Gray Bishop (10 page)

Slowly, Rook calmed.

“I did look our father in the eye and lie to him that day,” Knight said, finding some courage in the residual rage he’d taken from Rook. “How do you admit something like that to anyone, much less a son to his father? I couldn’t put that on his shoulders. He already has so much to bear.”

“I can understand that.” Rook snatched up the chess piece and turned it in his fingers, as though he wanted to snap it in half. “And I told you I wouldn’t contradict your story unless it became vital to the safety of the run.”

“I remember, and I’m grateful for you leaving it alone, Rook. I couldn’t dwell on it and still function in my duties as White Wolf.”

“You’re barely functioning now.”

Knight flinched, because the truth was a hard blow. “I know.”

“You need to tell him.”

“Our father?”

“You need to tell the Alpha, yes. Maybe that vision is your baby, maybe it’s not, but he needs all of the information at his disposal in order to protect us. And he needs it sooner, rather than later.”

“I know.”

“I can call him. I’ll stay, if you want.”

“Not tonight.”

“Knight—”

He held up a hand. “I’m not trying to put it off. Our father’s already worrying about Bishop and Jillian being out there, without backup, possibly being targeted by the triplets. He does not need this tonight. I will tell him tomorrow, after Bishop comes home.” Knight swallowed against rising bile. “I promise.”

“I’m holding you to it.”

“I wouldn’t expect anything less from you.”

“Look, if you need anything? Someone to talk to, scream at, punch? You know where to find me.”

Knight’s lips twitched, wanting to smile. “Punch, huh? Don’t make offers you won’t keep.”

“Just avoid hitting me in the face, okay? Brynn would probably prefer no more scars.”

“I make no promises.” The flash of anxiety from Rook made Knight amend his statement. “About punching you. Not the other thing.”

“Good. Try to sleep tonight, okay?”

He hadn’t slept more than three hours a night for the last two weeks. “I’ll try.”

Rook took the chess piece with him when he left, abandoning Knight to one concise, clear thought that kept flashing through his mind in neon lights.

I’m going to be a father.

Pretending to spend the night fixing up a house he never intended to use as a hideout for his brother was somewhat idiotic to Bishop, but it kept his mind off other things. Such as the intriguing, appealing, very much out-of-his-grasp woman sleeping in one of the bedrooms. They were hours past midnight, and his promise of no sex was over, but respect kept him from crossing that line again. Respect for his father and Alpha, who’d sent them here to do a job. Respect for the positions within their runs that both he and Jillian would inherit one day.

No sense in indulging an attraction that wouldn’t last beyond this siege with the triplets, no matter what his beast had to say about it.

He and Jillian had agreed to take shifts in blocks of four hours, so someone was always awake and on the lookout. His second shift was inching into sunrise, so he put a pot of water on the stove to boil. They’d bought coffee and filters the night before, but the house had no coffeepot. He wasn’t about to tar his insides with gas station coffee, so he got creative.

Jillian entered the kitchen, dressed for the day, right as Bishop finished straining his second mug of coffee. He’d punched a lot of small holes in the bottom of a plastic cup, put a filter inside, added the coffee, and then slowly poured the piping hot water over it. Took forever, but they had coffee.

“I didn’t realize you were so imaginative,” Jillian said as she helped herself to one of the mugs.

“I have my moments.” He found the box of sugar and dumped some into his own mug. “Sleep okay?”

She rubbed her eyes, skin paler than normal. “Not much, no. Every little noise seemed to startle me awake.”

“Sorry.”

“It wasn’t really you, Bishop. It’s the situation and being so far from our people that has me on edge.”

Nothing was more important to loup garou than family. She hadn’t seen her own family and town in weeks, and despite being surrounded by her own kind, she was far from home. She had to be lonely. “I’m sorry this is keeping you away from Springwell.”

A soft smile ghosted across her lips. “Thank you. I do miss home. Especially the market.”

“I’ve never been to Springwell before. What’s your market like?”

“It’s the hub of our lives, like the auction house is yours. We cater to a large number of humans on a daily basis, but we’re very careful. My father had hoped to retire as the general manager, but . . .” A pained look creased her brow.

“Your husband was killed.”

“Yes.”

He clasped her hand, hating the sadness in her eyes, and she curled her fingers around his palm. “I’m sorry. I’m also sorry for throwing his death in your face a few weeks ago. It was needlessly cruel.”

“You were trying to push me away. I understand that now.”

“Doesn’t excuse me being an asshole.”

“No, it doesn’t, so don’t do it again, or I will hit you.”

Bishop smiled. “I believe you.” His phone rang. Precisely at seven, as his father said. “Good morning.”

“Morning, son,” Father said. “A quiet night, I assume?”

“Very quiet. I think we chose a good house.”

“Excellent. Why don’t you secure the place, and then head home?”

“All right. We can be on the road within the hour.”

