Kindred Truths

by M. D. Grimm

  Bronach’s breath hitched, and she covered her mouth, visibly struggling for control.

  “Oh, Byron,” she whispered.

  “I’ll take care of him.” It was a statement of fact rather than a promise.

  “I know. I believe you’re the only one who can.”

  Nordik gently touched her shoulder before following Poe to their room. He was silent as he entered and set the scroll on top of the dresser. The only sound was Poe’s typing, though he seemed to struggle with the cast. Nordik sat on the bed, memorizing his beautiful face. His strength was truly scary and admirable.

  Betrayal was not something anyone could easily forget or forgive.

  There were a few moments where Poe’s breath would hitch or his hands would tremble. He’d only close his eyes, clench his teeth, and continue typing. It took time. The sun was high in the sky by the time Poe hit Save and leaned back in his chair, pinching the bridge of his nose.

  Nordik still didn’t speak. He waited.

  Finally Poe’s shoulders began to shake. His breath began to jerk, and he leaned forward, body trembling. Nordik slid down to the floor and gathered Poe into his arms. It was a testament to their bond that Poe didn’t fight or resist. He fell into Nordik and clutched him, sobbing his heart out. It relieved Nordik just as it worried him. Relief that Poe felt comfortable enough to show so much emotion, but worried Poe would truly break and not be the same man he used to be. But whatever happened, Nordik would never leave him.

  He hadn’t left Timothy, his former mate who had been kidnapped by Arcas and Diana. Though the man was a shadow of his former self, Nordik had cared for him until he passed away. He would do no less for his soul mate.

  Nordik rocked them both, stroking Poe’s back, kissing his head.

  It took some time, but Poe finally stilled and his breathing regained its normal rhythm. He took deep breaths, turning his face from where he’d hidden it against Nordik’s chest. Nordik continued to rock them.

  Poe said something, though it was low and hoarse.

  “Pardon?”

  Poe cleared his throat and swallowed. “Nothing is safe anymore.”

  “Byron.”

  Poe shook his head. “Don’t. Just don’t. The world is infected with hate, and the only way to stop it, at least the main portion of it, is to cut it off at the source.”

  “Arcas,” Nordik said on a growl.

  Poe lifted his face, hard blue eyes red-rimmed and puffy. But Nordik saw the man he loved, and it was a joy to know Poe wasn’t broken. He saw the warrior staring back at him.

  “We’re going to stop him, Nordik. Nothing else is acceptable. He can’t win. He can’t.”

  Nordik cupped his cheek. “No, mate. He can’t.”

  Poe leaned into the touch, but his hard expression never softened. “Sean and the others were just puppets, Nordik. Who was the puppet master? Who was the general giving the orders?”

  “They will tell us.”

  “Only if Odin gets his hands on them. Sister Islands will want priority.”

  Nordik raised his eyebrows. “You want Odin to have them?”

  “The fuck I do!” Poe tried to push away, but Nordik held him firmly.

  “Easy. Easy, mate.”

  The fight seemed to melt out of him, and he slumped against Nordik, expression grim.

  A long moment of silence passed before Poe whispered, “How many will he infect before he’s taken out? How many lives will he destroy? Some wounds can never heal.”

  Nordik held Poe even tighter and, having no answers, continued to rock them both.

  POE DIDN’T tell either Agency about the scroll. In fact, he left that entire bit out. He only mentioned that a few of the nuns were shifters and Sean and five others had tried to kill them. It was near enough to the truth. Poe knew, after sensing the scroll, after seeing it with his own eyes, it should stay with Abby. He’d spoken with Agent Jin some time ago, and in confidence, Jin told him before the scroll was stolen by knights, he and Agent Pan had agreed to let the bird shifters keep guardianship over it.

  Poe had plans to do the same thing. Arcas knew too much about the Agency. He’d find it if it was in the Agency’s possession. It was better with an unknown bird shifter, one who could slip into anonymity and disappear into the world. She and those before her had managed to keep it hidden for centuries, after all.

