Liz inhaled sharply, her lungs starved for air.
The matter addressed in the court today went far beyond Brandon’s attack on her. It was about lines in the sand. The Suzerainty did not police the weres, not on every matter. Good and bad, weres went their way, taking their chances with human justice as everyone did. But some crimes were heinous.
Across the chamber, Brandon scowled at her. Anger held his broad, powerful body in tense lines. His glare said he blamed her for his predicament.
She glared back at him.
He’d wanted to marry her for the power of money and family connections she’d bring him. Then he’d tried to kill her and Daria. Bastard.
She had to grab Carson’s sleeve when he’d have moved protectively in front of her, putting himself between her and the threat—again.
But this time she knew the danger, and also knew that she was safe, physically.
As for the emotional threat? I am stronger than you, she thought ragefully at Brandon. People like him who destroyed lives were always weaker than those who healed them. The world mightn’t always see it that way, but it was the truth. Good was stronger than evil.
“Brandon Moffatt.” Steve’s voice sounded deeper in the court. It rolled effortlessly through the chamber, silencing the restless movements of the crowd. “Who will accuse him?”
John, their grandfather, stepped forward to speak. It had to be a pre-determined strategy between him and Steve, probably with her parents and Uncle Phil’s involvement. They would have plotted and planned, while she’d been distancing herself from the emotional pain of Brandon’s betrayal of the pack and her.
No more.
“I do.” Liz spoke up strongly. “I accuse Brandon Moffatt of betrayal against a pack member. He ordered the invasion of my home by a rogue mage.” She started with that accusation since, despite Fay’s presence in the court, weres’ remained traditionally averse to involving magic in their dealings. “He sent mundane mercenaries into my home to do violence, while the mage kidnapped with the intent to torture and kill, a woman under my protection. More than that, Brandon did so as a favor to a human trafficker.”
In her peripheral vision, Liz saw Fay take a single step forward, a small reminder to all present that she’d fought an enslaver for them, for all weres. It was also a reminder that Steve had fought the enslaver, too, and that he would not judge a slave trader lightly.
Nor should anyone among the weres want him to.
Liz’s grandfather stepped back, silently conceding her right and her ability to stand accuser in the court.
She felt Carson’s strength beside her.
Her voice didn’t waver. “I don’t know what evidence there is of Brandon’s personal involvement in human trafficking. I would like to believe he wasn’t involved. I hate to believe that any were could deal in slavery.”
A visceral sound of disgust rolled through the crowd. Those weres who had come here to judge Steve as their new Suzerain were reminded of the real man—and issue—on trial.
“We are stronger than mundanes,” Liz said. “Not smarter or braver or more deserving of anything. But our strength should not be used to abuse, certainly not to enslave.” She linked her fingers with Carson’s. “Yesterday, Brandon drove a car at Carson and me with the clear intent to murder, and thus, silence me. He knew I was the only one who could reveal his sole presence as the one person, the one were, who could have detected Daria—the victim and survivor of human trafficking—and ordered her abduction from my home. And Brandon nearly succeeded. If I had been alone, I’d have died. When I saw Brandon driving at me, I froze. A split second of disbelief that a pack member—” her voice shook “—could do this to me. Fortunately, Carson didn’t freeze. He acted, and his quick reflexes, his willingness to save me first, at the price of his own pain and possible death, saved us both.”
Steve waited a beat, letting the silence fill with people thinking through the charges against Brandon. The attack on a pack member was outrageous, but would normally have been dealt with within the pack. Liz’s accusation was broader: that Brandon trafficked in human misery; that he profited from a modern slave trade.
“You all know that Liz is my sister, my younger sister,” Steve addressed the crowd. “You wonder if my natural anger at her attacker will skew my judgement. We took longer to track him down to his hiding place, a houseboat on the Thames, because we—the marshals—were running simultaneous investigations. What we found is proof, indisputable and disgusting, that Brandon Moffatt is not only involved in human trafficking, but assumed the role of chief slaver when the man who previously filled that vile role in Britain, Andrew Thirkell, was jailed.”