“See you soon.”

Jillian was already cleaning up the kitchen when Bishop hung up. “So this little charade is almost over?” she asked.

“Yes.”

She reached past him to put the sugar into a cupboard. Her arm brushed his shoulder, the lightest of touches. His beast stirred, aware of her proximity. Awakened by the need to claim her as his. To mark her so no other loup dared to try and take what was his. Jillian paused, as if aware of his thoughts. Her gaze wandered lazily toward him.

A chiming phone startled her away, the spell broken. She plucked her cell out of the back pocket of her jeans and walked to the other side of the kitchen. “Dad?”

Bishop gulped his steaming coffee, ignoring the burn in favor of washing the mug and hitting the road as soon as possible.

“Hello? Dad, are you there?” Jillian stared at her phone a moment. “That was weird.”

“No one there?”

“No. It sounded like a butt dial, but he’s never done that before.”

“Maybe he fell asleep with his phone and rolled over on it.”

“Maybe.” She hit redial. “Straight to voice mail.”

“Come on. Let’s pack up and hit the road. We can call him again in a little while.”

She nodded as she wandered out of the kitchen, tension radiating off her. The call was unusual, and probably not alarming in normal circumstances. However, their lives were far from normal these last few weeks. Bishop sent a text about it to his father, asking him to try calling Alpha Reynolds. Father texted back that he’d take care of it.

They had the house locked down and the Explorer packed up in ten minutes, and then they were speeding back toward Cornerstone.

***

Jillian called two more times during the hour-long drive, her anxiety compounding with each passing mile. Dad had never been out of contact for such a long period of time. The landline at the house rang and rang. His cell stayed off, every call going to voice mail. Her texts went unanswered.

As a last resort, she called the market. They didn’t open until nine a.m., but Nina and Sarah Flowers went in as early as five to get the baked goods finished on time.

No one answered.

“Something’s wrong.” The auction house came into view, and she almost demanded Bishop turn around and head for Delaware. She called her neighbors. Nothing.

Bishop drove them straight to the Alpha’s house. McQueen, Rook, and Mason met them on the sidewalk, all three tense.

“We’ve been unable to make contact with anyone in Springwell,” McQueen said.

Jillian’s stomach plummeted even as her beast reared up in anger. “Neither have I.”

“I have some of my enforcers scrambling. If we don’t hear from Alpha Reynolds within the next—”

Her phone chimed. She nearly dropped the damned thing when she saw Dad on the screen. “Dad? What’s going on?”

The feminine laughter on the other end of the line sent bolts of white-hot fury through her gut. Jillian turned the call to speaker. Rook snarled.

“Who is this?” Jillian asked.

“Desiree. Who’s this?”

“Where’s my father?”

“Hanging out. We’ve having a good time. You wanna join us?” She hung up.

Alpha McQueen swore. “Jillian, Bishop, Mason, and I are leaving for Springwell right away. Rook, leave a skeleton team of enforcers here to protect the town, then get every other able-bodied fighter ready to follow us. Quick as you can. We’re already out of time.”

“Yes, sir.” Rook didn’t wait for additional orders. He ran toward the heart of town, already on his phone.

“What’s going on?” Knight strode down the path toward the sidewalk, Winston on his heels.

“Springwell is the latest target,” McQueen said. “We’re taking people down to help.”

“I want—”

“No. You are not to leave this house until we get back, is that understood?”

Anger and frustration tickled at Jillian’s senses—backwash from the upset White Wolf in their midst. Knight was living a special kind of hell as an unwilling target who wanted to fight back, rather than allow himself to be protected. Loup garou did not do helpless, not even the most sensitive of their kind.

“You need every able-bodied loup out there,” Knight said. Arguing with an Alpha’s order.

“This is not a discussion, son.”

In a move that left Jillian’s mouth agape, McQueen slipped behind Knight, looped his arms around his neck, and put his own son into an actual sleeper hold. Knight struggled only a moment before pressure on his carotid forced him into passing out. McQueen lowered him to the ground, his face stony.

“Winston, put him into the quarterly cage. He can hate me if he likes, but he’s staying there until we return.”

“Yes, sir.” With McQueen’s help, Winston got Knight’s limp body over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry.

A flash of strawberry blond hair caught Jillian’s attention—right where the house’s front door was swinging shut. Shay had seen the whole thing. Jillian had no time to comfort the girl. Brynn would have to do that. Their quartet commandeered the Explorer, which was thankfully already stocked with weapons.

The best weapon a loup garou had was his or her beast form, but they were heading into an unknown situation. Didn’t hurt to have bullets on hand.

Mason drove, with McQueen riding shotgun, which put Bishop in the backseat with her. She kept her clenched hands between her thighs so she didn’t reach out to Bishop. Reach for comfort and assurances that everything would be okay. That she wasn’t arriving too late to save her people from this latest attack.

