by Lyra Evans
“So where were you all this time?” a journalist asked. Kayla looked directly at him, blinking slowly. He flushed at the collar.
“I was badly wounded and desperate for help. I ran into the jungle-forest, unable to smell anything clearly through the blood pouring down my face, looking for Connor. He was my brother, and we only had each other. The campsite was smouldering behind me, the cries and screams of my parents having long since faded into the cracking of the flaring fire.” She paused, eyes closed, as though fighting tears or emotion to powerful to speak through. The clothing she was wearing was simple, jeans and a silk top in a pale grey, almost silver. Oliver considered the outfit. “The only thought that kept me going was Connor, that I did still have a brother. Only I didn’t find him,” she said. “After two hours of hiking blindly through the wilds of Maeve’s Court, I felt myself growing weaker. My head ached, my brain worn down to a nonsensical mulch, and my body burning with every new test, I couldn’t go on much longer. I had no water, no supplies, and though some of the blood was caked onto my face, still there were gashes that spewed rivers of red down my front and my back.
Eventually, I collapsed, my mind and heart giving out in the face of impossible odds. I fell to the ground, face half in the dirt, and wished for relief.
And it did come. It did. An elderly woman passed me by, though I have no memory of this, and took me into her home. She had no idea of my origins or bloodline. She knew only that I was in danger and possibly dying, so she helped. She nursed me, in her tiny spare bedroom, and got me back to fighting fit shape. I owe her a great deal.”
Silence fell again, like a tick snowfall in the night. The account Kayla told of her own near-death experience with a dragon took time to sink in. Oliver compared the story with the one Connor told him and found they largely matched up. Except that Connor had said he’d searched for Kayla too. Surely if he had been calling out to her and her to him, they might have reunited before Kayla lost consciousness? Oliver considered the probabilities that Kayla had gone exactly in the opposite direction to Connor and gotten too far away to hear his calls.
“Why did you not return sooner?” Lane asked, his face a mask of open distrust. Arms crossed over his chest, Lane didn’t seem as though he was in the mood to be fed a steaming pile of shit.
“I could not,” Kayla said, turning to Lane. “I was in a coma for years,” she said. “The only thing keeping me alive were the spells the elderly woman used on me to ensure my survival. She did the best she could with limited resources, and I admit, I asked her why it was she never alerted anyone to my presence.” Kayla shrugged and sighed at once, as though there was nothing she could do about it at the time. “A missing Werewolf girl would have alerted someone. But she did not read, nor could she gather much intelligence from the stubs of things left in my pockets. We were far out in central nowhere, surrounded only by the forest. I only awoke from my coma a couple months ago, and I came home straight away.”
Another sound of shock and surprise. The crowd dissolved into momentary whispers and mutterings until Kayla gestured for it to cease.
“Impossible,” Donna said. “We had no word—”
“You would not have,” Kayla said quickly, and the edge to her tone was a warning, Oliver could tell. “I came in darkness and left without a word.” She began to pace again here, arms folded behind her back as she considered the floor. “I expected to return to a broken pack, to a brother with no on else in the world, to a Court I understood and loved. Instead, I returned to find Connor had taken over our pack, relegated memories of myself and my parents to the attic, and desecrated the noble history of our kin by sharing a bed with an Ape. And he dares suggest he is fit to be Alpha? He dares imply he is a challenger to lead the Court?” Kayla shook her head. “I am as sure that Connor killed Logan as I am that he is responsible for the deaths of our parents. And given my mother’s position, that makes twice now Connor has killed an Alpha.” She stepped forward, wind blowing in her choppy hair and the Moonlight shining off her pale, mangled face. “So I stand before you, a challenger for Alpha of this Court, with a vow to protect you and all you hold dear. I lost everything that day in the jungle-forest, and I know better than any the steep price of pride and ambition. I will not allow anyone to take your loved ones for the sake of power!”
A frisson passed over the crowd, and Wolves everywhere, part of every pack and every group, stood up with howls and cries of support for Kayla. The roar blew Oliver back, his blood running cold at the sight of Connor’s sister proclaiming herself challenger. It was insane, surely. The Wolves of the Court wouldn’t turn on Connor because of a speech, would they?