  But how Sean and his buddies had found out about her and the scroll was anyone’s guess. And the Sister Islands Agency was being rather territorial and wouldn’t extradite any of the six to the US. That meant Odin couldn’t get his hands on any of them to make them talk. The Sister Islands Agency apparently didn’t approve of such treatment. Poe didn’t either, really, but sometimes you had to get your hands bloody for the greater good. This was war, after all. Like he’d told Hunter months ago, you couldn’t leave the battlefield as clean as you entered. They all had blood on their hands.

  As soon as Abby was released from the hospital, she requested a transfer to another convent in another country. She didn’t even tell Poe where, and Poe didn’t ask. The less he knew, the better. Especially since they had no idea who the puppet master was or how many other uncaptured knights might be in the area. Poe said goodbye to her right before she got into a taxi, the scroll safely stowed in her bag. She would go with the other nuns to a temporary place before leaving permanently. It was a calculated risk to let her go without protection, but Poe suspected she knew how to stay off the grid when she needed to and also suspected she wasn’t going to the church she had requested the transfer to. If he were in her shoes, he’d set a trail for others to follow, then divert and change identities.

  Despite the Sister Islands Agency’s lack of cooperation, Captain Odin flew out to try to negotiate. They met on a lonely stretch of road with sheep their only witnesses. Poe leaned against Odin’s rental car, furious but silent as they were blocked again and again.

  “Yes, I know Ireland is your territory,” Odin said for perhaps the hundredth time. “But it was my agent who uncovered this conspiracy. If we don’t find out who was giving the orders to the soldiers, his family is still at risk. Give me at least Sean. We suspect he’s the leader of the group and would probably be the one to directly receive the orders.”

  “As I have already told you,” Brighid, the representative for the Sister Islands Agency, said, “we have increased patrols in Galway and the surrounding area. We have Agent Poe’s family on a watch list, and they will be protected. Covert operations are in place for such situations. We have this handled, Captain.”

  “Honestly, Captain, no, you don’t. Time is of the essence, and the more time you spend on covert ops and waiting for something to happen, more of the same will happen. Ten minutes alone with Sean is all I ask. We can get answers now.”

  Captain Brighid’s narrow face turned to stone, and her voice stiffened, her Irish accent biting. “Remember where you are. You are not in the States. On this side of the pond, we don’t condone your methods.”

  “As you shouldn’t,” Odin said. “But before you turn your nose up at what I do, know that much of the Agency’s—all the Agency’s—intel is the direct result of my methods. Don’t think your hands are any less bloody than mine.”

  Her expression never changed, but Poe sensed Odin had made her very uncomfortable.

  “This conversation is over. If you insist on pursuing extradition, you’ll need to go through proper channels.”

  “Rest assured, I will.”

  “Safe journey, Captain,” she said before she turned on her heel and returned to her car.

  “And to you,” he said with more grace than Poe could have managed.

  She pulled onto the dirt road and drove off. Only when she was out of sight did Odin turn and join Poe. Odin stepped in front of him, and their gazes met.

  “I’ll go through the proper channels, but….”

  “Yeah,” Poe said softly, exhaustion dulling even the sharpest edge of his anger. “Not a lot of hope on this
one.”

  Odin crossed his arms over his chest and looked out over the rolling hills. “Charming place. Try as I might, I can’t picture you here. Granted, I can’t picture you as a kid either.”

  Poe snorted. “Yeah, well, same goes.”

  They were silent for a moment before Odin spoke. “They seem to think I like torturing.”

  Poe raised his eyes and frowned at Odin. “I know you don’t.”

  “You’re one of the only ones.”

  “Mac knows you don’t.”

  As always, Odin smiled at the mention of his personal aide. Poe reached out and gripped Odin’s arm.

  “Odin, I just want my family protected. And it sounds like they are. I’ll take it.”

  Odin eyed him. “I glanced over your report, Poe. You left something off, didn’t you? You’re detailed to the point of obsessive, so I was surprised to see some vagueness at certain points.”

  Poe looked away. “I don’t know what you mean.”

  “Poe.” His tone was gentle and slightly chiding.

  Poe winced and sighed heavily. “Yeah, okay. There was a scroll involved.”

  Odin grimaced. “Tell me.”

