by Ian Thomas
“Well no, not right now. You with the fur and fangs, me with the bleeding and broken. But when it comes to McLachlan, we’re so alike.” Dylan hated the words coming out of his mouth but all he could see was Ben’s claws, aware of his inability to escape them. “He may have lost his parents outright, but I had to sit and watch him take mine. You gotta know what that’s like, am I right? Just strut on in and play the wounded little orphan boy and boom he’s in your seat, getting your share of attention and love.” Where was this shit coming from, Dylan worried. Oh right, the very strong desire not to die.
Ben faltered for a moment. Eyes narrowing, Dylan felt his blood run cold.
“Nice try,” the wolf said, leaping down from the wall. Dylan didn’t see the claws strike him but he felt the blood splash across his face. The blow knocked him to the ground but the force sent him skidding along the street. Slowly, Ben stalked toward him. Desperately, Dylan tried to crawl away but he found the ground was sticky and sleek beneath him. And red.
A clawed hand gripped his neck and lifted him up. Warm breath on his face.
“Just in case you’re not lying.” Ben’s other hand dove into his pocket and pulled out the phone. Discarded to the street once more, Dylan saw the phone drop next to him.
“Nine-nine-nine, which service do you require?” the voice asked urgently.
“Am–” Dylan faltered, his mouth full of blood. “Ambulance.”
“Can you tell me what happened?”
“Bl-blood. I’m bleeding.”
“And whereabouts are you?”
“Help.” Not a word Dylan used often but he knew he couldn’t answer any more questions. Rolling onto his back, he saw Ben looming over him. Finish it, he thought. But the blurry shape turned as sirens shrieked into the night and ran off. Suddenly the street was very dark and very cold.
XXX
Laughter filled the house.
A sound Matteo hadn’t been heard much in the past few weeks. Acutely aware of his shortcomings in terms of honesty and resilience, he felt very much on the road back.
Or would have if Eddie had returned any of his calls.
Part of him wanted to play the Pack Lord card and have the War Wolves bring Eddie to him, but the other part knew Eddie would only resent him more. Especially as the matter was private.
Knowing he couldn’t sit on the information any longer, Matteo had decided to make it a matter of public record. Or as public as a 500-year-old werewolf dared make it. That and there was also the matter of Blackthorne’s proposal.
Hence the impromptu dinner he had thrown for a select group of people.
To Matteo’s right sat Somerset. Across from him, on Matteo’s left sat Mills. At the far end of the table was Rowan, Arizona Chase to her right and McLachlan on her left. Between them were antipasto platters, bread, salad, pasta and sauce, veal parmigiana and bottles of red wine. Matteo had enjoyed the hours spent in the kitchen. No longer running from his past, he felt a very real connection to the food and the people he was cooking for.
“And what happened then?” Somerset was asking between laughter.
“I threw him the scroll and fished the snake out of my underwear,” McLachlan said.
“That is so not what happened,” Chase protested, holding up his hands. “This vine you were hanging from, Tarzan, was actually rope and you were like three feet above the water.”
“With a snake in my shorts and you on the shore about to get shot with poison darts.”
“Whatever.”
“It was either save the scroll or get my balls bitten.”
“That poor snake,” Rowan said, wiping tears from her eyes.
Mills had let his guard down enough to join the mirth but Matteo found the young man quite guarded. Not that he could blame him, yet looking around the table everyone present had their own pain to bear. The thought troubled him. While they assumed their connection was the supernatural, it was actually pain. Sometimes caused by supernatural means, sometime not.
“I hope we’ve in some measure allayed your concerns regarding the accords,” Matteo said. He saw Somerset look at Chase.
“Somewhat,” Somerset said, heaving a sigh. “There is still a tremendous duty of care around them to make sure they function appropriately.”
“Well d’uh,” McLachlan said. “Not like we put them in place and then are phoning the rest in.”
