by KH LeMoyne
“Well done,” Deacon added in a low tone at her side as he motioned her to take a seat in the lower stage. “I doubt that will be the last of the tests, so remain alert.”
Not a consoling thought, especially as Deacon made his way back to the alpha section to mingle with his peers.
He was right. Each of them made their way to her.
Every alpha sniffed her. Granted, some were surprisingly gracious. Alarico and Ping bowed their heads, closed their eyes, and waved her scent to their faces. She suspected they possessed more power than the others, with less need to flaunt it. Still, she appreciated their subtlety.
Whitman Sheridan stood feet away and executed an obligatory sniff, but his cold, calculating expression hadn’t changed as he strode back to the alpha gallery. His reaction didn’t comfort her, but she gave him the benefit of the doubt, as he appeared to be one of the few alphas Deacon trusted in the sanctity of his own home. She counted Sheridan as a neutral vote—despite his role as the prosecutor. Callum cautioned her she could sway his vote with a tempered reaction throughout the proceedings. According to him, Sheridan had a reputation for abhorring drama. Especially in females.
Seated and facing everyone else for the duration of evidence presentation and interrogation, she drew her shoulders back, forced a dispassionate expression, and scanned the audience section of the room. A slow trickle of shifters filed down the stairs from the main doorway above and made their way to the audience area.
Grizz remained in the aisle, visible reassurance of protection for the people who feared her and needed a big snarly guard to keep them safe. She recognized some faces, but not many, and surprisingly few of Jacob’s team. Dim lighting suddenly doused the audience section. Shadows spanned from the railing surrounding her to the thick doors at the top of the auditorium. The clear path remained brightly lit.
Not that she was leaving.
Hell no.
She wasn’t giving up, though she distracted herself by allowing Breslin’s essence to surround her in a cushion nothing could permeate. A tidbit of advice she’d learned not from Deacon, but from Lena. She’d imparted the wisdom that love grounded a person, especially an alpha. Her friend, and Rayven did consider Lena one despite their short acquaintance and unusual introduction, refused to allow Rayven to throw away Breslin’s shirt in a brief moment of frustration. She’d even insisted she cut a swatch and keep it hidden on her.
The new mate to one of the world’s most powerful alphas espoused love as the strongest power, although her sentiment implied that loyalty and trust ran a close second. Lena had opened a brief window into her personal life and allowed Rayven an insight into a mating that was based as much on equality as one could achieve between a shifter and a human.
But Rayven wasn’t human. And neither was Breslin. Making their lives much more complicated.
Deacon finished his round of obligatory greetings, fending off questions about his opinions on the tribunal outcome, and made his way to Vendrick’s side.
“Does she have the mettle to hold the territory?” Vendrick’s tone dipped lower than even that of the shifter subvocal ranges, but having spent years in his company, Deacon had no problem understanding.
“She rallies for those under her protection without a second thought. From the intel that’s come in to me, she always has.”
“Reckless with her own well-being, then.”
“A given, though that’s changing.”
Vendrick let out a soft chuckle. “To have seen Breslin’s face when he met her.”
“Whatever took place between them is one for the record books.”
“Strong matches are made of such challenge.”
“You speak as if her exoneration is a done deal.”
“I’ve no doubt it will be a savage contest.” Vendrick’s low growl drew startled looks from some of the people in the audience section, but they averted their eyes as he glanced their way. “I’m counting on you to find a way to steer her clear in the end. You’re an alpha, after all.”
“If she succeeds, it will be due to her own efforts,” Deacon responded, though her progress pleased him. “She doesn’t want her clan to fall. We shouldn’t want that either, since she has greater potential than her father ever did.”
“Quite a boast given she’s from a diluted generation.”
“I’ll overlook that insult given she’s from my generation.” Vendrick merely grunted as Deacon continued. “Do you know yet where this started?”
“I have my suspicions,” Vendrick murmured. Evidently, he wasn’t ready to disclose them.
Deacon watched the alphas migrating toward their boulders, conducting final, discreet conversations with the trusted individuals accompanying them. “Is there a solution to the drugs being used on the children?”
“It’s not just children. But it will take a while to play out. Not likely today.” Vendrick turned an intense gaze his way. “Bloody, and with much personal sacrifice as well. But that is a problem we will face another day.”
Deacon’s blood pounded in his ears. He hadn’t heard such a proclamation in many years and there was no doubt in his mind that Vendrick directed his words at him. But he wasn’t a wayward young man ignoring his alpha title any longer, and he refused to lose anyone he cared about to the final battle. And the reference to we, as if this problem reached further than even the alpha board, puzzled him. Still, he’d learned long ago not to tempt fate where Vendrick’s insights came into play, and another day was long enough away he could do what he did best: manipulate the odds.
24
Deacon appeared back at her side, leaning on the arm of her chair. “Ready.”
Never in a million years. However, she gave him a brief nod. As the doors to the vast room swung shut, he strode forward to address the crowd.
Fortified, she stared at the hidden audience and the brightly lit alpha section—her peers. Given all she’d survived so far, she’d like to believe she could survive anything.
