Ascension (12 page)

"No."

"Jeremy, then. Joey? You’re next."

Joey’s lips pursed as he started to say Jeremy’s name, but an elbow jab from his father cut him short.

"We’ll take the forty-eight hours," Dennis said. "Both of us."

On to Nick. "Jeremy."

Daniel. "Malcolm."

Finally, Wally Santos. "Malcolm."

There it was. Five votes for Jeremy, five for Malcolm and three abstaining for forty-eight hours.

As far as I was concerned, Jeremy had won. Joey had been ready to name Jeremy, and would do so. His father, Dennis, liked Jeremy, and supported him, though he’d usually been too conscious of the balance of Pack power to do so openly. So he would also vote for Jeremy. Ross had always been a fence-sitter, the type of guy who never wanted to offend anyone. We could try to sway him our way, but ultimately, his vote wouldn’t matter. Even if he picked Malcolm, the final result would be 7:6 in Jeremy’s favor. All we had to do was wait two days. After a decade of waiting, that was nothing.

After the meeting, Joey and Dennis retreated to the guest house. Although we called the one-bedroom cabin a guest house, few guests actually stayed there. During a Meet everyone liked to stick together, so we all slept in the main house. The guest house was used for human guests and, occasionally, as for Pack members whom Dominic chose to punish by making them sleep elsewhere.

When Dennis asked Antonio for the guest house key, we all knew that it meant they wanted a place to talk without being overheard. That was fine. We sent them off and Jeremy forbade Nick or I from trying to "visit" Joey, and sway his father’s decision. This was a choice they had to make on their own.

The day passed, and Dennis and Joey stayed in the guest house. This was taking longer than I expected, and I began to worry that maybe, instead of Joey persuading his father to support Jeremy, Dennis was working to persuade Joey to change
his
vote. While I was certain neither Dennis nor Joey wanted to see Malcolm as Alpha, I knew that Dennis feared him, and fear can be a powerful motivator.

When night fell and they still didn’t return, I told Nick to cover for me, and slipped into the backyard. The guest house was in the far corner of the estate, in the wooded portion, accessible either by road or a very long path. I took the path. That way, I could tell myself I wasn’t disobeying Jeremy, that I was just going for a walk.

I’d gone no more than a quarter of the distance when I saw a dark figure on the path ahead. I slowed and sniffed the air. It was Joey.

"I figured your patience would be running thin," he said with a twist of a smile. "Actually, I thought it would have run out a couple of hours ago. You surprised me."

"Are you done, then?" I asked as I approached. "You’ve made up your mind?"

"Uh, yes, that’s what I wanted to talk to you about."

He dropped his gaze as he spoke and I froze, certain I knew what was coming.

"Don’t say it," I said. "If you tell me you’re voting for Malcolm—"

"No. I can’t.
We
can’t. Jeremy’s the right choice. We both know that. The problem is . . ."

He let the sentence drop off and scuffed the ground with his shoe, gaze fixed on the clods of dirt that flew up.

"The problem is . . ." I prompted.

"The problem is that we can’t vote for Malcolm, and we don’t dare vote against him."

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

He met my gaze. "You know what it means. He’s already been out here twice—"

"What?"

"He knows very well which way we want to vote, Clay, and he’s not going to let that happen. My dad and I, we’re the weak links. Neither of us can stand up to Malcolm in a fight. We know it and he knows it."

I slammed my fist into the nearest tree. "Goddamn him! And goddamn you, Joey, for not coming to me. I’ll protect you. You know that."

"For today maybe. For tomorrow maybe. But not for the rest of my life. We vote against him and he’ll take his revenge. He’s already said as much. So we’re leaving."

"Leaving?"

"Leaving the Pack. Tonight. I wanted to tell you—"

"Tell me what? That you’re running away? That you’re—"

"Don’t say it, Clay," Joey said, pulling himself up straight and meeting my gaze. "I know what you think, that this is the act of a coward. It’s not. It’s the act of someone who doesn’t care to become a martyr, no matter how much he may believe in the cause. Jeremy will win. I’m sure he will. He’s smart enough to outwit Malcolm. He’ll be the next Alpha, and he doesn’t need our votes—or our deaths—to ensure that."