“Of course not,” Somerset replied. He still hadn’t properly warmed to McLachlan even after everything. However, the fact that he acknowledged him was progress, being that Somerset was the most guarded person he knew. Supernatural or not.
“Just…well…how much work is going in to maintain the accords?” Chase asked. “Reports are that the vampires are suffering.”
“Let them suffer,” Mills said, gulping back his wine.
“Not the point,” Rowan said.
“Gracchus assures us he has his court in hand,” Matteo explained.
“That may be so,” Somerset replied. “But given recent events among your wolves, both groups seem to be feeling… restless.” Matteo saw McLachlan look at him warily. They’d get to that topic, just not yet. “However there was a noticeable absence at your soiree the other night.”
“Pretty sure all bases were covered,” Rowan said.
“Really?” Somerset asked, squaring his eyes at her. While Matteo had heard of the dust-up at the chapter house, he wasn’t prepared for round two before dessert. “Then where was Yael?”
“Off,” Rowan said struggling. “For Samhain no doubt.”
“And you know this? For a fact?” Mills asked, leaning in.
“Yael came to visit me when I was recovering,” Matteo said. “There’s no tension there. You have this wrong.”
“Or do you?” Somerset said. “The wiccans have closed ranks in the last six months. Tighter than ever before. Being the most attuned to portents and omens, we suspect they know something.”
“Then surely it would be in their interests to share the information,” Matteo said, stunned.
“Would it? They lose more often than not in these struggles. They’re not immortal like vampires and werewolves. They’re very mortal and suffer the most when the balance tips.”
“Then the balance needs to hold,” McLachlan said.
“And no one’s arguing that,” Chase said calmly. “You achieved something no one ever thought possible. You should be incredibly proud of that. Just without precedent and given the context of their signing, there is a very real fear they won’t last.”
“Among who?” Rowan challenged.
Sheepishly, McLachlan raised his hand. Matteo followed suit as did Chase and finally Somerset.
“That got childish quick,” she said, looking around the table. When her eyes fell on McLachlan she baulked, “wait, they’re your accords.”
“Doesn’t mean I’m not concerned,” he replied, focused on her. “You haven’t seen the vampires. There’s a very real struggle there.” Mills’ chair scraping the wooden floor drew his attention. “I get your feelings in this but my intent was never to turn them into some sort of third world, starving children infomercial.” Mills glowered at him. “But yes we have been remiss not to engage more with the witches.”
“Uh, hello,” Rowan said.
When Chase and Somerset shifted uncomfortably in their seats, her eyes widened.
“It’s not you,” Chase said, immediately knowing the words were the wrong ones. “We’re as much at fault. Having a strong, powerful and highly respected wiccan with us every day we take her as representative of the whole community.”
“Wow, even I couldn’t have screwed that up any more,” McLachlan said on the verge of applauding Chase’s downfall. “But sure, one woman is the same as all of them.” His tone suddenly very light, mocking and dismissive. “Well, they do all look alike. And hey we included them, didn’t we? They got a chance to get all dolled up. Out of the house. Made quite a day of it.”
Chase’s face burned across the table. “That
wasn’t what I meant. And you’re a dick if you don’t see that you and Matteo and all of your group haven’t done the same with Rowan here.”
As McLachlan was about to respond, Matteo cleared his throat. “He does have a point. Tactlessly put but astute all the same.”
“I get a say in this?” Rowan demanded.
“I don’t know,” McLachlan looked at Chase. “Does she?”
“Stop it,” Rowan cried. “Both of you.” Taking a breath, she spoke to the table but her eyes didn’t leave Chase. “The point is valid. But in that description you probably should have said excluded. Neither Siobhan nor I have the access you probably need to gauge Yael’s mood.”
“And there lies the concern,” Somerset said. “We’ve made inquiries, however it seems she’ll only entertain a signatory of the accords.”
“What about the other night?” Matteo asked frustrated. “Had two of them in the same room. And quite respectably groomed if I do say so myself.”
