Black Rook (10 page)

“The parlor is in there.” He pointed at a closed door immediately to their right. “Father uses it when important guests come to visit, but it’s mostly just for show. Living room is on the left.”

She peeked inside, pleased to see two large sofas, a leather recliner, several tables, and a well-stocked entertainment console. It was a room that people lived and relaxed in after a long day. A wide staircase led upstairs, and a hallway went straight past it. Rook led her in that direction, pointing out two more doors under the stairs—the first a closet, the second a half bath—and another on the left that led into the dining room.

“The library is in there.” Rook nodded at a half-closed door just past the bathroom. “I think we have more books than the town’s actual library does, but our family has maintained it for generations.”

“I’d love to see it, when there’s time,” Brynn said.

“Definitely.”

At the end of the hall were steps leading down and to the right. “Conservatory-slash-greenhouse. It’s one of Bishop’s hobbies. Plus having fresh herbs on hand at all times keeps Mrs. Troost happy.”

“Mrs. Troost?”

“Our housekeeper. Brace yourself, she’s probably in the kitchen.”

Rook pushed through the swinging door on the left and they went down three short steps into a large kitchen that was a magical cross between modern, industrial, and colonial. A six-top range sat next to an old iron woodstove. What looked like original wood counters butted up next to sleek stainless steel workstations. Dozens of pots and pans hung from a brass ceiling rack. The entire setup seemed more worthy of a small restaurant kitchen than someone’s home—but Brynn had no idea how many people lived and ate here regularly.

One whirlwind of a loup female rushed around the room, muttering to herself. She moved with incredible speed for her short legs and wide frame. Gray hair was tied back in a sleek bun at the nape of her neck, and her apron was still perfectly white, despite working with what smelled like some kind of tomato sauce. It was obvious that she ruled that room, and Brynn did not get any closer.

Mrs. Troost finally noticed them and stopped short with a pair of silver tongs in her hand. “Rook, lad, you’re early for supper,” she said. Her accent had a faint brogue, even though Troost was definitely not Irish. Thin, black eyebrows shot up when she spotted Brynn. “And you’ve brought a lady friend with you.”

Something about the way Mrs. Troost said lady friend made Brynn blush.

“Mrs. Troost, this is Brynn. She’s staying at the house overnight.”

Her eyebrows got a bit higher. “Does your father know?”

“Yes, Father knows, and it’s not what you think.”

“Shame, lad, she’s a beauty.”

“Um, thank you,” Brynn said, certain she should speak up at some point. “It’s lovely to meet you, Mrs. Troost.”

“Likewise, my dear.”

“I was hoping we could take our supper out to the backyard,” Rook said. “Brynn’s kind of shy, and I don’t want to subject her to Thursday night with the entire crew.”

“Understandable. They tend to get a tad beastly after a whole day of working and very little food.”

Rook chuckled, but he didn’t deny it, which made Brynn doubly glad they were going to eat in a more private setting.

“Help yourselves, of course,” Mrs. Troost said. “There’re two pans of lasagna standing up on the stove there, salad in the bowl, and the garlic toast will be ready in a few minutes.”

“Thank you,” Rook said. “You’re the best.”

“Save those compliments for your lovely lady friend, lad.”

Still blushing, Brynn followed Rook over to the stove and began assembling her supper.

***

Rook didn’t spend energy trying to keep up small talk while they ate. Brynn seemed content to tackle her serving of lasagna and salad in silence, while pausing occasionally to gaze around the backyard. Rook knew every inch of it by heart—the scattered oak trees, the large vegetable garden spewing its contents from cultivated rows, the teak patio furniture that matched the table they were eating at—so he spent his time stealing glances at Brynn. Out of the harsh glare of fluorescent lights and in the natural glow of twilight, she was breathtakingly beautiful.

She ate with a polite precision he found amusing, alternating small bites of food with sips of iced tea, like someone used to eating fancy meals with important company. He imagined with a father as highly placed as hers, that wasn’t far from the truth—unlike daily meals at the McQueen household, which held fast to the simple rules of elbows off the table and don’t talk with your mouth full. They came from two completely different worlds, and yet she there she was, easily fitting into his. He liked her here.