Instead she sat and seethed, distracting herself with the many, many painful ways she wanted to kill Desiree and her sisters for all of the carnage they’d left in their wake.

***

They passed the market first, on their way down the narrow paved road into Springwell. It sat dark, its parking lot empty, no sign of life in what was otherwise an active location. The sight made Jillian’s insides seize. The main road ran for two miles into a thickly wooded area in the heart of the forest where their ancestors had settled generations ago. Building a small town among the trees, allowing nature to provide them with safety.

All the tall lumber and thick leaves did was reinforce Jillian’s sense of dread. She and Mason had already shifted, and they rode with their heads out the window, scenting the wind. Jillian took in the distant, familiar scent of her people—as well as the tang of blood and unknown hostiles. Snarls and screams found her ears.

McQueen rounded a copse of trees that stood sentinel next to a “Private Property” sign, and the battleground came into view.

The road turned into Main Street, which would take them to the town’s center and the big park. The body of a gray beast lay in the middle of the road, his coat matted with blood. Mason launched himself through the window. Bishop handed McQueen two handguns and ammunition clips. He took a shotgun and shells for himself.

Jillian didn’t wait for them. She followed Mason, taking a moment to sniff the gray beast. Unknown male. She snarled at the body, hoping to communicate that to Bishop and McQueen. And then she ran.

She ran past a handful of bodies, some shifted, some not. No one alive for her to help or fight so she ignored them. Instinct drove her toward the center of town. Toward the Alpha’s home. Toward her father and the woman holding him.

A cluster of brawling beasts drew her attention to the front yard of the Campbell home. Two grays and four black. She scented them, found a black stranger, and launched at his throat. Blood filled her mouth, fueling her anger and need for vengeance. She clamped down and ripped, destroying the stranger’s windpipe. He staggered away and collapsed.

Gunshots behind her startled her. A local gray whined and fell, her hip flowing with blood. Jillian spun and raced toward the man in the red shirt aiming a shotgun at them. He lowered the barrel, at her face, but Jillian was faster. She lunged upward, knocking the man onto his ass. The shot went into the air. She ripped his throat out with little effort and left the man behind to die.

She had to find her Alpha.

***

The muddled scents all over town confused Bishop as he and his father plunged into the midst of the strangest battle he’d ever seen. Small skirmishes in backyards, front yards, and the street between skins and beasts. He smelled half-breeds and nonlocal loup, too, along with the muddled rotten orange stink of the triplets.

A black beast rushed them. Bishop raised his shotgun. The beast paused, nose working. She yipped at him, recognizing a friendly, then dashed off to find someone to kill. Two gunshots rang out a block over.

The pavement exploded by Father’s feet, and he jumped back. Bishop followed the source of the shot to a porch three houses down. “We’re here to help!”

“Prove it,” someone yelled back.

“I’m Thomas McQueen, the Alpha of Cornerstone, friendly with Joe Reynolds,” Father hollered.

The elderly man came down off his porch to meet them. His face was covered in scratches, his shirt collar stained in blood. “They’ve been coming at us since before dawn. Dunno who they are, but some are loup, some half-breeds. Don’t know why.”

“What about black-haired women who move extremely fast? They’d look like teenagers.”

“Saw one not long ago running by, laughing like a lunatic. Too damned fast for me to shoot.”

The triplets had never used other loup to do their dirty work—no, scratch that. Fiona had made a deal with Alpha Geary. The triplets had either recruited their own army of pawns to throw into battle, or they were threatening them unless they helped. Neither scenario made Bishop any less desperate to kill in order to protect this town. They were loup garou brothers. They were Jillian’s family.

“Have you seen Alpha Reynolds at all?” Bishop asked.

“No, not today. He lives on the other side of the square from here. Square sounds to be where most of the fighting is.”

“We have more enforcers on their way,” Father said. “Stay put and stay safe until they get here, all right?”

“Yes, sir,” the man said.

They left him behind and ran toward the square, which turned out to be a large wooded park about the size of a football field. And it was a scene of uncontained chaos. Skins and loup and dead bodies. Blood and sweat and tears. Screams and snaps and growls. Bishop’s own beast roared in anger, demanding he be let out.

Father yanked out his cell. “Rook, have as many shifted as possible when you get here. Drive straight into the center of town. There’s an open park.” He cut off the call.

Jillian darted across the street to his left. He’d only seen her beast form a handful of times, but he knew her. He didn’t know the gray on a collision course with her, jaws open to snap down on her hindquarters. Bishop raised, steadied, aimed at the gray’s chest, and fired. The gray yelped and dropped. Jillian was lost to him in the fray.

“Watch my back, son,” Father said. He handed over his guns, then disappeared behind a hedge. Bishop crouched low and watched, guarding them both while Father shifted. He grunted and groaned with the agony of a speedy shift.