“At least you got rid of the man-bun,” McLachlan muttered.
“It’s not the same,” Somerset said, toying with his wine glass. He looked at Rowan for the answer.
“You,” Rowan said, her voice tight. “Have to go to her.”
“You’re kidding?” Mills demanded. “Not like you were having a bonfire or anything.”
“Too soon,” McLachlan said as the entire table tensed.
“It’s over three hundred years ago,” Mills replied, obviously more drunk than anyone of them had noticed.
“Like he said.” Chase nodded towards McLachlan. “Too soon.”
“I’ll see if I can get an invitation to Samhain,” Matteo said, resigning himself to more political maneuvering. In light of this revelation he felt broaching Blackthorne’s proposal too much for one evening.
As the conversation turned to more mundane topics Matteo heard a phone vibrate nearby. Excusing himself he went to the basket of phones on the sideboard.
Dylan // 21:11
Dylan calling…
What could he want in the middle of the night London time, he wondered, a chill on his neck.
“Dylan?” he asked, answering the phone.
“No,” came the curt British reply. “Is Russell there please?”
“Hold on.” Matteo moved toward McLachlan, his hand shaking as he offered the phone to his friend. “It’s…for you.”
McLachlan took the phone and excused himself from the room. Watching him go Matteo knew something was very wrong.
“I have some notes about your old coven if you’d like to see,” Chase said to Rowan as he started clearing the table. “Nothing major, just been updating our records.”
“I’d like that,” she said, helping him. Mills joined them, scooping up their glasses and a bottle of red as they excused themselves.
Which left Matteo and Somerset.
“It’s good to see you, old friend,” Matteo said.
“Emphasis on the old,” Somerset replied with a chuckle, suddenly conscious of his wrinkled hands.
After a moment, Matteo asked, “Do you miss it? Being a wolf?”
Somerset studied him closely, seemingly looking for the trap. When it wasn’t obvious he sighed, “At first. But I’ve lead a good life. Done good things. People have lived. I can wake each morning and look myself in the mirror and feel whole. Not feel…ashamed.” Somerset heard his words and flinched. “Not that you should–”
“No, I understand. I’m a monster. But by my deeds not what I am. I have corrupted the body God gave me. Defiled it and thought I knew better.”
“You don’t often talk of God, do you?”
“Sadly, the Renaissance doesn’t wear off,” Matteo laughed. “But I know that’s what your view was. Dominic saw much of himself in you.”
“Ah, the wolf priest. Do you miss him?”
“Every day,” Matteo said, fixated on the wine in his glass. “Despite all of his dark and brooding nature, he had a light in his soul that made the world a better place.”
“I see much of that in young McLachlan. Except…”
“Except Dominic knew when to shut his mouth.” They both laughed loudly. “I think of you at the full moon. I always wonder if I ever had the strength to make the choice you did.”
“Strength or cowardice?”
“Are you happy?” Matteo asked.
“Y-yes, I am,” Somerset replied taken aback.
“Then it was strength.” Matteo fell silent, reflecting on his own cowardice. He took a deep breath and sat back in his chair. “The Clan need to revise their records of me.”
Ever the academic, Somerset gave his full attention to the man at the head of the table.
Disregarding a muffled ruckus from the other room, Matteo knew if he didn’t say it in that moment, he never would. “I had a pack once. Before Ben. I need to honor them finally.”
Somerset was about to speak when they heard an almighty crash nearby.
XXXI
The cellphone hit the wall, smashing on impact.
Perfectly punctuating the ninety seconds of swearing that had preceded it.
McLachlan stared at the splintered remains, feeling cut off from his brother and his family.
Don’t come. These were Freddie’s words.
“Listen chum, I don’t think you get to say that.”
“I do actually. I’m his emergency contact here.”
“Means noth–”
“But the restraining order does.”
“The what?”
“Doesn’t take much to work out that all the trouble in Dylan’s life comes back to you. Therefore, for the time being, I’ve filed a restraining order against you. Don’t come.”