  Poe did, using shorthand terms and phrases they both knew. It was quick and dirty, and Odin nodded at the end of the report.

  “I agree with your decision. It won’t go beyond me.”

  “If I thought it would, I wouldn’t have said anything.”

  Odin smiled at the trust. “Kind words coming from someone whom I forced into vacation.”

  “Well, as it turned out, I didn’t get much of one before duty called.”

  Odin gripped his uninjured shoulder and squeezed in solidarity.

  “Let’s just go,” Poe said and got into the car.

  THE SISTER Islands Agency collected Sean and the others quickly after Carol tried to say goodbye. But Sean turned away from her, leaving her heartbroken. Poe earned a slap, then a hug from Carol. Then she left, weeping and angry. Poe wondered if they’d ever get back what they once had.

  He stayed two weeks in Ireland, but the happy mood was long gone, and it felt like a dark cloud was following him around. Nordik must have felt it too, because he was grouchier than usual. They began to argue frequently, and Poe finally managed to take a long walk alone and ended up on a sheer cliffside looking out over the Atlantic. He kicked at some rocks and watched them fall into the water. The sky was bright and blue, the wind crisp and fresh, and his mood was as low as the bottom of the ocean.

  His arm remained in the cast, but he knew once he returned to the US, Lila would finish the healing process. In a few weeks, perhaps, he’d be on another mission.

  But he still had no answers to his current surprise mission. Two of the teens captured along with Sean had committed suicide. One was talking but didn’t know much. Poe suspected, as Odin did, that Sean was the ringleader, taking direct orders from the puppet master. In all honesty Poe was waiting to hear he had committed suicide as well.

  Poe suddenly heard heavy breathing behind him and turned around sharply. He blinked in surprise.

  “Da?”

  Thorgold huffed a little as he came to stand next to Poe. “Damn, laddie, you got longer legs than I do. Must take after your mother.”

  Poe raised an eyebrow. Since both his parents were significantly under six feet, longer legs were relative. Poe stood at exactly five feet while his father was around four ten. He looked back to the ocean, wishing he were alone.

  “You go back to the States tomorrow,” Thorgold said.

  “Aye.”

  “You gonna take that black mood with ya too?”

  Poe scowled. “Leave me alone.”

  “What kinda father would I be if I left you alone in this state?” Thorgold shoved Poe roughly, and Poe stumbled in surprise.

  “What the hell, Da?”

  Thorgold’s wrinkled face was reddened from his climbing exertion, and his dark beard fluttered in the breeze. But his bright blue eyes shone with the intelligence and stubbornness he’d given his son.

  “Yer no good to the Agency with this piss-poor attitude. Maybe you should stay until you shake out of it.”

  “There’s no ‘shaking out of it.’ What the hell’s wrong with you? Sean—”

  “I know bloody well what Sean did. We all do. It’s taken care of. Once you get back on the job, you’ll go after the son of a bitch who corrupted our boy. So why the mood? Ya’ve done all ya can.”

  “It doesn’t feel like enough,” Poe said. “None of it does. All the missions, all the knights captured or killed, all the shifters saved… but it doesn’t feel like enough. We’re not doing enough. We’re playing defense instead of offense, and Arcas holds all the cards. We’re always chasing after him and his minions, or we’re chasing our tails. We can’t win a war doing that.”

  Thorgold listened patiently and stroked his beard, considering Poe’s words.

  “Nay, you can’t win a war chasing yer tails. But ya can’t win one by thinking that way either. Yer doing good, Byron. You and Nordik and the Agency. Yer gaining ground.”

  “The hell we are.” Poe looked at the ocean again and clenched his fists.

  Thorgold regarded him silently for a short time. Then he crossed his arms over his barreled chest and set his stubby legs.

  “What does Arcas want?”

  Poe frowned and glanced at his father. “The annihilation of shifters.”

  “But how is he going about getting what he wants?”

  Poe frowned harder and turned around fully. What the hell was the old man digging for? “Sending his minions out to pick off shifters while he searches for the scrolls.”

  “How does he get his minions ta do what he wants?”

  “Why are you asking me all this?”

  “Humor me.”

