The Irishman (A Legacy Novella) (The Legacy Series Book 7)

by Sheritta Bitikofer

  “You and I both know that you wouldn’t have killed those men. You’re not a killer.”

  “If it was a matter of protecting my family, my pack, I would have,” Darren asserted. “Those hunters have killed plenty of our kind before. They would have deserved it.”

  Despite his bold contradiction, Darren knew that John was right. He might not have had the right constitution to kill another human, whether they deserved it or not. The thought of one murder came to mind, an event over a century ago where Darren had assisted in snuffing out the life of a cruel, purely evil creature that had killed for its own selfish reasons. He didn’t exactly feel remorse for what he had done, but that man was practically undead, stealing the life from others, so he could be preserved. Killing a human who might have been capable of redemption was another thing entirely.

  John made a gesture of consent. “Perhaps they would, but I know you Darren. I’ve known you for just about as long as you’ve been loup-garou and I know your heart. You care too much for people. Even if you somehow killed those men and saved your family, you would suffer for it. Their blood would be on your hands.”

  Darren held up those hands which he spoke of, displaying them for his former alpha. “Eleanor’s blood is on my hands. So is Lucy’s. It’s my fault they’re dead because I didn’t do enough to protect them.” His voice faltered toward the end of his allegation, too choked with that suppressed sorrow.

  They stared at one another until Darren could compose himself and dropped his arms again.

  John slid to the edge of his seat and leaned forward to lace his fingers together. “No one will ever blame you for their deaths. I won’t condemn you, nor will Dustin or Johannes. You are forcing this guilt upon yourself. There is nothing you can do about what happened. You have a pack now and someone who will be looking up to you for guidance. Dustin will one day lose someone he loves and he must bear the same burden that you’re carrying. You must set an example for him. Show him that grief and loss are to be expected, but it is possible to move on.”

  Darren rubbed at his eyes to brush away the few tears that refused to drop. “Just like you seemed to have moved on from Annalette.”

  John let out a sigh. “I was lucky enough to have a woman who understood that she would not live forever. On her deathbed, she told me that I should remarry. At the time, I thought I could never love a woman as I did with her. Wolves mate for life, after all. So why shouldn’t a loup-garou? She was my mate, my companion. She was everything to me and I thought taking another mate would be a defilement to her memory.”

  He looked up and tried to swallow back the knot in his throat. “But you married Irene,” he stated, at least thankful that the conversation had turned away from him.

  John cracked a smile. “I did, because I was able to find love again. She can’t replace Annalette, but she is a kind woman and takes care of Noah while I’m with the boys.”

  Darren didn’t want to think of Noah. If Lucy were alive, they might have been playmates. They were of like temperament and of the same age. He’d never be able to look at the boy without thinking of Lucy as well.

  “How did you bear the loss of Annalette?” Darren asked. “If she was everything to you, then how did you move on?”

  John’s smile widened and he turned to his former ward with a look of approval, as if he had been waiting for him to ask that question all along. “One day at a time. The pain won’t completely go away. It’ll creep up on you in those still moments when you think you’re going to be all right. It’ll steal the breath from your chest and close up your throat until you think you’ll slip back into that dark place again. But after a while, you won’t have to try so hard to push your way out. It’ll get easier to put one foot in front of the other when all you want to do is fall to your knees.”

  Darren shook his head. “I don’t want to forget them.”

  “And you won’t,” John returned. “You’ll never forget them. To this day, I can remember exactly how Annalette’s hair smelled after she bathed. I can still hear her breathy laugh in these very halls. We, as loups-garous, will never forget. The world will carry on as if Eleanor and Lucy were never here, but they will forever live in your heart. They won’t leave you.”

  He didn’t know whether to take comfort in such a speech, or break down into a fit of tears. John made it sound as if he would be suffering for his entire lifetime. That these wounds would never heal. But he couldn’t burst into sobs. Not when Dustin was standing at the door, silently listening to their talk.

