“Oh . . . right.” Connor returned to his casual pose.
“But you’d better be about to tell me what you thought she said.”
He shook his head, but spoke quietly. “She’s sixteen.”
“I know that.”
He glanced at me. “Last year she was fifteen . . . and I was twenty. We always get together around the winter solstice. Ethan, Kyle, Stuart, and I came in from the Denver outpost. Adne had a break from her classes.”
I nodded. So far none of this seemed extraordinary.
“After the celebration—big feast, lots of drinking and dancing—I was headed to my room to crash. Adne asked if she could hang out with me for a while.”
My pulse picked up speed. I could see where this was going, and I was nervous for both of them.
Connor rubbed the back of his neck. “She didn’t exactly have talking in mind. And she made a pretty strong case for what she did have in mind.”
“She tried to reel you in?” It wasn’t hard to see Adne going after what she wanted.
“Yeah. Pretty much.”
“And you said no?” That was the part I was having a hard time believing.
“She was fifteen,” he said.
“I guess.” Fifteen was young, but Adne was an old soul. I didn’t exactly think Connor would have been taking advantage. I also couldn’t see Adne being easily deterred when she decided she wanted something.
“And Monroe’s daughter.”
“Oh.” That made sense.
“When I tried to explain why I thought ‘us’ would be a bad idea, she didn’t take it well.”
“I can imagine.” I was actually imagining flying objects, breaking glass, and possibly Connor with a black eye. “So was this before or after the bet with Silas?”
He drew a quick breath. “She told you about the bet.”
“She said nothing came of it.”
“The bet was first, but only by a few hours,” he said. “What came of it was that Adne and I couldn’t dance around each other anymore. The moment I kissed her, I couldn’t . . .”
“You couldn’t pretend you weren’t in love with her.”
He tossed an unfriendly glance my way.
“It’s pretty obvious,” I said.
“I couldn’t pretend to myself,” he said. “But I thought it was best to keep pretending to her.”
“I think you’re wrong.” My own mind had wandered back to Ren’s confession. If I’d known how he’d really felt about me, would our lives have been different? Thoughts of Shay chased after that question. Did I want the past to be different? I couldn’t imagine Shay’s absence. My heart ached at the thought of never having fallen in love with him.
“Maybe.” Connor stood up and stretched. “It certainly hasn’t gone the way I’d hoped.”
“What did you hope for?” I asked. “Do you want to see Adne with someone else?”
The sudden stab of his glare told me that was the last thing he wanted.
I held my ground. “Then you’d better do something about it.”
“I’ll make you a deal.” He smiled slowly. “I’ll sort out me and Adne when you pick your boy.”
“That’s not fair.” I was on my feet, matching his steady gaze.
“All’s fair in love and war,” Connor replied, turning to walk up the path. I guess that meant our conversation was over.
“So what?” I called after him. “You’re doing nothing?”
“I’m following your lead, alpha.” He turned, walking backward and grinning at me.
“What does that mean?” My hands were on my hips.
“It means I’m going to win this war.” He saluted. “Romance will have to wait.”
I stared after him, frustrated by the conversation. But at least I had a little more insight into Connor and Adne’s history.
“Calla!” I turned to see Bryn waving to me with Ansel hovering at her heels, his basket of oranges full to brimming. Mason was with them.
“What is it?” I asked when I reached them.
“We’ve got to head down to the stockade,” she said.
“The stockade?” I asked. “Why?”
Mason looked at me and sighed. “Logan wants a meeting.”
ELEVEN
LOGAN’S QUARTERS bore a much closer resemblance to an actual cell than Ansel’s room had. I took more than a little pleasure at that observation, though I still bristled as we entered the small space. We’d all been quiet on the walk from the garden to the stockade. These rooms, used for prisoners, were located on the ground level of the Academy—set apart from the livelier sections of the Searchers’ institution. While Mason had assured me that Anika would be present, this meeting didn’t sit well with me. It was too familiar. Logan had something to tell his pack. We’d been summoned, just as if he were still our master. From the stiff way Mason moved down the halls, I could tell he wasn’t happy about this development either. I couldn’t blame him.