  “I’m too tired to humor.” But Poe knew his father had a point he was trying to make. And he wouldn’t stop badgering Poe until he made it.

  “He encourages them through the promise of rewards. Um… he tries to depict shifters as monsters and abominations. He says they’re like a disease or something. A virus that can only be cured by a cleansing. Nonsense like that. But his voice has power. A supernatural power. He has power over them, more than the average zealot would, because of it.”

  “And how many of his minions have you put away?”

  Poe thought back. He tried to count them but couldn’t be sure of the number. “Well… I’d say it was somewhere in the hundreds. Maybe two. I’ve been doing this for a while, Da.”

  “And how many have yer fellow agents taken down?”

  Poe stared at him.

  Thorgold smirked, his beard twitching. “Just wantin’ to put it into perspective for ya. Now ya got shifter allies keeping an eye on things when ya can’t.” He nodded. “Aye, seems to me it be Arcas who’s scrambling for a foothold. He lost his empire when you invaded, and now all he has is dregs that merely act as pawns, distractions. But he doesn’t have any real leaders keeping things together.”

  “He has Gregor. And the general who was ordering Sean. The puppet master.”

  Thorgold shrugged. “Two.”

  As surprising as it seemed, Poe started feeling a lot better. His father’s practical tone and nonchalance at the entire thing loosened the tension in Poe’s shoulders that had been there for several days.

  “Arcas is hardly desperate,” Poe said, smiling. “And he still commands hundreds, maybe even thousands globally. It wouldn’t do for us to underestimate him.”

  “Nay. But he shouldn’t underestimate you.” Thorgold gripped Poe’s shoulder and smiled. “It isn’t just your courage and strength he should be afraid of, but your capacity for love and compassion. Acceptance. Respect. Those are the things that build something that lasts. That endures. That gives people hope.”

  Poe covered his father’s burnished hand with his own. “Thanks, Da.”

  “I’m proud of you, Agent Poe.” Thorgold’s eyes shone under the bright sun. “Pro
ud.”

  Poe’s heart tripped a beat before swelling. He wouldn’t have been surprised if it burst out of his chest. His father had never called him by his Agency name, not in all the years he’d been with them. To hear it, to see the truth in his eyes, caught Poe off guard, and his eyes filled.

  “Shit.” He turned away to wipe his eyes.

  Thorgold chuckled before gripping the back of Poe’s head and bending it forward so he could lay a kiss on Poe’s forehead. His father wasn’t one for such gestures, so on the rare occasion they happened, Poe felt them all the more deeply.

  Thorgold stepped back, and his voice returned to its usual gruffness. “Make sure yer back in time for supper, or I’ll tan your hide.”

  Poe grinned. “Okay, sir.”

  Thorgold grumbled before turning and making his way back home. Poe watched him go, lighter in the heart and clearer in the head. He couldn’t say what exactly about the conversation gave him the relief and healing he needed. Perhaps it was the entire thing. Perhaps he just needed his father to slap him upside the head to get him back in the game.

  He continued to stand there until Nordik joined him. They stood next to each other in silence before Poe stepped closer and grabbed Nordik’s arm, slipping it over his own shoulders. Nordik grunted in apparent surprise and hugged Poe to his side.

  “My da talked to me.”

  “Yes. He told me he did. Then he said I should join you.”

  Who knew his father was a romantic? Well, he’d have to be to win Poe’s mother.

  “I want to go back, Nordik. I want to go back and fight.”

  Their eyes met, and Nordik must have seen the change in him because he smiled, his eyes warming.

  “There you are,” he whispered.

  They kissed as the sun rose high above them, shining down like a visible beacon of hope.

  Epilogue

  “STELLA REPORTS the mission was a failure but not a complete waste,” Gregor said. “We know who holds the scroll, and she’ll track the nun’s movements. But I told her to be cautious since the Sister Islands Agency has now increased its patrols in Ireland. And since six of our foot soldiers were captured. She assures me of their loyalty, but we can never be too careful. She’ll leave her post and be replaced by someone the soldiers didn’t know about so they can’t undermine any future missions. Stella overheard that the nun plans to leave Ireland. She’ll learn where the nun plans to land and nip the scroll then. You will soon have three.”