Sheridan rose without looking at her, strode down to the presentation arena, and faced the other alphas. “I was called by Gauthier Karndottir’s team after his murder to ensure his killer received justice. My staff handled the scene, and I will present the evidence.” He pivoted toward Deacon. “Your medical examiner is reviewing our findings and was allowed access to the body as well, yes?”
What? Why had Deacon not mentioned this? Her heart skipped a beat. Something much worse was coming.
Deacon nodded, confirming her fears. No wonder Sheridan had given her the cold shoulder when they’d first met. She’d seen pictures of the scene in the apartment building that Callum had procured for Deacon. As much as she hated her father, the sight of him torn apart by gunshots, knife wounds, and claws had sickened her. But what could be worse?
She knew she was capable of violence, of death and murder definitely. She’d have killed the men who took Nathan. But to further her own climb up the ladder for power? Never.
There was a small disruption in the visitor section as the door opened and closed and people shuffled in, but no one paid attention. Everyone’s attention remained riveted to the alpha who ruled the eastern half of North America and the papers in his hands detailing the evidence. Evidence his rigid posture indicated was the basis for his doubts about her innocence.
He proceeded, describing the specifics of her father’s blood and how other blood types were compared On the heels of that came a lengthy accounting of blood spatter patterns, rigor mortis, and bruising on the body. The scientific and medical data came next in a stream, striking her as ironic. Her father didn’t tolerate progress or technology, certainly not drugs, given his refusals to allow doctors for his people. Even for his cherished team.
“You conjecture that the evidence on the body and around the apartment indicates Gauthier Karndottir was transported postmortem from another location?” Deacon asked, though his tone didn’t indicate he challenged the statement.
How odd. Rayven frowned, wondering
where this was going and how they’d link her to the crime.
“Do you know where he was murdered?” Deacon’s question followed on her thoughts.
“Someone had attempted to clean the body. But my specialists are experts.”
Rayven felt a rush of blood from her head, dizziness creeping in at the implication.
“They found minute traces of concrete, aluminum shavings, and motor oil. My men located matching specimens in a warehouse fifty miles from the apartment building.” Sheridan glanced toward her. “Blood spatter there matches the alpha’s wounds and is old enough that we feel confident it was the site of the crime, along with semen samples that match the victim. We also found other blood in the warehouse as well. A familial match to Gauthier’s.”
No. Tight knots in her stomach squeezed her last meal, threatening to send it back the way it came. The horrible suspicion ran through her mind as Deacon kept his back to her.
“What day do you calculate he died?”
“Four days earlier than the evidence in the apartment implies.”
Deacon tilted his head. “The full moon.”
Sheridan frowned. “I don’t see how that has any bearing. Besides the physical evidence, we’ve found emails luring Gauthier to the warehouse.”
“With Rayven’s name?” Deacon walked back and leaned against the chair beside her. “How convenient.”
“The email ID was a cover, but we traced it back to a sports bar that Ms. Karndottir is known to frequent.”
Aw, hell. They knew about Elijah, and likely Aubrey and Quinn as well. All of her team had targets on their backs, and she couldn’t free herself from this mess, much less help them.
“The emails targeted Gauthier’s soft spot. One everyone knows too well.” Sheridan addressed the alphas but turned back to her. “They promised him a way to use his semen and willing surrogates to provide him with sons.”
And double hell. Someone had convinced him they could give him what he always wanted and then killed him? She wanted to vomit.
“Which explains the semen contribution,” Deacon countered. “Does Gauthier own the warehouse? Or Rayven?”
“It’s human owned by a group company in Honduras. From what we’ve been able to determine, the group is involved in human trafficking of women and children, but is not related to any of our clans—directly.”
“Cartel affiliations are hardly Rayven Karndottir’s MO. And there are plenty in her clan who have signed affidavits to that effect.” Deacon slammed a pile of documents three inches thick onto the floor.
“A clever ploy for an up-and-coming alpha,” Sheridan continued unaffected. “Friends and colleagues don’t explain away her blood at the scene.”
“Except you haven’t tested to see if it is actually Rayven’s blood.”
“A technicality we can easily fix, though there are no other explanations.”
The evidence was incriminating enough to make every alpha in the room convinced of her guilt. And even if she testified on her behalf, she couldn’t add anything to help her defense. The days before Sam hauled her to the stronghold and she’d been taken by Breslin were foggy in her memory and mostly blank. But the evidence confirmed it was the same timeframe during which her father’s murder had taken place and that where she’d been kept was the same hellhole. And as much as she hated the bastard, the thought sickened her. But unfortunately, one thing remained unchanged. Nothing short of a miracle could save her now.
“Is that all?” Deacon asked.
“No. We recovered clothing at the warehouse—your clothing, Ms. Karndottir. Covered with your father’s blood.” Sheridan moved before her. “I don’t suppose you can explain that to us? Or should I explain to all assembled here how you openly blamed your father for your mother’s death at the hands of his enforcers.”
She stared at him in silence, shaking her head slowly. It wasn’t as if he really wanted an answer. Yes, she hated her father. Yes, she held him entirely responsible for her mother’s death. But he also wasn’t worth her throwing away her life. Yet, with the damning evidence, nothing she could say would change the facts. And Deacon had told her to remain silent and leave the counterarguments to him.