What had surprised me a little was that Ansel had insisted on coming with us.
“For moral support,” he’d said, with a glance at Mason, when I asked him why. If there was anyone who would have more reason to hate Logan—or any of the Keepers—than Mason, it was my brother.
Shay was waiting for us outside the doorway. When the four of us entered, Logan looked far too comfortable even as he lounged on a twin mattress that featured a single pillow and undyed wool blanket, propping himself up on one elbow while smoking a clove cigarette.
Ren, Sabine, and Nev were already in the room. Anika and Ethan stood just behind the three wolves, Ethan watching Logan suspiciously while Anika’s expression was more curious.
“Wonderful.” Logan smiled at us, tapping ash into an empty glass on the floor.
“Bite me,” I snarled. Logan might expect business as usual, but I wouldn’t let him. He wasn’t our master any longer and I was going to make sure he knew that.
Bryn drew a quick breath, but Mason smiled. Logan’s eyes widened momentarily, but then he recomposed his face into a placid mask.
“Calla, I don’t expect your affection, but we certainly can still be civil.”
“You’re a prisoner,” I said. “Civility is off the table. What’s this meeting for?”
He cleared his throat. “Two reasons. And thank you for coming.”
“Calla’s right,” Ren said. “Drop the show, Logan. Just talk.”
“Isn’t everyone in a temper.” Logan put out the cigarette and sighed. “My last one.”
“Good,” Mason said.
Logan glanced at him and my heart skipped a beat.
“Don’t look at him.” Nev crossed the room, shielding Mason from Logan’s view. “Don’t ever look at him again or I’ll claw your eyes out.”
“I’m fine,” Mason whispered, but he’d gone pale. Ansel shoved his hands in his pockets, staring at the floor.
For the first time, Logan’s voice lost its clear, imperious tone. “Well, that gets us to the first thing.... I want to offer an apology.”
No one spoke, but everyone stared at the Keeper.
It was Shay who finally broke the silence. “An apology?”
“Despite my imprisonment, I’ve come to respect the strength, loyalty, and most of all resilience of your pack bonds. I tried to take advantage of your loyalty to the Keepers, and I’m sorry I let my inheritance go to my head.”
“Go to your head?” Nev growled, the air around him swirling, growing hot. “You think that’s all it takes to make up for what you were going to do?”
I took a step toward him. As much as we hated Logan, attacking him when he was the Searchers’ prisoner wasn’t an option.
“Of course not,” Logan continued. He threw a pleading look at Anika, who moved between the Keeper and Nev.
“Please remain calm.” She rested her hand on the sword hilt at her waist.
“You have no idea . . .” Nev glared at her.
“Leave it.” Mason grabbed Nev’s shoulder, drawing him back.
“He’s not worth it.”
“And what about me?” I turned in surprise. Ansel was walking toward Logan slowly, his hands still hidden in his pockets. “Do I get an apology?”
Logan tilted his head, frowning. “I suppose. . . .”
“You suppose?” Ansel began to laugh. A thin, horrible sound. “You killed my mother. You might as well have killed me for all that you left alive.”
“You look quite well to me,” Logan said. “And as for your mother, that wasn’t my—”
His words became a shriek as Ansel lunged, pulling pruning shears from his pocket and swinging his arm down with all the force he could muster. Ansel was fast, but Anika’s reflexes were even faster. She dove forward, wrapping her arms around Ansel’s waist. Thrown off balance, Ansel’s blow left a long gash along Logan’s shoulder. Unchecked, it would have pierced his throat.
“Ethan!” Anika jerked Ansel around and shoved him into Ethan’s waiting arms. “Get him out of here. Find Tess. We’ll deal with this later.”
Ethan hauled Ansel out the door. Sabine didn’t even bother to make an excuse. She simply followed Ethan without another word.