Oliver turned to Connor to ask him, to reassure him they would still clear his name and put everything right. But when he turned, he saw only black. Connor was gone.
Chapter 24
The cabin was only so large, and Connor, being as tall as he was, was difficult to miss. Oliver stepped outside, breathing in the fresh, ocean air blown up from the sea below, and found Connor sitting on the edge of the cliff. Walking cautiously over to his lover, Oliver paused a foot or two behind Connor. He seemed so broken, back curled, feet dangling over the edge of a rock face, his blond hair blowing wildly in the wind. Connor was diminished, and Oliver was slain by the sight of it.
“I’m sorry,” Connor said, and Oliver wasn’t sure what he was apologizing for. There were long moments without speaking, Oliver unsure what to say, and Connor too lost in his own thoughts to bother making them known. After a while, Oli stepped carefully to the edge of the cliff and sat himself down next to Connor. His legs pressed much more determinately to the stone and earth beneath him, Oliver looked out at the turbulent waves in the distance. Morning was breaking on the horizon, the day rising slowly from the depths, the sun like a surfacing diver, shattering the blue of the ocean to breathe life.
It was beautiful here, really. Oliver tried to take in the picturesque quality of the place, the secluded cabin surrounded by nature. He tried not to think of what it was Rory got up to here alone, and he pushed from his mind the reality of all the things he’d learned in the last couple days. Instead, he focused on the cresting waves beneath them, the teal blue waters of the ocean, and all the possibilities the endless sea offered.
They could run. They could fashion together a boat of some kind and take it out to the horizon, chasing down the uncatchable point in the distance, never stopping, never turning back. Who knew what they could find out there, in the blue? Other islands, other places full of people and cultures and technology and magic. Perhaps in this other world there were werecats, or maybe pixies were Human-sized like Fae. Or perhaps dragons were kind and welcoming, supporting the needs of an entire community.
Some had tried, of course, to sail out to the unknowable places, but none ever returned. Most thought it was a sign that no such other places existed, that their little island with Three Courts was all there was to the world on land, all there would ever be. But Oliver wished, then, that he could try it. He wished that Connor could sit with him in the stern of a boat, laughing as the sea foam broke on the waves and peaks. But it was unlikely to happen.
“She’s alive,” Connor said eventually, his voice a breath of surprise on the wind, carried away to the uncharted lands of Oliver’s mind. “She’s been alive all this time. And she blames me.” Connor sighed and dropped his head into his hands, perched precariously far over the edge of the cliff. Oliver swallowed the alarm in his throat and tried to smooth calm into Connor’s back.
“She only knows the story she lived through,” Oliver said, his tone as gentle as he could make it. “She went through something horribly traumatic and never had a chance to grow up out of it like you did. She’s stunted at the same age when she fell into the coma…”
He knew there was little chance his advice was working for Connor, but Oliver offered it anyway, unable to stay seated and watch Connor tear himself down. He needed to do something, to be the partner Connor deserved him to
be.
“She blames me for everything,” Connor repeated. “And who’m I kidding? She’s right. I am to blame.”
Oliver pulled back, shocked. “What do you mean?”
Connor rubbed his fingers into his temples, licking his lips for moisture. “I left the trail of meat back to the campsite. I ran away hiding in one of the most difficult spots in the entire forest. I made my parents go search for me, gave the dragon a reason to go sniffing them out. I’m the reason my parents are dead.”
Oliver frowned, glaring blankly out at the ocean, as though it might present him with an option.
“Did you kill Logan?” Oliver asked, his voice hard, his expression set. Connor spun to look at him, eyes wide and mouth wrought in betrayed horror.
“I thought you didn’t need to ask me that,” Connor said, the words falling almost as though they were distasteful to him. Oliver shook his head.
“Did you or didn’t you?” he asked again, pressing closer to Connor, and finally Connor leaned back, arms in the air, and answered.