She probably couldn’t wait to leave.

The back door squealed open, and Rook didn’t have to look to know who was joining them. Seconds later, his father sat down in the chair next to him, opposite Brynn, with a mug of coffee.

Brynn paused in her eating long enough to understand she didn’t have to stop on his account, then gave the last of her salad her complete attention.

“Has Bishop checked in?” Rook asked. He was as curious about those happenings as he was about his father’s plans for Brynn, and Bishop had left almost three hours earlier.

“A few minutes ago,” Father said. “He met Jillian Reynolds and her squad in New York, and they’ll be entering Connecticut in about twenty minutes. They’ll be in Stonehill in less than an hour. There’s been no contact with the town or its residents.”

“There’s no way to get to them faster?” Brynn asked.

“Unless we magically sprouted wings and flew, our vehicles are still subject to the laws of physics, Miss Atwood.” Father’s touch of sarcasm spoke loudly to his frustration with the situation. Pennsylvania and Delaware were the two closest runs and best able to lend assistance. They were doing the best they could while heading into the unknown.

“I’m sorry. I imagine waiting for word is the most difficult part of a situation like this.”

“Yes, it is.”

“What about the local police?”

“We loup police ourselves inside of our sanctuary towns, and calling human authorities into a situation like this could be disastrous to the loup as a whole. We’d have no explanation for why very large black and gray wolves were running around fighting, especially if this is an attack by rogue loup or half-breeds.” He tapped his fingertips against the top of the teak table. “Dr. Mike also called, Rook. Your blood work is fine. The poison reacted to the ketamine as expected, and Dr. Mike doesn’t foresee any future side effects.”

“Awesome,” Rook replied.

“Does he happen to know why I reacted so badly?” Brynn asked.

Father paused only a fraction of a second—not long enough for Brynn to notice, but Rook knew his father—before he shook his head. “He’s still investigating that.”

Rook hated keeping something this important from Brynn—everyone deserved to know where they came from—but he trusted his father to do what was best in an uncomfortable situation. “So how did the sale today go?” he asked. A more innocuous conversation topic was needed before Brynn asked any more questions. They’d told her so much already.

They discussed auction business for a few minutes longer, creating a sense of normalcy in a situation rife with abnormalities. Waiting on news from Connecticut was excruciating, making any conversation a welcome distraction. A while later, Father stood and excused himself. “I have some things to take care of,” he said. “Mrs. Troost is making up one of the third-floor guest rooms for you, Miss Atwood.”

“Thank you,” Brynn said.

“Of course. If you need anything, just ask Rook or Mrs. Troost.” He then surprised Rook by taking their empty plates inside with him.

“He’s really worried,” Rook said, mostly to himself and the closing back door.

“Your father?” Brynn asked.

“Yeah.”

“His people are being attacked, and his son is heading into an unknown danger. He has good reason to be worried.”

“I know, but he’s usually a lot better at hiding it, especially around outsiders.”

“I imagine so. And I’m so sorry for contributing—”

“Please, Brynn, stop apologizing.” He folded his hands on the table and leaned forward. She looked so vulnerable, so desperately in need of comfort. He pushed against his beast’s demand that he provide that comfort physically. “Listen, the way you came into town, unannounced and with that poison, is not okay, but my getting poisoned was an accident. I’m not happy about it, but I don’t hold a grudge against you. Okay?”

Her expression softened and her posture relaxed. “All right. Thank you. But what about your other brother?”

“Knight?”

“Yes.”

“I’ll talk to him and make sure he’s cool. All of our emotions were feeding his at the time, so Knight got more wound up than usual. He’ll be fine.”

“He’s susceptible to that, as a White Wolf? The emotions of others?”

“Strong emotions within a certain physical proximity, yeah.”

“It sounds difficult for him.”

“It can be.” He didn’t like discussing Knight behind his back like this, so he grasped for a different topic. “So what do you do?” Generic, but he was somewhat hopeless when it came to small talk.

“At the moment, nothing.” Something sad flashed in her eyes. “I was a tutor for two years. I loved teaching.”

“If you loved it, why did you quit?”

“I was fired.”