  He turned to regard his charge and the way the billowy sleeping shirt hung over his frame, just as Darren’s did when he was at that age. Whoever John employed to make their clothes always ensured they were baggy enough that whoever wore them next would be comfortable.

  Dustin’s expression, an anguished blend of empathy and remorse, spoke volumes more than his words could. It was the same look that he often displayed in those moments of vulnerability back in Landes Forest.

  In that moment, the pieces began to fall together. Dustin was mourning too. And if he suspected correctly, he must have been mourning for Cassandra, or perhaps Katherine, his sister. They shared the same burden, felt the same pain. Darren had been too wrapped in his own misery to see that until now.

  John was right. He needed to show Dustin that it was possible to continue living after disasters. He needed to be a proper alpha and set an example for his pack.

  Oliver didn’t have a mind for charts. That was Tobias’ expertise, but even his partner wasn’t allowed to so much as touch Phillip’s detailed map of the southern provinces of France. Instead, they were forced to just stand by the table that had been set up in Phillip’s room at the inn. The room was hot and cramped, but Phillip said he would take no chances going over these plans in the tavern below. Too many curious ears would hear their business at this time of the late evening.

  Though neither of them was ready to be agreeable with the hunter, Oliver had to admit that Phillip and his men were well versed in how to track down werewolves when they had very little to go on. All they knew was that there was a pack in Albi, and within just a few hours of arriving, they already had a credible source and a few names.

  Phillip’s fingertip continued to trail back to a certain forested area on the map. There were no roads, no villages, but it was a fair five miles from town. He couldn’t understand a single word he babbled out to his team, but Oliver wasn’t so dense not to understand that there was something significant hidden there in the trees.

  He leaned closer to Tobias with his arms crossed. “What are they saying?”

  Tobias, his eyes fixed on the map they were all crowded around, whispered, “They say they’ve heard that no one will dare go into that part of the forest outside Albi.”

  “Why?” Oliver asked eagerly.

  “Some are saying gypsies. Others say giant wolves. Either way, the villagers won’t go there. Phillip thinks that’s where the werewolves may be.”

  He looked to his partner, who seemed to be purposefully holding his tongue. Oliver glanced to Phillip and knew why. Tobias wanted to leave and go investigate for himself just as much as he did, but they knew they couldn’t make a single move without the other hunters finding out.

  “We can’t afford to lose any more time,” Oliver hissed through his teeth, hoping the rest wouldn’t hear him over their rapid French conversation. They didn’t turn to glare at him as he expected, so perhaps his remark had gone unnoticed.

  Tobias didn’t reply, but his lips pulled into a tense line, a clear indicative of his indignation toward the whole thing. One werewolf shouldn’t have been this hard to find, and at this point, there was no possible way that Mr. Flanagan could afford their services. They would be even farther in debt after this job and it was unlikely they would find another patron to compensate their losses. Either they would have to beg to be taken onto another hunter’s team, or they would have to give up their careers for something more practical.

 
Giving up on Dustin Keith wasn’t an option either. Not just because of the money, but because of the principle. They had never let a werewolf escape their sights and Dustin wouldn’t be the first. Tobias was too proud to admit defeat, especially when they were this close.

  A soft tap came at the door and all conversation ceased. Phillip nodded to one of the hunters, a young man who couldn’t have been on the team for more than a few months at the most. He took the cue and moved to answer the knock.

  A small boy stood there, a tray of assorted cheeses and flatbread between his tiny, dirt-smudged hands. His nervous eyes flitted around the room as he was permitted to enter with the light meal Phillip had called for half an hour ago.

  Oliver watched him with unfounded interest. The others were content to carry on their discussion, but there was something in the way the boy seemed to examine the map on the table before setting the plate down. It unsettled him.