"So then you’ll come back. After he’s Alpha."

"I—I don’t know." Joey rubbed his hand over his mouth. "It’s not the same for us, Clay. We aren’t Danverses or Santoses or Sorrentinos. Even in Jeremy’s Pack, I’m not sure how much that would change."

"It would," I said. "Hell, I’m not a Danvers. Not really. Nobody gives a shit."

"Because you’re special. Look, I didn’t wait out here for two hours to argue with you. I wanted to say goodbye. I know this
will
be goodbye." Another twist of a smile. "A mutt can’t be buddies with the Alpha’s son, can he?"

"Joey, don’t. Please—"

"We’ve leaving the country. Probably heading up to Canada. Dad’s been to the west coast there and he thinks it would be a good place for us. Lots of room to roam. No mutts, as far as we know. Plus we wouldn’t have to worry about accidentally bumping into one of you guys and forcing you to fight—"

"Shit, Joey, no one would ever—"

"But it’s a consideration, right? Let’s just leave it at that."

"I can’t," I said. "Come back with me. We’ll talk to Jeremy. He’ll work this out—"

"Clay, no. Please. Let’s just shake hands—"

"And say goodbye? Let one of my friends leave the Pack and become a mutt? No way. No goddamned way!"

I spun on my heel and whammed my fist into a tree so hard it shook. When I turned back again, Joey was gone. I stood there, breathing hard, heart pounding. Then I hit the tree again, slammed my hand into it over and over, until I heard a bone crack. Only then, when I felt real pain overtake the pain in my gut did my brain clear. I stopped, raked my hand through my hair, and concentrated on breathing until I could think again.

I wanted to go after Joey, to say a proper goodbye, but I knew that that the moment I caught up with him, I’d start arguing again, desperate to find someone way to persuade him to stay. He was better off leaving. As much as it hurt to say that, to admit that I couldn’t protect a friend, it was true. My priority was Jeremy. It had to be. Although I could try my best to protect Joey and Dennis, it wasn’t fair to ask them to entrust their lives to secondhand bodyguard.

I looked down the path.

"Goodbye," I said, then turned and headed back to the house.

When I told Jeremy what the Stillwells had decided, the news didn’t seem to surprise him. He promised that, when this was over, we’d try to find them and bring them back into the Pack. Until then, we had to let them do what they thought was best.

The next morning, we awoke to find Ross’s bedroom empty. Everything down to his toothbrush was gone. Jeremy tracked his trail to his car, which was also missing. There was no other scent mixed with his, no sign that he’d done anything other than emulated the Stillwells and decided this wasn’t a fight he was prepared to join.

With that, the race for Alpha came to a grinding halt. The vote remained split evenly, and both sides knew that wouldn’t change. Who of the remaining ten would switch sides? One of the Santoses, who despised Jeremy as much as Malcolm did? One of the Sorrentinos, all three of whom had been Jeremy’s friends and supporters from childhood? Peter, who owed Jeremy his life and nearly died at the hands of Malcolm? Me? Of course not. The only three who might have been swayed were now gone. So we were deadlocked, and nothing in the Legacy or the Law gave us any ideas on how to break the stalemate.

Stalemate

We spent six months locked in that stalemate, neither side willing—or even able—to budge. Contrary to Malcolm’s dire predictions, hordes of mutts did not descend when they heard the Pack was leaderless. They did, however, pace at the edge of our territory, like scavengers who weren’tsure their prey was dead yet.

At first, Malcolm was content to bare his teeth now and then and hope Peter or Jorge would cave, but we circled our wagons fast enough that everyone felt safe. But that only meant that Malcolm had to do more than threaten—he had to consider eliminating one of us. By the new year, we didn’t so much as dare collect the mail without backup.

I managed to make it through the fall term but when it ended, I told Jeremy I wasn’t going back—not until this problem was resolved. He argued, of course, but he understood where my priorities lay and that this wasn’t so much a matter of choice as necessity. I couldn’t concentrate on school knowing my absence put everyone in danger. So I told the university I was having problems at home and arranged to resume my studies the next fall.