Liz stared at Brandon in horror. Andrew Thirkell had used Daria as a sex slave, abused, degraded and finally ordered her death. And Brandon had stepped willingly into that monster’s shoes. “No. Dear God, no. Brandon, you have daughters.”
Brandon ignored her.
Steve stayed with procedure. “The rogue mage who broke into Liz’s home is angry with Brandon for bringing him to the Collegium and weres’ attention, and has provided a lot of information on Brandon’s role in the criminal gang stretching across Europe and into the Middle East. The information has been double-checked and survives scrutiny. Other informants have supplied limited but crucial evidence. By operating with mundanes and occasionally employing magical assistance, Brandon Moffatt kept his activities outside were circles. He made a point of doing so. He knew what he was doing was beyond contempt.”
Steve paused. “The clerk of the court has compiled the evidence and presented it to Brandon Moffat. Brandon Moffatt has signed in blood a confession of his guilt.”
Dear heaven. Given Brandon’s anger, the evidence had to have been conclusive or he’d have fought it. It had to be damning if he didn’t want it read aloud in court. Was his silence, in some small way, to protect his daughters?
“The enslavement of anyone—were, mundane or magical—has never, and will never, be tolerated by the were community,” Steve said. “Brandon Moffatt is excommunicated from the Beo Pack and from all packs. He will be delivered to the mundane authorities in London, along with the evidence the marshals have collated on his activities, associates and financial holdings. Blood money.” Steve’s voice harshened with revulsion.
“Brandon Moffatt.” Steve turned to the man scowling at them all and flexing the muscles of his bull-like shoulders. “You may speak.”
Liz hadn’t been aware of any magic, but then, as a were, she wouldn’t be. However, the djinn’s power could bind even weres. Apparently, the court could gag a defendant.
Brandon burst into speech. “I regret nothing. Only the short-sighted stupidity of your complacency. Weres could rule the world. We have the power—”
From empty air, ropes appeared and bound Brandon’s arms. Tape plastered across his mouth and sealed in his rantings.
Fay walked to Steve. You could have heard a pin drop in the silent court. “We exist in balance. Magic can’t affect weres directly, but nor does it have to in order to act against you. Rules—limits—exist to keep us all safe.” She looked at Brandon. “For what you did to Liz, and to all your victims, you should rot in hell.”
Agreement swelled from the crowd, along with a touch of awe and respect as the magic-disdaining weres accepted Fay as one of theirs.
Fay and Steve didn’t touch, but their mate-bond was almost visible. Steve would deliver judgment, but Fay stood with him.
“Brandon Moffatt, you are found unfit to be were,” Steve said.
A boom shook the court; hard enough that three among the watching weres lost their balance and fell.
The ropes dropped from Brandon’s arms. He tore the tape off his mouth. “You can’t take who I am from me.”
“I have,” Steve said heavily. There was no satisfaction in his voice. No triumph of vengeance achieved. “Try to shift.”
After puberty, shifting forms was a natural, easy process.
Brandon stay
ed human. His face contorted. He snarled and lunged at Steve.
Steve hit him. One powerful, carefully calculated blow to the jaw.
Brandon went down.
“No longer were,” Steve said into the shocked silence. “Slower, weaker, mundane.” He looked at the two marshals who hadn’t attempted to restrain Brandon. Had they guessed how he’d react and received Steve’s order not to intervene if the no-longer-were attempted to attack him? “Take him to the London police. Their legal system can handle him, now.”
Brandon’s unconscious body was scooped up unceremoniously and dragged from the room.
“Judgement delivered,” Steve said. “Court closed.”
But all that closed was formal proceedings. People mobbed him and Fay to comment, question, and exclaim over happenings. One or two approached the clerk of the court, and copies of the evidence against Brandon were quietly shared.
Liz decided she didn’t want to read it. At least, not today.
