After pouring a glass of water for herself and her running mate, Vivienne waited in the kitchen for a few more seconds before grabbing both glasses and moving to the living room. Zahira was heading to the kitchen when she emerged. The woman took the glass with a grateful nod. She moved over to a chair and sat down. Vivienne did the same.
“You’re very fast,” Zahira finally said with a curious tilt of her head. Her previously bound hair haloed her face, and she looked even younger. “I didn’t know druids were almost as fast as weres.”
When she continued to stare at her as if expecting an answer, Vivienne shrugged her shoulders. “Although I am a druid, I really don’t know that much about them.”
“Of course,” Zahira quickly said with a little shake of her head, as if that were something she should have known. “So, Vivienne, how are you adjusting?”
“A-a-djusting?” she sputtered.
“Yes, to our way of life. You’ve been here for over a week. How are you adjusting?”
“I mean, it’s a different way of life, but I’m slowly getting it.” Vivienne didn’t know where this question was leading, but something about the way Zahira asked it told her it was important.
“I can’t imagine how hard it is for you to go from living a normal, human life to…this.” She paused, and when Vivienne simply stared at her, said, “It is quite unusual for a were to find a mate of a different species, but it does happen. Despite your differences, our nature, the nature of the pack, demands that a mating ceremony be completed, especially as Conall is alpha. It’s the only way the pack will treat you with the respect due his mate.”
Vivienne shook her head slowly. “I’ve been here for a week, and barring one incident, it’s been okay. I’ve seen the mating ceremony, and I’m—I’m not about to get naked in front of the entire pack and…and do that.”
Zahira lifted a brow, and smiled. The smile widened until she suddenly chuckled. Vivienne scowled, obviously not sharing the Elder’s humor.
“Oh, I’m not laughing at you, Vivienne. I’d forgotten how modest humans can be,” she explained, taking another drink from her glass before setting it down. “Conall is your mate, and a mate is something you feel here, especially.” She touched a hand to her heart. “The feelings that go along with being a mate are most times irrational, and unavoidable. The longer you wait to complete the ceremony, the more berserk both you and Conall will become.” She paused and leaned back in the chair, picking up her glass of water once more. Another sip later, and she continued, “The entire pack is abuzz with what you did to Samia. Some are skeptical of it; others respect it. They say she goaded you by bringing up your mate, and you reacted. The longer you wait to claim Conall as yours, the more Samia will attack you, until one of you is either seriously injured or dead.” At Vivienne’s gasp, a little smile touched Zahira’s lips. “We may look human, Vivienne, but never forget that the side that rules us most of the times is that of an animal. We kill or we are killed.”
Zahira reached into her jeans pocket and pulled out a Blackberry. Vivienne’s brows drew together. An ancient werewolf who’d just talked about “killing or being killed” wielding a Blackberry? She’d expected a sword or something.
“We’re very technology-savvy. In fact, many of our kind have achieved insurmountable riches through this field,” Zahira offered by way of explanation. She pushed a few buttons and turned to Vivienne. “The next full moon is two weeks from now—the second Sunday in November. I think it would be perfect for a mating ceremony, and I would be honored to be Elder who performs it.”
Vivienne was shaking her head, already thinking of the excuse, when Zahira held up a hand. “Don’t just think about yourself, Vivienne. Think about your mate. Conall is the alpha of our pack. If he is seen as unstable, which he will be for as long as you don’t perform the mating ceremony, he will be challenged for the right to rule. While it’s unlikely someone could defeat him, do you wish to take that chance?”
No, of course not, but she wasn’t like them. Over the weeks, she’d come to the conclusion that Conall had to be her mate, her reaction to him was too strong—but how could she perform a mating ceremony when she couldn’t change? She’d seen the two wolves….
“Trust me, Vivienne. The mating ceremony looks much scarier than it actually is. In the midst of it, everything else fades but your mate. You won’t even be aware of us, and before long, we, too, will hardly be aware of you.”
With that cryptic sentence, Zahira punched in something into her Blackberry and stood. Vivienne watched her with puzzled eyes.
“I’ll have someone come by to take your measurements. You’ll need a robe. Conall too. And don’t worry about anything, I will make all of the preparations.” She smiled, and stood, passing a hand through her hair. The woman was practically bubbling with excitement. “It’s been years since there’s been a mating ceremony at Cedar Creek. And never for an alpha, since Conall has been our only one.” Remembering herself, she looked down at Vivienne and shook her head. “I think I’ve confused you enough for one day, Vivienne.” A little smile played around her lips. “My house is 312 Cedar Creek Lane. It’s around the bend, opposite the school. Verity and I live there. If you need anything explained, or if you just feel a bit out of place, we’re there.” Another smile, and she was gone.
The glass in Vivienne’s hand had suddenly become heavy, and she placed it on the table. Blinking rapidly, she shook her head.
What the hell just happened?
***
“So you finally made it. Half an hour late, and look, you brought pretty-boy. Did you replace Sloan as Conall’s bitch for the day?” Santiago’s voice boomed as Conall and Raoul arrived at Casa del Lobo, the bar belonging to the were who only serviced his own. When Santiago had opened the place years ago, he’d said anything that wasn’t a were meant trouble, and wasn’t welcome. He’d found out that weres were trouble, too. Conall passed a quick, slightly amused glance at the various pelts stuck to the wall in the rustic-looking place. Wolf skins, bear skins, tiger skins. One would think Santiago was a collector, and in a way he was. Not just the typical shoot-from-a-distance-and-mount-it-on-a-wall type. Every skin on display had once been a were-creature who’d gotten on Santiago’s bad side.
The were in question was seated behind a lounge table, a lit cigar hanging from his lips, as locks of pitch-black hair curled forward into his face, obscuring his eyes. At least this time he was dressed appropriately—well, appropriately for Santiago. He wore a long-sleeved, flower-patterned shirt that still made him look like he belonged somewhere in the Caribbean. Dominic sat opposite him, two beer bottles and a disassembled, nickel-plated Glock on the table before him. Drako faced a window nearby, his long leather jacket practically enveloping him, pale hands clasped behind his back. Upon scenting them, the alpha half turned.
When they were upon the men, Raoul grinned, whipped a hand through his hair, and addressed Santiago. “You really should ask your mother about being Conall’s bitch. I hear it’s her thing lately.”
Santiago’s lazy smirk faded, and his dark eyes hardened as they sized Raoul up. Between the two men, Santiago was slightly larger, but Raoul was quick. Both were deadly and both knew it.
With deliberate care, Santiago eased the cigar from between his lips and said, “Mi mama eats bitches like you for breakfast, pretty boy.”
“Look at you, admitting your mama’s Conall’s bitch—”
“Look, fucker, talk about my mother one time, and I’m going to forget whose bitch you are, and add another wolf pelt to my fucking wall.” As he spoke, he tossed the cigar into an ashtray and began pushing to his feet.
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 wou
ld 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.
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