by KH LeMoyne
“These are the profiles of all the employees and their families,” Callum said as he threw another folder on top of the pile beside Breslin. An inch thick and worn as if someone had searched through the papers often, it sat like a rock on top of the Rutland financial reports. “I don’t know how you can do this year after year. It’s giving me prematurely gray hair.”
“You’ve had gray hair since I first met you—a long time ago.” Breslin leaned back in his chair and waited. He knew Callum well enough. Until he finished, he’d continue interrupting Breslin’s final Rutland coup. The last thing the acquisition needed was a fat-fingered mistake that might leave an opening for someone else to claim the mill.
Fists on his desk, Callum leaned closer. “Some people have extended families and elderly who need care. They can’t just up and leave.”
“You didn’t have a problem pulling up roots.” Breslin scowled back at the numbers on the screen. In forty-five seconds, his login to the trading account would time out. He needed to finalize his transaction for the available shares. Even with his low bid for delivery of the lumber to the buyer Rutland desperately needed, his clan’s holding of Hampton Mills would clear a profit while stealing the business from Gauthier.
Suddenly noticing the lack of lecture, he shook his head and realized Callum now stood again at the far windows with his back to him. He’d never seen him so exasperated. After a quick click to save his offer, Breslin refocused his attention. “You didn’t struggle with the Karndottir clan’s well-being after changing your alpha allegiance to Deacon. Why take an interest in the old territory now?”
“I—we didn’t have a choice but to choose Deacon. My loyalties to him are unwavering, but if Gauthier hadn’t been a threat to our unborn child and seeking to make Gillian his broodmare, we wouldn’t have forsaken our home,” Callum said over his shoulder without turning back. “Mix-breed matings are still outlawed in that territory. Yet, even though she’s a cougar instead of a grizzly, the alpha hypocrite would have taken her to give him a son. You’d think more than a hundred years would have changed his outlook, yet—”
A hundred years hadn’t changed Breslin’s outlook, not that he excused Gauthier’s narcissistic ego.
“The only thing that saved Gillian was her mother’s determination to keep her hidden and the shaman’s potion to suppress her from shifting,” Callum added.
That and Callum’s quick action in taking his very young, pregnant beloved over the territory line before others became aware of her breeding potential. The thought left a sour taste in Breslin’s mouth.
“We were lucky Deacon accepted us.” Callum turned back and leaned against the glass. “But I’d have sworn an oath to the devil himself to save her.”
Breslin moved the file Callum had dropped aside. “Luckily, you didn’t have to do that.”
“Gillian’s relieved our children, your godchildren, grew up safe, and received excellent educations. I owe you for that.”
“Of course, I was their Protector,” Breslin muttered. The good news was that following all the Mann children around had paid off. They’d survived childhood and puberty, and blossomed into productive adults. “Shifters don’t have godparents, but someone needs to provide backup.”
Callum continued as if he hadn’t spoken. “But there are consequences to what you’re doing. People fleeing your financial persecution and changing their alpha oaths could incite Gauthier to wage war. Don’t you worry for the families who live on the border?”
Like Breslin’s own family? He closed his eyes and pushed back images of flames. At a loud crunch, he glanced down at the fractured bits of his computer mouse in his palm. He swept the worthless plastic into the trash and sucked in a deep breath. “Precisely the reason I refuse to stop. If he wages war, the alphas have to intercede.”
Callum blanched. “Right, I forgot. Your goals are more important than everyone else’s.”
Breslin didn’t answer, focused again on the financial data streaming down his screen—Karndottir’s total net worth. An easy cyber-hacking job allowed him visibility into what was once a profitable portfolio of land, businesses, and cash, but which now reflected a negative balance. Gauthier could run in the wild and feed himself if he went bankrupt, but without jobs, his people would leave in droves and he’d have nothing—no money, no clan, no power. For without shifters to rule, the alpha power would leave him. Maybe he’d even go insane and kill himself as Deacon’s father had.