In April, Malcolm launched his first strike. All six of us were at Stonehaven, and we’d decided to blow off some steam with a deer hunt. Once we found a deer, we split into pairs. Jeremy and Antonio had looped around in front of the stag. Nick and I chased it from the left side while Jorge and Peter took the right flank position. Then the four of us would drive it to where Jeremy and Antonio were waiting.

I was running ahead of Nick. I shouldn’t have been—I should have stayed at his side—but he’d stumbled in an animal hole and, once I’d checked to make sure he was okay, I’d dashed ahead, eager to catch up before the stag realized its left flank was unprotected. After a few bounds, I could see the stag ahead, and hear Nick racing up behind me. A shot cracked. Then a yelp. I wheeled to see Nick fly sideways. As I raced back to him, the smell of blood and gunpowder hit me, and I knew he’d been shot.

The next half-hour is a blur. Peter and Jorge, having heard the shot, ran back. Then Peter went to get Jeremy while Jorge Changed. I stayed where I was, standing over Nick, frantically licking at the blood that poured from his shoulder. When Jeremy arrived, he was in human form. I dimly recall him struggling to pull me off Nick, then Antonio arriving and dragging me off his son. I stayed there, as close as they would allow, until I heard the words "he’ll be okay." Then I slid into the nearest thicket and Changed.

When I peeked out, I saw Peter hurry to Jeremy with the medical kit from the house. I stayed hidden for another couple of minutes, as I listened to them. Once I knew that I hadn’t misheard, and Nick would indeed survive, I slipped out the other way and crept back to my clothes. I dressed, raced to the house, grabbed my keys and took off.

Malcolm was in Syracuse, where he’d been since this all started. I knew exactly where he was staying because he’d told us, as if daring us to try something.

I should have known he’d go after Nick. Of the six of us, Nick was, arguably, the weakest, being the newest werewolf, with little fight experience outside our practice sessions. Yet all this time, we’d focused on protecting Peter and Jorge, not Nick. Why? Because no one, including myself, seriously thought Malcolm would harm Nick. He liked Nick. I suppose that’s naive, to think that someone as ambitious and ruthless as Malcolm wouldn’t kill a person he liked, but to us it made more sense that he’d go after Peter or Jorge, both men that Malcolm barely tolerated. Yet it was more than that. We thought Nick was safe not only because Malcolm was genuinely fond of him, but because he was Antonio’s son and my best friend, and Antonio and I were Malcolm’s favorites, no matter how little we wanted the honor.

Despite this, I never doubted that Malcolm had shot Nick. Hunters hadn’t set foot on Stonehaven’s property in well over a generation. The Danverses had always made it clear that they didn’t want hunters on the estate and, since they were otherwise good neighbors, and there was plenty of other forest in the region, local hunters obeyed the "No Trespassing" signs and warned visitors to do the same. To have a hunter come on the property, after all those years, and just happen to shoot Nick was coincidental beyond belief. Malcolm had known we were all at Stonehaven, and would likely take advantage of the full moon for a group run. He’d seen his shot, and had taken it.

At Malcolm’s hotel, I stormed down the hall to his room and pounded on the door. Daniel opened it. I shoved him aside and strode into the room, where I found Malcolm, Stephen and Andrew sitting around the television.

"Clay?" Malcolm said, pushing to his feet. "What’s—"

"Get outside," I said.

"What?"

"You heard me. You want a challenge. You’ve got it. Get outside now."

"Challenge? What’s—?"

"Did you really think you could get away with it? You’d shoot Nick and I’d just chalk it up to a tragic hunting accident?"

"Nick’s been shot? Is he okay?"

I could see the lie behind Malcolm’s fake shock and I wanted nothing more than to cross that room, grab him and beat him until he confessed. But, if I did, Stephen, Andrew and Daniel would be on me in a second, I wasn’t risking my life to prove Malcolm was lying. Not when I knew an easier way.

I marched to the front closet, yanked it open and grabbed Stephen’s shoes. Of everyone in Malcolm's camp, he was the only one who owned a rifle and could use it, having friends who were hunters. I checked the bottoms, then walked back to Malcolm and shoved the shoes under his nose.