I started to go after them, but Bryn caught my arm. “I’ll help. You need to be here—something’s going on. I’m not sure what, but Logan has a bigger issue on his mind. I’ll stay with Ansel.”
Part of me wanted to argue. Ansel was a live wire, dangerous and unpredictable. I wanted to talk him down. But I also knew that Tess and Bryn were probably the better ones to soothe my brother. He still viewed me as part of the reason he was no longer a Guardian.
“I’m going too,” Mason said, taking Bryn’s hand. “I just can’t be here.”
“You want me to come?” Nev asked.
Mason shook his head. “I’ll be okay. Fill me in later.”
“Is someone going to help me?” Logan’s hand was pressed against his shoulder. “I’m bleeding!”
“It looks good on you,” Ren said.
“I’m sure Ethan will send an Elixir,” Anika said calmly. “You won’t bleed out in the meantime.”
Logan’s eyes bulged.
“What else do you have to tell us, Logan?” I asked. “Because an apology is pretty much a waste of our time. Your words don’t hold much stock with us.”
“Fine.” Logan straightened as much as he could while still cradling his injured shoulder. “I want to help you.”
“Help us how?” Shay asked.
“I’m more interested in the why than the how,” Ren said.
Logan smiled, regaining some of his confidence. “Like I said before, I’ve come to respect your skills, and I’ve learned quite a bit about the Searchers.”
“Have you?” Anika folded her arms across her chest.
“Only by accident,” Logan said. “The entire building has been buzzing with news of your last mission.”
He looked at Shay, his eyes wandering up to the sword strapped across Shay’s back. “Congratulations.”
Shay shifted on his feet, regarding Logan warily.
“This turn of events has forced me to consider my own position,” Logan continued. “I’m a betting man, and I’d wager that your side will win this war.”
Though I didn’t want to, I gasped. That was the last thing I’d expected Logan to say.
“You’re hardly a man,” Nev spat, unaffected by the gravity of Logan’s statement. “You’re a spoiled, arrogant boy and now you’re afraid. That’s all.”
“That’s true,” Logan said. “Well—the part about being afraid. I’m going to ignore the rest of what you said . . . for civility’s sake.”
“You’re afraid?” I asked, not quite able to keep the smile off my face. A Keeper afraid of Guardians. That might have been the best thing I’d ever heard.
“Of course I am.” Logan met my eyes and I knew he wasn’t lying. “The writing is on the wall. It probably was the moment you stopped Shay’s sacrifice at Samhain. He has one of the swords. He’ll soon wield the Elemental Cross.”
“And the Keepers will be no more,” Anika said.
Logan shrugged. “The odds seem to be stacking in your favor.”
“You don’t seem too upset at your impending doom.” Ren’s laughter was cold.
“That’s because I’m hoping to alter my own fate,” Logan said.
“And how would you do that?” Shay asked. “Your legacy isn’t working for you.”
“Actually . . .” Logan smiled slowly. “I believe it will.”
Anika was standing directly over Logan, staring down at him. “What are you offering?”
“In the final battle when you face Bosque,” Logan said. “It needs to be at the Rift’s current location. Correct?”
Anika nodded.
“I know where it is.”
“We can simply force you to tell us that,” Anika said.
“But you know that’s not enough.” Logan was smiling now. “Don’t you?”
Anika didn’t reply, but her eyes narrowed.
“The location you could probably figure out for yourself. Even if it took longer than you’d like,” Logan continued. “It’s at Rowan Estate, after all.”
“We suspected it might be,” Anika said, but the Guardians were exchanging puzzled glances.
“What is the Rift?” Ren asked.
“The gateway by which the Harbinger and his minions entered this world,” Anika replied. “It was opened at the turn of the fifteenth century, but the beast moved it at his pleasure, so we were never certain where its current location might be.”
“And the gateway has to be closed,” Shay said slowly. “That’s how you win the war.”
Anika smiled at him grimly. “That is part of how we win.”
“It’s also how you get your parents back,” Logan added.
