Taken by Moonlight (43 page)

Raoul’s
smile widened and his beta had opened his lips when Conall decided enough was
enough. If they continued, they’d fight, and that wasn’t why he was here. Santiago had called and told him to stop by Casa today. Granted, he was late—things at
Fangs needed to be settled first—but he was here now.

“Enough.”
It wasn’t quite a snarl, but it was close. Santiago glared at Conall, but fell
back into the lounge seat. “Why’d you call us?”

“Because I
always like to be two steps ahead of a potential enemy,” Santiago answered
cryptically, and for a moment, Conall wondered if he was referring to him. He
wasn’t. “Sit down, Conall. Bitch-boy. You’re cramping my neck.” He whipped his
head around and glared at Drako’s back. “And what the fuck is so great about
the view of the alleyway, Drako? See a new species of cat or some shit you want
to share?”

The other
alpha didn’t dignify that with a response, and Raoul snorted. Santiago glared
at him. On some occasions the two got along, but most of the time, it was like
this.

“Who’s the
potential enemy?” Dominic asked, easily reassembling his gun. Conall didn’t
have to check to know that the bullets in the thing were silver, not lead.

“Who else
but Conall’s new in-law,” Santiago retorted blandly.

“Are you
referring to Maximilian Cronin?” Drako asked, from the window, in a bored tone.

“No shit,
Sherlock,” Santiago retorted. “Cronin recently hosted the mother of all witch
meetings at his place. About twenty or so of the most powerful grand wizards in
America and Europe.”

“Europe?” Drako repeated, and Santiago pushed himself off of his seat and whipped his body
around to see the man.

“Yes, Europe. London, Paris, Istanbul, Dublin—they were all there. It was a regular United
Nations for witches.”

What the
hell is that bastard planning now?
Nothing good could come of Maximilian Cronin hosting an international meeting
of grand wizards in his own home.

“When was
this?”

“Last night.”
Santiago’s dark gaze locked on Conall, and the playful façade disappeared. “I
brought us together to hear what you had to say about it.”

“What I
have to say—?” Conall repeated, dumbfounded.

Santiago
leaned forward, his lip curling up
into a wolfish smile. “Cronin called a council meeting to petition for kinship
over your mate and her twin. Next thing we know, Cronin’s calling in grand
wizards from all over the world like it’s an international holiday and he’s on
some love the world, love the witches bullshit, which we know that selfish
fucker isn’t, so, I figure either Cronin’s suddenly become interested in being
the next Mother Teresa-Michael Jackson, or you’re not telling us something.” He
braced back against the seat, eyes never leaving Conall’s face. “Now might be
that time to take a seat.” He briefly switched his gaze to Raoul, who’d lost
his smile, and was glaring down at him. “You too, bitch-boy.”

Conall
continued as he was, his legs braced apart, hands in the pockets of his leather
jacket.

“My mate is
not a witch,” he said after thorough consideration. The
weres
in the
room were his comrades, and if Cronin was gathering armies, as Conall was
beginning to suspect, he would need them, too.

When there
was no smart retort from Santiago, he continued, “Vivienne is a druid. So is
her sister.”

“There are
no druids. The witches made sure of that centuries ago,” Drako chimed in from
the window.

“Yes,”
Conall agreed, not particularly feeling like getting into the details at the
moment. “They are the only druids currently alive.”

“And Cronin
wants them why? To kill them? Banish them?” Dominic asked. His gun was now one
compact piece of metal, and still very visible. Conall briefly wondered if
Dominic was trying to intimidate anyone in the room, before deciding against
the notion. It was likely boredom. Every
were
had weapons on his person.
Among the five of them, he could count at least twenty weapons in the room,
most belonging to Santiago, as this was his place.

“No,”
Conall replied. They were going to find the truth out anyway. “Cronin wants to
resurrect the druids.”

“
Madre de Dios
!” Santiago swore, reverting to the language he only used when
stupefied. “What kind of death-wishing asshole would do that?”

“According
to Conall, Maximilian Cronin,” Drako answered, walking over to them. He
surveyed the four men, and then said in crisp, even tones, “So, what we have
here, gentlemen, is a dilemma. We have one grand wizard who’s getting ready for
a war, two druids who can be used to instigate it—”

“What you
mean instigate it?” Santiago cut in.

“Why would
a witch want to resurrect the druids?”

“Didn’t
anybody ever tell you not to answer a question with a ques—”

“Immortality,”
Conall cut in, stating what should be obvious.

Drako’s
gaze whipped to him. Conall flashed a cold smile that barely lifted his lips.

“What’s the
point of immortality without absolute power?” Drako retorted with one brow
raised.

“Immortality
and power,” Dominic agreed.

“And to
achieve that type of power, Maximilian will have to get rid of anything
remotely powerful standing in his way.”

“Like us.” Santiago was beginning to understand. He shook his head and looked to Conall who was
scowling in dislike for the grand wizard. “Us and everything that threatens
him.”

“The last
time the druids walked the earth, no one was safe. That kind of power isn’t
meant to exist outside of the Gods,” Dominic murmured, running a hand over his
eyes as if trying to banish a haunted image. “Their targets might have been the
witches, but they killed anything in their paths to get to them. My pack was
almost annihilated.”

“So, how do
you propose we stop him?” Drako asked after the silence had stretched to long
seconds.

“I say we
kill him,” Santiago immediately replied. “I can trail him for a few days, see
what his habits are, where his weaknesses lie, and then my pack and I can swarm
in and take him out.”

Drako
released an exasperated sigh. “And then the Council will be broken, and chaos
will come back.”

“You got a
better idea, Sherlock?”

He nodded
once. “Lie low. Keep the girls safe.”

Santiago
whistled before pushing himself
from the chair. Before he could speak, Drako continued, “Let Maximilian make
the first move. Once that’s done, Santiago can kill him.”