  He was tempted to grab the boy and put the fear of God in him to keep him from spreading any lies around the tavern below, but he didn’t get the chance. There were too many men between Oliver and the door, and the boy had slipped out before he could shove Tobias out of the way. He was more surprised that Phillip neither said or did anything to prevent the child from running his mouth later. That, in itself, seemed careless for a hunter.

  Oliver looked to Tobias, but he didn’t seem concerned either. Maybe it was too soon to tell who was a friend and who was foe in this hunt, but he certainly wouldn’t have taken the chance. But, he kept his comments to himself and looked back as Phillip pulled out a map of the city grid and existing buildings that lined the streets. With a bit of charcoal, he began to mark all over the parchment. Who knew how long this stage of information gathering would take.

  Chapter Ten

  Dustin braced himself against a tree as the other boys were allowed to rest after an afternoon of training. He had traveled miles at a full sprint to escape Glengarriff and survived the unforgiving sea as he was carried to France. But these few hours of running and jumping through the forests around the chateau had him winded.

  Darren, Johannes, and another German loup-garou by the name of Gregory, had been drilling their younger pupils since shortly after the noonday meal. Though Darren was still his alpha, he wouldn’t cut Dustin any slack when it came to sharpening his skills.

  The differing attitudes of all three teachers were remarkable. While Darren and Johannes provided constructive advice, Gregory was what Dustin would have called a cúl tóna. Since there were no other Irishmen at the chateau, he could have insulted the man easily without being reprimanded.

  From what the other boys had told him over the past few days, Gregory was not born a werewolf. He was bitten. There was a great deal of speculation around his past, since he arrived to the chateau long before any of them. Some spoke of a tragic accident, others said becoming a loup-garou was some punishment John had forced upon him. Dustin might never know the true story, but as long as this man was screaming at him to move faster and climb higher, he didn’t care if the man was once blessed by the Pope. He hated him anyway. Hated the way he spat out commands and offered no mercy or leniency for any boy who lagged behind during the drills.

  Some of the boys collapsed on the ground, the fallen leaves clinging to their damp arms as sweat dotted their foreheads. Darren stood some distance away with Johannes, not the least bit tired after keeping up with the exercises. But the disconcerted way in which his brows were set told Dustin that he wasn’t pleased with the way Gregory demanded obedience and unreasonable perfection from the boys.

  The stringent German had darker, curlier hair in comparison to Johannes and nearly black eyes, like the dense beard that covered his jaw and cheeks. He stepped around the resting loups-garous, examining each one for anything else he could criticize. Dustin’s wolf wanted him to let out a deep, threatening growl as soon as the man came close. He glared, unwavering in his unkind opinion of the man who had constantly tested him with every drill. If he thought he could break this Irishman’s spirit, he had another thing coming.

  “You’re still standing,” Gregory said without a hint of appreciation for Dustin’s resilience. It was more of a statement of self-accusation, as if he blamed himself for not making the loup-garou as miserable as the others. “You must not be tired.”

  Despite how badly his muscles ached, Dustin pushed himself off the tree and stood defiantly before his instructor – if he could even be considered that. Gregory was a good foot taller than him, and even broader in build. He would have been a formidable beast in his loup-garou form. But right now, his stubborn Irish heart and his wolf were in one accord. If push came to shove, Dustin wouldn’t hesitate to fight Gregory.

  “Leave him be,” Darren ordered from where he stood with Johannes. “He’s done enough for today.”

  Did his alpha know something else was coming? Some more rigorous test that he wasn’t aware of? Dustin’s shoulder muscles stiffened, bracing himself for whatever Gregory might throw at him, be it barked orders or a punch that could have broken bone. But the loup-garou didn’t move. Neither did he take his eyes off of Dustin, an unspoken challenge in the way he sized him up.

  Slowly, like the first trickling of rainwater down a dry creek that preceded a flood, dominance seeped from Gregory and wrapped its inescapable force around Dustin’s throat. It strangled him, but he wouldn’t let his knees buckle. He remembered this feeling of total helplessness once before, but it was a muffled memory of something he couldn’t clearly recall. All he knew was that he hated the feeling and this was the excuse he needed to let off the steam that had been building since his first day of training at the chateau.