“There was also a witness at the apartments. A man who saw a woman leaving—”
“He saw her face and can identify her?” Deacon interjected quickly.
Why would they care about a woman leaving the building if she’d never been there?
“She wore a heavy coat and a baseball cap.” Alpha Sheridan slid her a glance before his eyes narrowed. If she didn’t know better, she’d think he was reassessing that bit of evidence. “He confirmed she had ebony hair.”
She considered a response, any response, as a brief stir and chatter near the doors distracted her. Nothing that would catch anyone’s notice, but she was trying desperately to piece together the puzzle and didn’t want to look into the eyes of any of the alphas.
Callum stood there in the aisle, smiling. Grizz joined him and, oddly enough, stared her straight in the eye and nodded almost imperceptibly in what she could only construe as encouragement.
However, their support, while appreciated, wouldn’t save her. For the first time today, she was glad Breslin and Lena weren’t here to witness her destruction. This was her battle. One she’d lost before she’d ever met Breslin or found friendship in Deacon’s clan.
Prickles inched over her skin, and she glanced at Deacon. His gaze remained fixed on the doors as well. Something was coming.
But as Sheridan turned back to the alphas, she knew whatever Deacon planned wouldn’t come in time.
“I have more, but what we’ve uncovered proves to my satisfaction that Rayven Karndottir had access, motivation, and years to plan an elaborate way to get rid of her father.”
Refusing to give him the satisfaction of her fear, her desolation, she raised her chin toward Whit Sheridan and spoke out. “I didn’t kill my father.”
But her solitary battle was over. The faces of almost every person she could see were tight and cold—a guilty verdict for sure.
“Sweetheart, it hasn’t been just your battle since the moment I first laid eyes on you.”
Breslin. She scanned back to Callum and found Breslin framed by the open doors of the tribunal hall. He had a blanket over his shoulder from which curly blonde hair escaped, and one hand cupped on Nathan’s shoulder at his side. Lena, Aubrey, Quinn, and Elijah stood beside him.
Her team.
Lena strode down the stairs, ignoring the alphas who were now standing with harsh glares. “We have a witness who can explain what really happened the night Gauthier Karndottir was murdered.”
Breslin noted the position of everyone in the room as he guided Nathan down the trail to the main trial floor. Mostly he registered how Rayven’s heart raced and her body trembled, but from outward appearances she looked steady, calm. Inside, he could feel fear and relief battling, her emotions wound tight. Yet, even distracted by the sight of her after too long apart, he instantly noticed Alpha Jalair stalking from his position in the back of the alpha section closer to the trial floor.
“What is the meaning of this interruption?”
Remaining at Nathan’s side, Breslin watched as Lena made her way down the stairs to the trial floor beside Deacon and spoke quietly to him. She took up a place behind him at Rayven’s side.
“I’m prepared to present our evidence and”—Deacon paused as he glanced around at the other alphas, as if gauging their reactions—“a new witness who can exonerate Rayven Karndottir of murder.”
Breslin’s attention shot to the audience section as Jacob sprang up from a seat dead center. How had that weasel been allowed in?
“Any witnesses from my clan should be cleared through me,” he shouted as the lighting in the audience section brightened.
Deacon spun in a quick twist. “If you will recall, I was requested by your clan to host this tribunal and present my case. Just as Alpha Sheridan has done, mine will include a
ll the facts, not just those that suit you.” He strode to the railing, grasped it in his hands, and leaned toward the audience. Those closest wisely leaned back. “I’ll also remind you that you’re here on my sacred lands, by my grace. Either sit and compose yourself or leave.”
Face reddening, Jacob made the mistake of continuing. If the circumstances weren’t so serious, Breslin would have laughed. “We’ve provided all the proof necessary to convict Rayven Karndottir of murder, Alpha Sheridan. Besides, children aren’t viable witnesses.”
Two of the tribunal members shifted into their beasts in response to Jacob’s challenge, and Vendrick’s roar echoed through the room.
A popcorn-sounding crunch followed the deadening silence as claws crushed the wooden divider under Deacon’s hands.
Vendrick vaulted into the center of the audience and bent with a snarl toward Jacob’s face.
“You do not have the authority to speak for your clan.” Vendrick’s eyes took on an eerie shade of blue that Breslin had only seen once and hoped never to see again. Blue meant death. And if anyone deserved it, he was fine with Jacob being on the receiving end.
“You will submit now, or I will force your obedience for challenging an alpha of my board.”
Jacob’s mouth opened and closed like a fish’s, then snapped shut as he had the good sense to drop to his knees, but his eyes still gleamed and the twist of his mouth signaled petulance.
Breslin warily made his way down to the staging area. Unfortunately, the blanket covering Hazel became hooked on the railing and fell away.
Alphas and audience members gasped as one. He tucked the tiny girl close and proceeded to Deacon. Quinn, Aubrey, and Elijah joined him with the other children. Callum approached as well and stood to Nathan’s other side.