Across the chamber, Lilith, as head of fort security, was maintaining order. A word here, a gesture there, and marshals split off, busy about the maintenance of Steve’s security and the emotional temperature of the room.
Right now, the weres had accepted Steve’s judgement.
Liz took a moment to consider her own relative peace. No one had approached her with questions or concern. Had Steve issued instructions or Lilith taken it upon herself to spare Liz curiosity and well-meant fussing?
Then Liz saw one of the marshals, an American wolf-were she knew from previous visits to the fort. The man approached, eyes on her, evidently about to say something. Liz braced for a bruising hug. The wolf-were, Sykes, didn’t know his own strength.
Sykes veered off, contenting himself with a nod and a tight smile at her before his gaze slid onwards.
Liz turned her head.
Carson stood, crowding her personal space—something she hadn’t noticed, just relied on—and non-verbally warning off everyone.
One person he didn’t scare off was her grandfather John. “Good girl,” the earl rumbled. “Stand up and tell the truth. Damn ashamed we had a man like that in our pack. Now. Lunch. Fay said something about food in their quarters.”
They were wolves. They’d live in the moment.
The Suzerain’s private quarters were on the top floor of the old fort with doors out to the courtyard roof.
Liz blinked twice as she walked into the living room. The space was familiar, but the décor had totally changed. Grand-mère had preferred a fussy French elegance that gave guests a feeling of entering a salon. Steve and Fay had gone for something more open and relaxed, something younger.
The walls were white, but there was color enough. Large, comfortable wooden furniture gave the space a solid, grounded feel while bright colors in cushions and curtains and new rugs over hardwood floors brought a strong sense of Mediterranean vibrancy.
“Too much?” Fay asked.
Liz hurried to get out of the doorway and let the rest of the family enter. “It’s lovely.”
Fay looked around doubtfully.
Her future sister-in-law’s uncharacteristic uncertainty distracted Liz from the happenings in the court. As significant as they were to Liz, she suddenly guessed that for Fay, the real worries now centered here: this was the first time Fay had hosted Steve’s family.
“I would have cooked something.” Fay peered back into the corridor, towards the elevator, although everyone had climbed the stairs. “Or Steve would have barbequed something. We have a grill set up on the roof, now. But there was no time, so I asked the kitchen at the café downstairs to send something up. And here they are.” Determined brightness. “Thank you, Celeste and Gerald.”
The “something” that the café sent up proved to be burgers: a huge stack of chicken, beef and lamb burgers, with salad falling out of fresh bread rolls. For dessert, a second, refrigerated, trolley held the makings for ice cream sundaes.
The door to Steve and Fay’s private suite closed and if Liz strained her ears, she could just hear the elevator descending.
Steve started laughing.
Fay punched him in the arm.
He laughed harder and hugged her to him. “The kitchen is trying to impress Fay with their ability to cook American food.”
“American diner food,” Fay muttered. “It’s good, but…”
But it wasn’t the sort of food to impress one’s in-laws.
Everyone realized Fay’s worry and rushed into a spate of words to reassure her that the food was delicious. However, it was Carson who saved the moment.
“I haven’t had a decent burger since I left home.” He spoke around a mouthful of beef burger dripping sauce. “Hot damn.”
Fay laughed, and her laughter was only faintly wobbly and self-conscious. “I guess I should trust the café chefs.”
Liz picked up a paper serviette and wiped the sauce dripping from Carson’s square chin.
The room went silent. Wired.
“What?” She looked around to find that her family was carefully not looking in her direction. Although Steve had a suspiciously amused smile going on as he contemplated his burger choice. She glanced up at Carson, belatedly realizing how intimate was her act of catching the sauce before it dripped off his chin. She’d been thinking of saving Fay’s lovely new rug its first stain.
Apparently, her family saw things differently.
They considered her and Carson involved.
Are we? Brandon had been caught, judged and was about to be delivered to the British justice system. So there was no reason for her and Carson to pretend to be together.