A few months more and Breslin’s plan would come to fruition. He hadn’t yet delivered the final strike and was still considering several options. One thing he promised himself—he’d witness Gauthier’s ruin. The alpha would know who orchestrated his downfall. The best part of his plan—no other alpha in the international shifter alliance would come to Gauthier’s aid.
The grizzly alpha had swindled and betrayed anyone who’d ever dealt with him. He’d dug his own grave. Breslin was more than happy to shovel the dirt over him as he lay twitching.
Callum wanted to reach some tender part of Breslin’s heart. It was a waste of time. Nothing would stop him, especially so close to culminating his revenge. “If you’re getting tired of helping me, you know the way to the door.”
At Callum’s deep inhale, Breslin wondered if he’d pushed too far. Callum’s sense of loyalty wouldn’t let him walk away, and Breslin counted on that weakness despite the annoying tweak in his gut that tried to dissuade him.
Callum sank into a chair beside the desk. “I should. Should have long ago, even though I understand why Deacon gave you free rein to attack these holdings. I always figured you’d eventually realize you didn’t have it in you to harm innocent people,” he muttered. “Rather like Deacon assumed you’d come to reason someday too.”
Assassins didn’t reason, they performed on command and delivered with precision. “I’m sending you my latest transaction details. Get back to me when Deacon’s Hampton Mill Lumberyard is awarded the new lumber contract instead of Rutland.”
As a timid knock rattled the door, Breslin shut his browser. “Come in.”
“Can I talk to you?” The mop-headed youngster hanging from the door handle didn’t look prepared to take no for an answer.
“Does your mother need something, Trevor?” Breslin asked.
“Nope.” The boy slid inside and closed the door, leaning against it as if he needed a prop. He cast a quick glance Callum’s way but paid him little attention. “I—well—I…”
Reining in his impatience to finish his task, Breslin slid the folders on his desk into a drawer and stood. The world seemed to be conspiring to delay him today. He waved toward the armchairs in the corner next to the unlit fireplace.
Trevor Philmont clenched his fists with his lips pursed, but he nodded and walked toward the chairs. Right before he reached them, he spun around. “I want you to teach me.”
“Teach you what?” Breslin stopped beside him, puzzled.
Trevor looked up at him as if they both already knew what was on his mind. “You know. What you do.”
Buying himself time, Breslin sank into the deep leather of the nearest chair. He ignored the gruff snort from Callum’s direction and took the time to stretch his legs out and cross them at the ankles. “Start at the beginning.”
“I want to be like you.” Trevor frowned and shoved his fists in his jean pockets. Which might have been more impressive if he weren’t four years old and barely three feet tall. “So I can do what you do for my alpha.”
His alpha? Ah yes. The child had attached himself to Deacon’s new mate, Lena. “Hansen is handling Lena’s protection detail. Trim will be back from her mission in a few weeks.”
“She’s a girl.”
Breslin lifted a fist to cover his laughter. Good thing Trim wasn’t around to hear that. As Deacon’s previous second-in-command for decades, Trim had made a name for herself as a force of retribution and justice. Nobody questioned her abilities. Not and lived. “Don’t let your mom hear you say that.”
At Trevor’s wince, he added. “Or Trim.”
“’Kay. But if I learn fast, I’ll be on Lena’s team before Trim gets back.”
“Each of the alpha pair needs a full team. Not just one superpowered bodyguard.” Evidently, Trevor’s recent rescue by Lena from a group of mercenary feral shifters had solidified his allegiance and determination to become a warrior for her cause. Not that Lena’s causes were many yet. She’d recently mated Deacon Black and married him. Still, Breslin couldn’t fault Trevor for having big goals.
But even having taken on Trim’s previous position, Breslin was the last person to train an impressionable youngster in defensive skills. He’d crafted his arsenal during the blackest periods in his life, experience grown from bitter seeds no child should willingly embrace.