  His wolf writhed in fury and Dustin broke free long enough to launch himself at Gregory. Fangs and claws that had seemed to extend all by themselves found purchase in flesh. Blood slid over his tongue and it satisfied his wild anger.

  The older loup-garou let out a roar, grabbed his attacker and tossed him across the path as if he were nothing but a stuffed doll, disposable and a nuisance.

  Dustin felt his spine crack when the trunk of a sturdy oak stopped him from flying farther into the forest. He fell to the ground and for a while, couldn’t move. He growled at the pain, his hands digging into the earth.

  The other boys, forgetting their fatigue, sat upright to watch the show. Dustin heard the marching steps of Gregory charging forward to take him again, but he stopped just a few feet away. When he turned his head to look up, he realized it was Darren’s shadow blocking out some of the evening sun, rather than Gregory’s.

  The two mentors were unevenly matched. Darren might have been a few decades older, but he was far more dominant and he showed that now as he made Gregory stumble backwards without ever laying a hand on him. The bit of dominance that leaked out from the confrontation hit Dustin, but he found some comfort in it. Darren defended him as if they were related by blood, just another example of how steadfast the pack bond could be. Even an Englishman and an Irishman could be like brothers.

  “I said leave him be,” Darren snarled. If Dustin could have seen his eyes, he knew they would have been golden. There was no way he could put off so much aggression and not let the wolf shine through even a little bit.

  Gregory’s face pinched with mixed emotions of rage and compulsory subservience. Excess blood from the mended wounds on his shoulder and neck had stained his white shirt. The boys all looked to one another in complete and total shock as they watched their demanding mentor back down from a loup-garou who was smaller than him. They clearly didn’t know Darren well enough by reputation or they wouldn’t have been surprised by his defense of Dustin.

  When the dominant energies finally ebbed away, Darren turned to Dustin and helped him to his feet. The splintered bones of his back and ribs were healed, but it took a moment for him to regain his balance. He wiped Gregory’s blood from his lips and stared at his sleeve as if he didn’t realize what he had done.

  Retaliating against an ol
der, clearly more dominant loup-garou wasn’t a crime that he knew of, but he wondered what kind of punishment was in store for him once John found out. Then again, would Darren defend him as instinctively as he had just now? He drew blood and would have done much more if he were stronger. His alpha would have been able to sense his malicious intentions with Gregory, so he wasn’t innocent in the least.

  Johannes ordered the rest of the boys to rise and follow him back to the house. Gregory fell in behind them, bringing up the rear to make sure none wandered off, but they all gave him plenty of space to simmer down. Darren and Dustin were left alone to go back at their own pace. A coming reprimand must have been foreseen by the rest and they were given the privacy they deserved. If John could sense the pack bond in them, then so did the rest.

  “He shouldn’t have done what he did,” Darren began. “I apologize for his behavior.”

  Dustin blinked back his astonishment. “You’re apologizing for that piece of trash?”

  Darren gave him a stern look that told him not to question his words. “This wasn’t how I was trained. Bart was harsh, but not in this way. I don’t understand why John keeps Gregory here when he treats the boys so cruelly.”

  Dustin rubbed at his spine, feeling the bones as if to make sure they were still there. “Cic maith sa tóin atá de dlíth air,” he groused.

  “Who?” Darren asked, lifting a brow. “John or Gregory?”

  Once more, he turned to his alpha. Had he been talking in his Irish tongue a little too much lately? “Do you even know what I said?”

  He smirked. “Something to the affect of someone needs a kick in the arse, which I’d completely agree on if you’re referring to Gregory. As for John, I won’t allow you to insult him in that way.”

  Dustin plucked at the front of his shirt, which was nearly soaked through with sweat, and shook it out in an attempt to dry the fabric. “I can’t say I regret what I did.”