“What?” Shay whirled, staring at him.
“The Rift can only remain open by way of a ritual sacrifice,” Logan said. “That sacrifice, for the time being, was your parents.”
Shay’s jaw clenched. “You said my parents were alive.”
“They are.” Logan glanced at Anika. “I don’t suppose you could get me some more cigarettes?”
“That depends on what else you have to say,” Anika said. She put a hand on Shay’s shoulder, pulling him back from Logan. “How are Tristan and Sarah Doran alive if they were sacrificed to open the Rift?”
“Bosque Mar is very creative when it comes to torment,” Logan said. Shay winced and I wanted to go to him, but now was neither the place nor the time.
“We’re aware of that,” Anika said.
Logan paused, lifting his hand to check his wound. The gash was no longer bleeding. He gingerly leaned back against the pillow. “He wanted Tristan to suffer for his betrayal, so he concocted a punishment that would force Tristan to perpetually suffer while watching that which he’d risked everything for be destroyed.”
“You mean his child.” Anika turned away from the bed to pace across the room.
Shay frowned. “How could he see anything that was happening to me?”
My mind was racing as the temperature of my blood plunged. “Shay . . . I think I—”
Logan cut me off. “Where is the only place you’ve seen your parents?”
“Seen them?” Shay gazed at him. “I don’t know . . . my dreams. Memories.”
“Think harder.” Logan was on the verge of laughter.
“Stop.” I leapt forward, landing on the bed and crouching in front of Logan with my fist balled up. “Don’t you dare play with him.”
“Calla!” Anika was coming toward me when Shay stopped her with a sharp glance. He slowly turned to stare at Logan.
“The portrait,” he said. He moved his eyes from Logan to me. “The portrait in the library.”
I nodded, sliding off the bed to stand close to him. I didn’t dare touch him. The moment was live with raw emotion that I couldn’t risk provoking.
“Does that mean . . . ,” Shay whispered. “They’re alive, but . . . ar
e they those . . . things?”
“What things?” Logan asked.
“He means the Fallen,” Anika said. “Is he right? Are Tristan and Sarah Fallen?”
“No,” Logan said. “They are not Fallen. The Fallen are carrion, little more than animated corpses. Bosque wanted Tristan and Sarah sentient. They’re being held in stasis, imprisoned in that painting.”
“How is that different than the other paintings?” Shay asked.
“The Fallen are prisoners we use to feed the wraiths,” Logan replied, cringing when Ren snarled. “The paintings are a liminal space—a holding cell of sorts. Bosque enjoys observing what he calls his own ‘art of war.’ He can see through the dimensional wall to watch the wraiths feeding. The prisoners remain there until they have nothing left to offer the wraiths. Then they are discarded.”
“But my parents haven’t been given to the wraiths?” Shay asked. “You’re sure?”
“You’ve seen it with your own eyes, Shay,” Logan said. “When you looked at their portrait, how did they appear?”
“Sad,” Shay murmured.
“But unharmed,” Logan said. Shay nodded.
“When you close the Rift, it will free Tristan and Sarah,” Logan said. “They’ll have aged, just as any human being would. But they will otherwise be as you knew them.”
“I never knew them,” Shay said.
“I did,” Anika said quietly. “Many of us did. We counted your parents as friends.”
Shay looked at her, surprised. She didn’t meet his gaze, lost in her own thoughts. “We failed them. We should have kept them safe, kept you hidden, but we couldn’t.”
The room fell quiet until Logan cleared his throat.
“I trust that information is worth something to you.”
“Perhaps,” Anika said.
“I’ll do whatever I can to prove myself of value,” Logan said. “I can help you win.”
Anika nodded, but she was looking at a woman who had appeared in the doorway.
“Ethan said you needed a healer.” The woman glanced around the room, eyes searching for her patient.
“Nothing serious,” Anika said. “The prisoner has a cut that needs tending. Disinfection, but I don’t think stitches will be necessary.”
Bloodrose Page 13