And the line went dead.
“What’s going on?” Matteo asked as he and Rowan eased into the study.
“Dy–” But he couldn’t speak. Tears stung his cheeks and he had to steady himself against the desk. “Dylan’s been attacked.”
“What? Who?”
“I d-don’t kn–”
“Hey,” Rowan said softly, taking him in her arms. At her touch, he broke. Collapsing onto her, he buried his head into her shoulder crying. Matteo stood next to him, a hand on his friend’s back. Several minutes passed before McLachlan lifted his head, he looked at his friends, a second round of tears close to the fore.
“What do you know?” Matteo asked.
“He was at-attacked. Lost a lot of blood. Still in surgery.”
“Attacked?”
“He’s still alive. This is good.”
“I’ll book flights,” Matteo said, going to the laptop on the desk.
“Don’t bother.”
“Come again?” Matteo demanded. Rowan studied him, shocked.
“I-I can’t go. I’m…n-not allowed. His lawyer’s filed a restraining order against me.”
“What?!!” Matteo shouted.
“Somehow this comes back on me. He’s Dylan’s whatever in England and calling the shots.”
“Limey prick,” Matteo swore.
“I’ll go,” Rowan said. “It’ll be alright.”
Behind them, the others had gathered in the door. Faces stern as the words had reached them.
“One of Blackthorne’s wolves?” Mills asked, soberer than before.
“No one said it was a wolf atta–” Matteo started.
“I’m getting the feeling it was,” McLachlan said, cutting him off. “Shit, James.”
“What?” Rowan asked.
“One of Blackthorne’s wolves. Friend of Dylan’s. He won’t know.”
“Dylan’s friends with a werewolf?” Rowan pressed.
“No, yes, he doesn’t know Ja – it’s a long story.”
“Ben,” Matteo said finally. “He went to London before the last full moon.”
“Then I’m definitely going,” Rowan said angrily.
“I’ll go with you,” Chase said from the door. She looked at him questioningly. He took over at the laptop in place of Matteo, glancing u
p at her. “Pretend you need someone.”
McLachlan went quiet as the others moved around him. He was numb. Emotions fighting one another for expression, anger and fear were coming out ahead of the rest, dark thoughts circling his brain.
“I’ll call the London chapter house,” Somerset said, putting on his glasses and looking at his phone. “They have contacts in the hospitals. We’re generally notified of such attacks. There’s also healers there.”
“Good luck getting past his friends,” McLachlan spat, anger getting to his lips first.
Within minutes Rowan and Chase were booked and ready to leave. She wanted to swing past her place first for supplies, but Chase assured her very little of what she had would make it through customs or airport security. Even with his special visas. Somerset assured McLachlan that a London operative had located the hospital and was working on an update, Freddie’s presence making information difficult to obtain. He took a seat in the nearby living room along with Mills who had fallen asleep.
When it was just Matteo and McLachlan in the study, the Pack Lord’s hand on his shoulder as they leaned against the desk, fear and grief won the battle.
“He has friends,” Matteo said as the tears started again. “They’re with him. Looking after him and wanting the best for him. That’s a great thing.”
“B-but–”
“I know,” Matteo said. He pulled the younger man into a hug as the floodgates broke, his strong arms barely able to hold them at bay.
XXXII
“Are you still staring at that thing?” Mouth asked as Rebecca sat low on the couch, staring at her phone. “Find a sail boat yet?”
“It helps her forget her boyfriend has a restraining order against him,” Hayley replied, setting a bowl of potato chips on the coffee table. “You gonna put that away? Or I do have to do a McLachlan and throw it at the wall?”
“Because you’ve never Naomi Campbelled a phone before,” Rebecca said, setting it down.
“Only back when she was still relevant,” Hayley said, sitting next to her on the couch.
“Any word on Dylan?” Mouth asked, helping himself to the chips.