“No! Moons, no,” he cried. “Of course not. I would ne—”
“Well, the Connor I know would never do it, but the Connor you’re talking about is an entirely different beast, isn’t he?” Oli ignored the offended look on his lover’s face. “That Connor killed his parents, maimed his sister, made everyone believe she was dead, unlawfully took over his pack, and may, very well, have killed Logan.” Oliver considered his nails, picking at the corner of one. “That Connor is capable of anything.”
“I didn’t kill Logan,” he said, expression falling flat to a deadpan. Oliver looked at him directly.
“How can you be sure?” Oliver asked. “You did see him the day he died. And when he went to go to another meeting with someone else, you didn’t follow him to protect him. And while he was being murdered, you were preparing yourself for our bonding ceremony. It’s possible that, somehow, you are culpable for his murder.”
Connor’s eyebrows knitted over his eyes, his forehead drawn and wrinkled in his confusion and frustration. “That’s ridiculous,” he said. “Just because I was with him before he died doesn’t mean I’m responsible for him dying!”
Oliver pressed a finger to Connor’s chest and leaned closer, his face right up in Connor’s space. “Then why would you think you’re responsible for your parents’ deaths?” Oliver asked. “You were a kid, you made a mistake. It happens! And there were no dragon warnings for you to heed, no way of knowing something like that could even happen. The forest is a dangerous place, and you were not fully equipped!”
Connor pushed back against Oli’s finger and brushed his arm aside, shaking his head and refusing to hear Oli’s logic.
“Whether I intended it or not, doesn’t change the fact that I’m responsible for my parents’ deaths.” He shook his head, carding fingers through his fine, soft hair. “Kayla clearly seems to think so. That she blames me for everything kills me. It’s like one of my childhood nightmares come to life. I’ve been having terrible visions of this day for years.” He dropped his head until his chin was against his chest. For so much of my life, I’d wanted to have my family back. I wanted to train with my mother, study with my father, and bicker with Kayla. I wanted to play the game we used to play, Hunter and Hunted. I wanted to share with her everything going on with me, and then later, everything going on with us.” He gestured between them. “But now she’s back, alive after all, all I can help thinking is ‘fuck what a terrible week for her to come back.’” Connor heaved a sound halfway between a sob and a chuckle, tinged with such devastating sadness Oliver couldn’t speak right away. “I’m a terrible person.”
“No!” Oliver said, jumping into action and wrapping an arm around Connor. “You are not a bad person at all. How could you know she was alive? She was holed up away in a corner somewhere, in a coma, for years.” Pressing his lips gently to Connor’s ear, Oliver whispered, “You did nothing wrong, nothing less than you should have.”
Connor caught Oliver’s wrist, holding it gently but firmly between his hands, and pulled away from Oliver’s kisses. “I should have known she was still alive. She’s my twin sister,” he said, staring out at the ocean. The lightening sky and turbulent waters reflected in his brilliant blue eyes. “Isn’t that what twins are supposed to do? Shouldn’t we have a special bond of some kind? Something in my core, connected to her, to tell me when she’s in danger? When she’s okay?”
Shoulders slumping, Oliver considered Connor and hated himself. He wasn’t able to comfort Connor the way Connor could comfort him. He was never good at this part, at taking care of people. A tightening in his heart made his chest ache, and all Oli wanted was to make this right for Connor.
“I don’t know, Connor,” Oliver said. “I always thought that stuff was bullshit. I didn’t even believe in Fated love, remember?” He looked up at Connor from lowered lids, and Connor’s lips quirked with a slight smile. “Maybe it’s only identical twins that have that kind of bond. Or maybe it’s about being twins in the soul, not just the DNA.”
Connor laughed without humour, brushing his blond hair out of his face with one hand. “That’s the thing, I thought we were twins in the soul,” he said. “We were always so alike when we were younger. Not just in looks, though obviously that too. We’re both white Wolves, both the same size and with the same markings. But even in the style we used for sparring—our strengths and weaknesses were largely the same. She was better than I was, true, but… I just don’t get it. Our parents even said it was difficult sometimes to tell our scents apart, we were so similar.”
The words fell through the haze in Oliver’s brain, slowly stacking against his mental corkboard of the case. He thought back to the crime scene, to the inconsistent evidence, to the lack of blood and saliva, to the scent and the magical signature evidence, all leading back to Connor. To his home. To his ancestral home.