“Your first lesson,” he said as he rested his chin on his fist and stared at the child. “Women are formidable foes. Do you know one of the most formidable predators in the wild?”
Trevor frowned. “The wolf?”
Points for Trevor’s mom and his alpha, both wolf shifters. “No. A mother bear.”
“A grizzly,” Trevor added with a grin.
“Any mother bear,” Breslin said as the boy’s luster dimmed. “Actually, any mother in defense of her young is a fierce predator. Don’t ever rule out the female of any species.”
Head bowed with his tiny body rigid, Trevor wasn’t ready to concede defeat. Breslin closed his eyes for a brief second, then caved. He could teach him something, at least train him enough in the basics of control to distract the boy.
“You do realize you’re too young to be trained in shifter skills? Deacon has a trainer for all the new shifters. Chisholm is good at his job.”
Glaring at him from beneath a mess of dark curls, Trevor shook his head. “No. I can’t wait until I’m old enough to shift. I need to learn now.”
“Why?” Breslin leaned forward, his forearms on his knees, and waited.
“I watched you when the others attacked on the mountain. You’re good with your cat. But you shifted into human too and were still fast.” Trevor pivoted, holding his arms out with his fingers curled in a claw shape. “And you can jump and move.” A foot kicked out as if vanquishing an invisible foe. He locked his gaze on Breslin. “The guys came at you, and you didn’t even turn around to look at them until the last minute. Then—pow! I want to be able to do that. Now.”
Disturbing. “Quite a list of skills.”
“Isn’t it, though?” Callum muttered behind him.
“Do you think I learned it all at your age?” That would have solved many things.
Trevor’s frown deepened, and Breslin rubbed his jaw, searching for a way out of babysitting duty. What the child wanted would take years. Breslin lacked the compassionate DNA for dealing with a youngster’s sensitive feelings. Or hell, anyone’s feelings.
“I don’t think—” He sensed Callum walk up beside him.
“How long could it really take? You eventually learned.”
Breslin raised a brow, knowing his partner in financial espionage wanted to delay the final plans for Gauthier’s upheaval. Callum also had no idea how motivated Breslin had been to learn—to survive long enough to kill.
“And I want to learn how to climb up trees, go really high like your cat can,” Trevor added.
“No.” Breslin hadn’t meant to bark, but Trevor flinched and leapt back.
Breslin sprang from his chair and stalked to the doorway, prepared to eject the boy and Callum both, if only to get back to business or escape this troublesome discussion. “Your mother can’t possibly know you’re in here.”
“She said I could ask you,” Trevor insisted, his mouth now twisted into a determined line, though his shoulders slunk lower, and glanced toward Callum as if expecting an ally there.
Unrelenting, Breslin scowled and avoided what he suspected was Callum’s fierce glare of parental censure. “Ask your father. He’ll have better sense.”
Chin lifted, Trevor faced him and smiled. “My dad is waiting for me in the hallway.”
“That’s where I’d be,” Callum added with an irritatingly satisfied smirk.
Breslin spun away and counted to ten, then whipped back and glared at them both. “It’s not like I’d hurt—” He waved his hand around the room and realized his response failed on so many levels. “Anyone.”
Trevor beamed and looked at Callum with a nod. “My mom said he’d never hurt me. He’s a big pussy—”
“Right,” Callum jumped in, cutting Trevor off. He palmed the boy’s head and added. “Breslin, you have time for a plan. Just a small one to get him started?”
Breslin shook his head. Trevor’s mother might be his alpha’s personal assistant, but she wasn’t safe from petty revenge. Not since she’d sunk low enough to sic her firstborn son on him for youngster combat training. However, the Philmonts’ approval for this effort meant Deacon likely also knew of Trevor’s request and sanctioned it, and his female alpha, Lena, as well. Not to mention an ever-growing list of people determined to infuse Breslin’s day with childhood joy and draw him out of his proverbial shell.
