Men of the Otherworld (32 page)

When we returned to the Sorrentino estate a little louder and more boisterous than we'd left, Jeremy met us in the garage and warned us to tone it down. Dominic's headache was worse. Jeremy was obviously worried, but Dominic only brushed off his suggestion to visit the doctor and popped some aspirin.

So we bustled off to bed. I slept in Nick's room, and Joey slept in one of the guest rooms with his father. Nick and I stayed up for a while, talking, but drifted off shortly before two.

At three-thirty I awoke to Jeremy shaking me. One look at his face, and I leapt up.

“What's—?” I began.

“Dominic,” he said, handing me my clothing from the floor. “He passed out and I can't wake him. We need to get him to the doctor, fast. Are you okay to drive?”

“Sure,” I said, and grabbed the clothes.

I drove Dominic to the hospital so fast that if I'd been pulled over, I'm sure I would have lost my license.

He'd had a stroke. Things like this are less common among werewolves—maybe because of our different physiology and maybe because of our more active lifestyle—but sometimes it doesn't matter how healthy you are, Mother Nature decides your time is up. And so it was for Dominic.

For the next three days we kept vigil at his bed in the private clinic. I wanted to stay, but Jeremy insisted there was nothing I could do and I shouldn't miss school. I did, however, skip classes that weren't absolutely necessary so I could zip across town to the clinic.

On Tuesday morning, Dominic died, having never regained consciousness. I didn't learn of it until I arrived late that afternoon and found Nick and Jorge beside an empty bed.

Antonio made the arrangements for Dominic's funeral. Or, he did his best, but Jeremy ended up quietly taking over. This is one part of Western death rituals I've never understood, that a person has just died and, within hours, those closest to him must sit in some stranger's office and decide what kind of coffin or
flowers they want. As for the service itself, it was small, as are all Pack funerals. Afterward, we retreated to the Sorrentino estate to grieve.

We'd been back for less than an hour, all gathered in the living room. Each of us was lost in our own thoughts—each except Malcolm, who knew exactly where he was heading and wasn't waiting another minute to get there.

“We need an Alpha,” he said. “Word gets out that Dominic died without a successor and we're in trouble. Every mutt in the country will think something's wrong with the Pack.”

“We just put my father in the ground,” Antonio said, lifting his head from his hands. “You can wait another goddamned—”

“No,” Jorge said softly. “He's right. We need to get this over with.”

“I don't mean any offense to your father, Tonio,” Malcolm said. “If it seems that way, then I apologize. I'm just thinking of the Pack. We can get this over with quickly and painlessly, then let everyone get back to mourning a great Alpha. We all know how this works. I'm putting my name forward. If anyone cares to challenge me, we'll step outside right now and settle this.”

“Challenge you to what?” I said. “A duel? You gonna pick swords or pistols?”

Jeremy's lips curved as he recognized his own words from so long ago.

“A fight, Clayton,” Malcolm said. “To the death. That's how it works when an Alpha dies before the Pack chooses an official successor. Now, the only people here who might have a shot at winning that challenge are you and Antonio. Tonio doesn't want it. You'd make a damned fine Alpha… in ten or fifteen years. If that's what you want, I'll pick you as my successor and I'll make sure you win. That's a promise.”

Jeremy cleared his throat. Malcolm turned on him before he could get a word out.

“Don't embarrass yourself, Jeremy. Just keep your damned mouth shut for once.”

“No, I don't believe I can,” Jeremy said. “You said that this is how we choose an Alpha when the previous one dies without a successor, but I must point out that you are mistaken.”

“Bullshit. Go grab the Legacy. The last time an Alpha died without a successor—”

“—was in 1912,” Jeremy said. “And they did indeed choose the next Alpha with a battle. However, there is nothing in the Law to say that's how it
must
be done. If you read the Legacy entry, it quite clearly states that a battle was how both candidates decided to handle the matter. I am putting forward myself as a challenger but, unless I agree to a fight, which I will not, then the matter must be handled in the same way all Pack successions are handled, by a vote.”

“He's right,” Jorge said. “Do you want to check the Legacy?”

“Never mind,” Malcolm said. “He wants a vote, let's give him a vote. All in favor of me—”

“That's not how it's done,” Jeremy said. “We both need to deliver our platforms, let the Pack know our plans for the future—”

“If we don't decide this fast, we won't have a future. The mutts will see to that. Everyone here knows you and they know me, and they both know what kind of leader we'd make.”

“If that's what you want, that's fine by me,” Jeremy said. “We'll vote. But, as the Law says, if any Pack member feels he isn't ready to make a decision, he has two days to consider the options.”

With that, a decade of Alpha campaigning came to a sudden end. The vote was open, as all Pack votes are. As the former
Alpha's closest relative, Antonio led the vote, by casting his vote for Jeremy. Then he turned to Jorge.

“Jeremy,” Jorge said.

Next to Stephen. “Malcolm.”

“Malcolm,” Andrew seconded, before being asked.

“Malcolm,” his father said.

Antonio looked at Peter. “Jeremy.”

On to Ross Werner. Ross cracked his knuckles then, gaze still on his hands, said, “I'm not ready.”

“Oh for God's sake,” Malcolm snarled. “Just pick—”

“He gets his forty-eight hours,” Jeremy said. Then, to Antonio. “Should we continue? Or leave it there?”

“We'll keep going,” Antonio said. “Anyone else wants time to think, just say so.” He turned to me. “Clay? Do I need to ask?”

“No.”

“Jeremy, then. Joey? You're next.”

Joey's lips started to form 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. He'd vote for Jeremy over Malcolm though.

Ross had always been a fence-sitter, the type of guy who never wanted to offend anyone. We could sway him our way, but even
if he picked Malcolm, the final result would be seven to six in Jeremy's favor. All we had to do was wait two days.

After the meeting, Joey and Dennis retreated to the guest house. Although the one-bedroom cabin was for guests, during a Meet everyone liked to stick together, so we all slept in the main house. The guest one was used for humans and, occasionally, for Pack members whom Dominic chose to punish.

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 me from trying to “visit” Joey and sway his father. 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 by either road or a very long path. I took the path. That way, I could tell myself I was just going for a walk and not disobeying Jeremy.

I'd gone no more than a quarter of the distance when a dark figure appeared 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 hours ago.”

“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 are the weak links. Neither of us can stand up to Malcolm in a fight.”

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 good-bye. I know this
willbe
good-bye.” 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.”

“Come back with me. We'll talk to Jeremy. He'll work this out—”

“Clay, no. Please. Let's just shake hands—”

“And let one of my friends leave the Pack and become a mutt? No way. No goddamned way!”

I spun 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, did my brain clear. I 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 good-bye, but I knew that the moment I caught up with him, I'd start arguing again, desperate to find some way to persuade him to stay. Although I could try my best to protect Joey and Dennis, I shouldn't ask them to entrust their lives to a secondhand bodyguard.

I looked down the path.

“Good-bye,” 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? 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 from
childhood? Peter, who owed Jeremy his life and nearly died at the hands of Malcolm? Me? Never. 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.

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't sure 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.