There was more tinsel in this town than snow. Gold, mostly.
Elmwood deserved a wolf pack that wanted to live alongside them, not eat them.
The Hampden Pack as a whole wasn’t cannibalistic, but Fang was.
He’d hunted innocent humans for sport in his human form, before Xavier sawed off half his tooth as punishment.
Westley should’ve never mistaken the other alpha’s cruelty for injustice. Compared to his cousin, he was a saint.
Without Xavier, there was no one to wrangle Fang. Westley would need to put an end to him before his barbaric behavior infiltrated this quiet town. The queen as well. She was meant to be building a prison, containing criminals. Sending her vampires into his mate’s workplace sealed her death wish.
But time was moving too quickly, and he needed more of it.
Neither Everett nor Winter returned to the farm last night.
The blood oath helped him sense that his second was safe, but it didn’t explain his continued absence.
Ergo, something was wrong with Winter. It worried him enough to come straight here after his talk with Mel this morning.
The last thing Winter had said before leaving the dinner table was something about checking on the archives. Being here wasn’t instinct or coincidence, he was stalking her.
The thrumming in his blood reached a crescendo just before her scent struck him. The sweetest amber, notes of vanilla, and something as pure as the sky lingered in the wake of her every stride. Magdalene was beside her. Everett, in his wolf form, trailed them both.
Westley scaled the exterior staircase, taking the steps two at a time.
There was no chance of a stealthy approach.
The rickety steel rattled the whole way down, giving his location away.
He landed at the bottom with a huff. He’d planned to say hello first, but that wasn’t what came out of his mouth.
“What’s wrong?”
Winter, dressed in a cream button-down sweater, a bright red scarf, and those tight black pants that curved around her hips and ass, frowned at him.
“Nothing at all.” She sauntered up the stairs like they weren’t covered in ice, shoved the mage key in the lock, and opened the door. “Come on, Mags. We have restocking to do.” She threw the remark over her shoulder before disappearing inside.
What just happened? He spun around. “Everett, what’s going on? Why is she so upset?”
His second whined.
Westley took off his floor-length gray cloak and chucked the bundle of wool towards him. "Here, wear this.” The humans in town weren’t particularly fond of nudity.
Everett reared, standing on his back legs. He clawed the air as his arms and legs bent and snapped into position. The entire shift from fur to skin happened in a few seconds. He threw the cloak around his shoulders, his expression grim and uncharacteristic.
“What is it?” Westley pressed.
“I’m almost certain it’s because of Keltia. She was so upset she tried to …” He blushed, staring at the unpaved streets.
“Tried to what?”
Everett shook his head. “She’s struggling.”
Westley bared his teeth. “With what?”
He didn’t answer, he shook his head. “I’m afraid I’ve disappointed you both. And now she’s even more upset.”
Westley contemplated tearing his second’s head off. "Everett, what are you talking about?”
“She started acting strange. Well, not strange exactly. It was—she tried to …” Everett shot him a look they’d shared many times before. It made Westley’s heart swell and sink at the same time. “I refused, of course.”
“And then what happened?”
His gaze landed on his boots as he rubbed the back of his neck. “She begged.”
“Begged? Winter doesn’t beg.”
“Shirtless, sir.” Everett flinched like he was preparing to be tossed.
Winter had cooked for him, cared for him, and ran with him, but never had she begged for him. His embarrassment lay thick in the frigid air. She desired Everett in that way … not him.
“She needs to talk to someone,” Everett continued, “and it’s not going to be me. That’s been made very clear.”
Westley kicked a hard chunk of snow. “Yeah, I got that part already.”
The shifters watching over the archives seemed as tense as Winter was. They startled easily, kept snapping at each other, and were less friendly.
The air felt heavy. Uncertain. Cold.
The high morning sun, filtering through the glass ceiling, couldn’t even shine a light on what the future would hold.
If West lost his title, the pack dynamics would shift.
Fang didn’t seem like the type of werewolf that cared much about ancient libraries enough to protect them.
They were on borrowed time, and it needed to be used wisely.
She took a sharp turn into Division V. Magdalene fled to the back wall while she scanned Aisle I, Section I. Not a single book spine faced outward. But was the ordering correct? Winter searched for book number 511-32-1204.
She was already in Division V, Aisle I, Section I, so she swiped her fingers three shelves north then two shelves south then east twelve texts and west four. She could’ve subtracted but never did—there was a higher margin for error.
Running a finger along the brittle edges of the parchment, she tipped the book forward. The Cursed Human and The Great Flood. Magdalene had nailed it.
Winter pulled another tome free.
Yes! Correct again.
When she finished searching Aisle II, she just about cried. Every single book was ordered, and her auditing checked out. Winter sprinted, searching for the future head librarian. “Mags?”
“Winter?”
Magdalene was stocking in Aisle VIII—the very last one in Division V. “Get over here.” Winter spread her arms wide to scoop her in for a big hug. “Good job, Mags. You did it!”
“I had—” She struggled for air but Winter squeezed harder. “A great teacher.”
Oh, what a compliment.
Winter stopped crushing Magdalene. “I’m so happy! You have no idea how bad I needed to come in and see this. We’re almost there.”
Magdalene grinned. “It’s working, too. The wolves say the vampires are growing frustrated. That we should see their twisted faces when there’s no spine to read. Not separating the divisions by history, philosophy, theology, and spellwork, seems to be working like a charm.”
“Yes, exactly. Everything’s hidden in plain sight.”
She’d need to get her wand tonight, otherwise this organization method could be the sole form of protection these archives would have.
As nervous as she was, she was excited to trap thieves with her glittering ropes.
Kill them. Dissect them. She’d need to source formaldehyde …
if that was invented yet. What did they use to preserve dead bodies in this time period?
Oh well, she’d conjure something if need be.
Back to work.
She bent down, picked up the next book, and set it beside the one Magdalene had just restocked. They moved in synchrony. As Winter shelved one book, Magdalene picked up the next. They worked like a machine with four arms and one motherboard.