All right, then. He was exceptionally well trained, too much so to allow a minor delay to thwart him. The best way out of this dilemma was to train Trevor until the boy realized the error of his request. What child had a longer attention span than a gnat?
“Training takes a great deal of work,” Breslin said with new conviction as Trevor, now looking solemn, nodded. “Which only starts after all your chores are done.”
Trevor was already shaking his head. “Climbing—”
“No trees,” Breslin said. Callum lifted a brow at that, but fortunately didn’t interfere.
“But all the other boys know how to climb trees,” Trevor insisted softly. “And they won’t teach me.”
“You’ll stay on the ground, or I won’t teach you at all.” Trevor looked crestfallen, though still too determined for Breslin’s satisfaction. He withheld a sigh. It wasn’t going to be the last time he heard about trees. The sooner he forced Trevor to the conclusion of this agreement, the better. “First lesson. Sit with your eyes closed and notice ten things with only your hearing or you sense of smell—for ten minutes.”
Trevor’s eyes widened with obvious dismay.
“In the morning and evening. Give the lists to your mother and have her write them down.”
Trevor’s hands curled into fists at his side. “That’s not training.”
Callum looked equally annoyed behind the boy, but that wasn’t what swayed Breslin to push further. He crouched in front of Trevor and brushed his fingers over the boy’s clenched fists. “Loosen these. Now.”
Reluctantly, Trevor relaxed his fingers.
Breslin lifted his hand toward Trevor’s eyes. “Close them. Now.”
Mouth tight, the boy obeyed.
“First, take a long, slow breath through your nose and hold it for the count of…one, two, three, four. Release the breath through your mouth. Keep your eyes closed.” A gust hit Breslin’s face. “Tell me what you smell.”
“Nothing.”
“Not even the cookies just out of the oven in the kitchen?”
“Yeah.” Trevor inhaled again, loudly this time. “Deacon made me peanut butter cookies.”
“That’s one. What else do you smell?”
“Mr. Mann smells like flowers.”
“I suspect that is probably…” Breslin encouraged.
“My sweet Gillian’s favorite wildflowers,” Callum whispered into Trevor’s ear with a smirk at Breslin’s scowl for cheating.
“What do you hear?” Breslin continued.
Trevor tilted his head. “The clock on the wall. And…something that sounds like a bug.”
Considering for a moment, Breslin glanced around the room and back. “That’s four things. The bug sound is the hum from the computer monitor. Give me one more. But this time, try something harder. Can you hear something outside this room?”
For
a moment, the boy said nothing. He sighed and cocked his hip and his head as if thinking. Then he smiled, and his eyes shot open. “I hear my dad tapping on his phone outside.”
“Good. That wasn’t so hard.”
“It takes too long.”
Breslin stood and crossed his arms. “Too bad. In order to know how to do things quickly, you have to be very good at knowing what is going on around you. Twice a day.”
“’Kay. Five things,” Trevor said, pivoting on one heel toward the door.
“Ten,” Breslin corrected.
“I don’t know why the children trust you,” Callum muttered from behind him. “Experts say they’re good judges of character. Insane.”
Ignoring Callum’s comment and Trevor’s blinding smile, Breslin opened the door and acknowledged Matthew Philmont leaning stiffly against the far wall, typing into his phone. He had the good sense to remain within earshot of his young son; however, the look of relief on the man’s face was comic.
Not that Trevor’s human father could do much to save his child against a deadly shifter. But Breslin had never killed a child. Never would.
There were moral lines he didn’t cross, and he held tightly to those few. They were the neutral zone between who he was and the evil he pursued. That was what he told himself.
“He said yes,” Trevor yelled as he crushed his father’s legs in an embrace.
Matthew tilted his head, his lips twitching. “Good for you. Did you remember your other task?”
Mouth wide in a silent O, Trevor turned back. “Deacon wants to see you. He said it’s important.”
Breslin bit back a curse and the temptation to deliver a second lesson on priorities before he stalked away from both of the Philmonts.