On the other hand, with Daria gone from her house, Liz had no more secrets to hide. If she wanted to be involved with a man, she could be.
If Carson was willing to risk involvement?
He still had his gentians to hide, although they seemed an open secret, now, judging by the attack on Albert’s wards at the greenhouse by the Russian rogue mage. Would Carson risk a relationship? After all, everyone already thought the two of them were involved.
“Here.” Carson shoved a chicken burger into her hands. “Eat.”
She blinked and looked around. Everyone else was a third or more of the way through their burgers. She’d zoned out.
She bit into the burger and found it excellent. The café’s chefs might have aimed at reproducing American diner food, but they’d given it their own spin. The salad was crisp and fresh, and the chicken grilled rather than deep-fried, and lightly flavored with herbs.
Talk was minimal till everyone had eaten, but hunger satisfied and bowls of ice cream sundaes in hand, the respite was over. There were a few loose ends to tie up as everyone wandered out to sit under shade sails on the roof. Alexandria’s port stretched to one side, the sea as blue as the cloudless sky above. On the other three sides, the crowded rooftops of the old and new city jostled one another, oblivious to the fort’s presence. Fay had said once that the spell that hid the fort from mundanes and most magical people was one of the strongest she’d ever encountered, and probably set by Uncle, the djinn, centuries ago.
Sitting above the sunny city, surrounded by family, Steve fixed Liz with an older brother’s stern gaze. “I have a fair idea of who involved you in hiding Daria.”
She looked back at him blandly. Lunch had been a good idea. She felt more herself. More ready to sass.
“I won’t ask you to confirm my suspicions,” Steve continued. “Since obviously you can’t continue to hide victims of crime. You, and your home, aren’t under the radar anymore.”
“Thank goodness,” her dad muttered.
Liz ate one of the raspberries she’d lavished on her scoops of vanilla ice cream and maintained a prudent silence.
“But you can pass on a message to your friend,” Steve said.
She stopped eating. “What message?”
“That we will protect Daria,” her grandfather rumbled. “And we’ll deal with that scum, Brandon’s friend. What’s his n
ame?”
“Thirkell,” Fay supplied.
“How will—on second thoughts, I don’t want to know,” Liz said.
Carson scooted his chair closer to hers, tucking into the shifting shade of the sail. “If a man’s busy protecting himself, he doesn’t have time to worry about revenge.”
Steve nodded.
Life was about to become difficult for Thirkell. Thinking of Daria and her experiences under the man’s control, Liz decided he deserved it. She dug into her sundae.
Carson wasn’t that keen on dessert, so he’d piled his sundae bowl with fruit, chocolate flakes and a dollop of ice cream to be good company. It was obvious that Liz was recovering her usual hopeful, happy resilience surrounded by her family.
And her family was making it equally obvious, if only by including him in the small lunch gathering, that they liked him for her.
Hell, he liked him for her.
His protective, possessive instincts in the court had shocked him, but not enough for him to fight them and rein them in. He hadn’t wanted any other males, other than family, near her.
Mate-bond. The idea buzzed in his brain. He and Liz didn’t have one, hadn’t even had sex, but was there a preliminary stage when the potential for a mate-bond surged?
He knew he wanted her near him.
With the sun warm and the company excellent, Carson contemplated his future.
Chapter 12
People travelled back to London in small groups, rather than the mass descent of their arrival at the Suzerain’s court.
Liz’s grandfather was the first to leave, finishing his two scoops of ice cream, downing a coffee briskly and squinting towards the sun as it headed for the western horizon. Late afternoon, early evening in Alexandria meant it would be lunchtime in London. “Things to do. Dinner tomorrow night.”
As always Grandfather had an impeccable sense of timing and emotion. Everyone needed a little bit of distance, time to process the happenings of the last intense couple of days. But then, they needed to be together again. Dinner would be at the London house.
Doctor Wolf (The Collegium Book 4) Page 13