He’d just proved how good he was at putting his foot in his mouth. It had been a long time since he’d wanted to get to know someone, or put any effort into it. Brynn was special, and he wanted to learn about her, but he hated that learning meant a constant reminder that she was Magus. Her people were his enemies, but she was also part loup. Did that make it okay to hate seeing hurt in her eyes?

He had no idea.

Rook leaned close and lowered his voice, exaggerating his raised eyebrows. “Want me to kill someone for you?”

She stared at him, taking him seriously for a split second, until she caught his humor. She smiled, and the sight made his heart jump. “No, but thank you.”

“No problem.” The moment lingered, growing into something sweet—something it could never be between them. He cleared his throat, breaking the spell. “Why don’t I show you where your room is? You can settle in for the night.”

“All right.” She stood up with him, but made no move away from the table.

“Brynn? You okay?”

“I just thought of something.”

“What?”

“Well, I never planned on staying here overnight.”

“I know, and it’s got to be—oh.” He got it. “You probably need a toothbrush and stuff.”

“Yes, a toothbrush, hairbrush, maybe even something to sleep in besides my bare skin.”

The mental image of Brynn sleeping in the nude flashed into his brain and refused to budge. He gripped the edge of the table, alarmed at the way his jeans were beginning to tighten. His sudden lack of self-control was absolutely ridiculous, considering he’d been managing it quite well since puberty. One innocent comment from a pretty girl shouldn’t create instant wood. Especially when the comment was from Brynn. Magus. Enemy.

“Ah . . .” He needed something a lot more intelligent than that. “Mrs. Troost has a grand-niece who’s about our age. She can, um, probably get you some stuff.”

“That would be wonderful, thank you.”

“No problem.”

Neither of them moved. Rook began to sweat.

“Are we going inside?” Brynn asked.

“Yes?” He was an idiot. “I mean, yes, we are. Sorry. After you.”

Brynn picked up her iced tea glass, gave him a curious look, then headed for the back door. Rook briefly contemplated dumping the remains of his own glass down the front of his pants, then followed her into the house.

Chapter Seven

“It was a goddamn massacre,” Bishop said.

Five words spoken over a cell phone on speaker mode had the striking ability to sweep their father off his feet. Rook watched with rising panic as he sat heavily on the edge of the library sofa and dropped his head into his hands, as though he’d lost the power to stand.

Bishop had texted them a few minutes ago, announcing an incoming phone call. Their father had gathered Rook and Knight in the library so they could hear the update together, but the first words out of Bishop’s mouth were not what any of them had been expecting.

Knight was sitting in a leather chair opposite the sofa with the active cell phone in his hand, and he stared at it as though the small piece of plastic might explode. Rook couldn’t seem to move from his spot by the door, planted in place by shock. Shouting voices and the rumble of engines spilled over the line from Bishop’s end, but he didn’t add anything else to his announcement.

“How many dead?” Knight asked when no one else did.

Bishop made a sharp, choked sound. “We found one survivor.”

“One?”

Their father scrubbed his hands through his silver-streaked hair, then looked up. “Stonehill had three hundred and seven residents,” he said in a hollow, toneless voice. “You found one alive?”

“One,” Bishop said. “A woman. She’s hurt pretty badly, but Jillian thinks she’ll live.”

It took Rook a moment to remember that Jillian Reynolds was the squad leader sent by the Delaware run. “Who would slaughter an entire town of loup garou?” Rook asked.

“The method worries me more. Hold on.” Bishop said something that was muffled and not to them. “Sorry. We found no traces of gunfire or explosives. It was a literal slaughter. Throats torn out, bodies mangled. And it was methodical. Most of the victims were in their homes and didn’t have time to shift and fight back.”

The descriptions of the murders turned Rook’s stomach, and he was glad it had been a few hours since supper. It also enraged his beast, who demanded justice in kind against whoever had done this.

“And there’s another problem.”

“Which is?” Father asked.

“I’m no expert in morbidity, but the bodies aren’t fresh, not by at least half a day. I think it’s a safe bet that the massacre was over before that anonymous call to Joe was placed.”

Father swore loudly—a single word that marked his anger and shock. “You’re certain?”