“Are there many twins in Werewolf bloodlines?” Oliver asked. Connor looked over at him, confused.
“Not many, no,” he said. “It’s really just Kayla and I in our generation, then the Montgomery twins. They occur rarely in Werewolves. At one time, it was common to have many children at once. Three or four, sometimes. But that was centuries ago. It’s been a long time since we started birthing only one child.” He sighed again and rolled his eyes with an annoyed kind of nostalgia. “People used to say my parents were marked by the Moon, to birth two white Wolves at once. To some people, it made my mother’s claim to Alpha more powerful. It’s all nonsense, of course. We weren’t touched by the Moon.” He cast a weary look at the sky. “They stopped saying that after what happened in the woods.”
Oliver digested these words, each in turn, staring outward at the ocean as he did. One hand on Connor’s back, rubbing gentle circles into his spine, Oliver let his thoughts wander to the pieces of the puzzle that was this case. Slowly, he thought, they were beginning to come together.
As the jungle-forest behind them began to wake, the noise by the cabin grew. Chirping birds and croaking frogs joined the distant, echoing chant of the crashing waves below. Oliver was paying so little attention to the sounds, however, it took him a full minute to realize a Tweeter bird was fluttering by his ear.
“Things are getting worse,” Captain Marks’s voice said. “There’s been an attack on one of the border towns. Tirnanog was hit early this morning. Rumours flying around that it’s retribution from the Werewolf Court for your hand in ‘tricking’ Pierce into killing his cousin. Five dead, one of them a pregnant woman. Some still missing. The survivors all recounting stories of violent monsters coming in the night, howling and growling. A handful say they were Wolves, but no one got a clear view of any one attacker. This is a powder keg, Worth, and if you don’t come up with solid evidence proving Pierce’s innocence soon, I’m worried about what the High Warlock is going to do.”
Oliver jumped to his feet, rushing back into the cabin. Connor, calling after him, followed suit. By the time Connor made i
t into the cabin, Oliver had already turned on the television to the news. High Warlock Carmichael’s face, stern and silver and full of fury, stared back at them.
“—completely abominable behaviour,” he was saying to the press. “We cannot ignore, nor forgive this kind of vicious and hateful attack on innocent citizens. It has become clear that the Werewolf Court cannot govern itself in the wake of Logan’s murder. Whatever interim Alpha stands to represent the Werewolves at the moment, note this: the Council of the Wizarding Court views this attack as an act of war, and we will respond accordingly. The people of our Court will not stand for the murder of innocent Witches and Wizards. We can no longer turn a blind eye to the barbaric actions of the Werewolf Court. For too long we have tread on eggshells, trying in vain to protect a Treaty that protects animals from reasonable governance. It is time to put a stop to it. It is time,” he said, his voice echoing deep into the chasms of Oliver’s chest, “to claim control of the Werewolf Court.”
Chapter 25
It was as though everything happened at once. The High Warlock declared war on the Werewolf Court, two Tweeter birds flew in, each with a different message for Oli and Connor, and the world as they knew it ended. Listening to his message, Oli quickly flipped through the channels, looking for a news outlet not only covering the High Warlock’s declaration. Connor, meanwhile, paled visibly, his face a shade of ash white Oliver had only ever seen in the cold remnants of a wildfire.
Pulling one of Rory’s candies from his pocket, Connor unwrapped the sweet, popped the ball into his mouth for a moment, then popped it back out into his hand in the centre of the wrapping.
“Don’t do anything rash. Do not challenge. Do not give her any reason to accuse you of treason or cast you out. But stall, Donna. Stall for as long as you can,” Connor said to the candy, his words swirling on the air as he spoke, the wisps of green letters floating back to the ball in his palm, fluffing it slowly. “Give us as much time as you can. The pack cannot cross the border. This is imperative. Moon guide you.” Message finished, Connor twisted up the ends of the wrapper again, this time at a different angle, and the shiny packaging glowed a moment, then puffed out into feathers, a tiny fold in the front shaping into a beak. The little green bird lifted off Connor’s palm, twittered once at him, then zipped away on its mission.