“No.” The
growl came from Conall. Four pairs of eyes and more than a few raised brows
turned to him. Conall stared directly at Santiago. “Cronin is mine. No one will
kill him but me. Understood?”

Santiago
blustered, dark eyes flashing
yellow. “You’re not among your pack, Athelwulf, and I don’t respond to orders.
I already called first dibs.”

Raoul
smirked. “Conall’s going to kill him, Santiago. You can choose to be alive to
witness it or I can visit your grave and tell you all about it after Conall
kills you.”

Santiago
growled at Raoul and took a threatening
step forward. Raoul’s grin only widened as he crossed his arms over his chest.

“Whoever
kills him, kills him.” Drako looked to his watch. “I have an appointment in
fifteen minutes. Keep me updated on the situation.” His eyes swept over them.
“Gentlemen.” And then he left.

“What color
pelt does your brother have?” Santiago asked Dominic as the door to the bar
closed behind Drako.

“Silver and
white. Why?”

“I’ve never
had a silver pelt on my wall….” Santiago let his voice trail off, his eyes
narrowing as he stared at the door through which Drako had retreated.

“You
never
will,” Dominic answered blandly, but there was a slight edge to his voice. He
palmed his Glock and holstered it, standing as he did so. Santiago lifted a
dark brow. “Not my brother’s.”

After
leaving Casa del Lobo, Conall and Raoul made an impromptu visit to Cedar Creek
Companies to take care of business before heading home. Dusk had just fallen by
the time he parked the SUV in front of his house, and Conall was already
anticipating a night buried in Vivienne. He scented her out, pinpointing her
location in the upstairs bathroom, and was making his way there when Sloan
intercepted him.

Conall
remembered he’d yet to have that conversation with his beta, the conversation
where he made sure Sloan understood there would be serious repercussions for
touching his mate. He took a quick step in Sloan’s direction, and the
were
held
up both hands, shaking his head as he did so.

“I know. I
apologized to Vivienne yesterday. It won’t happen again,” Sloan told him,
dipping his head. Conall’s narrowed his eyes on his old friend, and Sloan
continued, “It wasn’t my intention to cause her any pain. I was only looking
out for her safety.”

Over the
course of the centuries he’d known Sloan, Conall had only wanted to flay him
alive twice. The first time had been when he’d thought Sloan had sided with an
enemy pack in the wilds of Europe, and the second was now. Other than that, his
beta had always been loyal, almost to a fault, and reliable.

“Don’t let
it happen again,” Conall retorted, spinning and placing one foot on the
staircase. In addition to Vivienne’s peachy scent, he could also smell vanilla
body wash she was applying to her skin. His wolf almost purred.

“Brennus is
in the study waiting for you. He says it’s urgent, and he won’t leave until he
sees you.”

Conall
barely resisted the urge to groan as his wolf whined. He grudgingly removed the
foot from the staircase and looked in the direction of the study.

“Is he
alone?”

Sloan
nodded. “Yes.”

Gritting
his teeth, Conall strode in the direction. If Brennus was visiting him, then
the Elder obviously wanted to talk about his daughter. Conall frowned. This was
getting ridiculous. He’d thought that by now, Samia would have done what the
other contenders for alpha bitch had done, and bowed out. Maybe he’d have to
pay her a little visit tomorrow.

“Brennus,
to what do I owe this…
pleasure
?” Conall asked as soon as he stepped into
the large room. He didn’t bother taking a seat, and instead braced his body against
the door.

The Elder
sat on one of the plush sofas, reading what appeared to an old scroll. He
rolled it up, and placed it in his lap. “I think you know, Conall. Your
female
has drawn my daughter’s blood twice, and still you refuse to grant Samia the
blood rite she deserves. It is absolute discrimination, and as our alpha, you
are to be impartial, not biased.”

He lifted a
brow. He’d heard Samia’s case for a blood rite yesterday and had dismissed it
on the grounds the fight had been instigated. That should have been the final
word.

“My family
has been with this pack for decades, Conall.” Irritation lined every crease in
his face. “We have served this pack always. My daughter was wronged, and on her
behalf, I demand justice.”

“And that
justice would be in the form of a blood rite?”

Brennus
nodded.

“No.”

The older
man pushed himself out of the chair and grabbed his scroll. “A blood rite
doesn’t have to be approved by an alpha. It can be approved by the pack, too.”
Conall tensed, feeling his wolf grow more restless. “I will put a vote to the
pack, and let them decide.”

Brennus
walked in the direction of the door but Conall refused to move. “As your alpha,
I’ve already declined your request, Brennus. If you take this to the pack, I
will assume you are questioning my right to rule.”

“I am, and
if I were younger, I would challenge you.” Brennus slid a hand over his white
hair. “You’ve endangered this pack by bringing a druid here, and now you’re
breaking ancient rules on her behalf. It’s a wonder she’s your mate. Most of
the pack thinks she’s put a spell on you, and for your sake, I hope to Luna
it’s true.”

Conall
closed the gap between them quickly. “If you love your daughter, you’ll tell
her to stay away from my mate.” He clenched his fists to leash the rage running
through his body. If Brennus put a vote to the pack, they would approve a blood
rite.
Weres
were part human, but their animal won out on most occasions.

“Are you
threatening us?” Brennus demanded indignantly.

“It isn’t a
threat, Brennus. It’s a warning.” He stepped around the Elder and made his way
over to his desk.

“You won’t
be alpha forever!” Brennus snarled angrily, which in turn propelled Conall
around.

“No, but
until such a time as you decide to challenge me, you would do good to remember
that I
am
your alpha!” With effort, he restrained from shifting and
launching himself at the man, and instead jabbed his head in the direction of
the door.