by E Hall
“But did she shift?” It’s my duty to account for all wolves in the world, even well beyond my territory. Not only am I Alpha of my pack, but the wolf shifter representative for the Warrior and Guardian Council.
“I don’t understand. Wouldn’t she have shifted a long time ago? Why haven’t we already accounted for her?” Camilla asks, well aware that most shifters experience their first change before their teen years.
“There are exceptions.” I pause, taking a breath, wondering how much I should share. Then again, these are my betas. They’re my most trusted and closest confidants.
I tilt my head, indicating Baker shut down his computer. This isn’t time for technology and its ability to source information. The room dims without the extra glow of the screen.
“Quick history lesson in case you don’t know. A werewolf bit Alden Johannsson, the guy who fell in love with a fae maiden. Then cured by his beloved, he became a reluctant Alpha. He didn’t want to lead. The fae king wasn’t pleased. They went to war. Eventually, Alden called for a treaty to end the fighting. The Articles of Accord were enacted, commonly known as the Accords, the Warrior and Guardian Council was created, and you know the rest. However, over the years there were some magicals that broke the rules. We eliminated each case. But that didn’t stop Greyson Slade from forming an opposition group, the Klave. They’re trying to lift the Accords spell that binds the monsters in us.”
Inga stifles a gasp at the intentional destruction of magicals. She’s one of my top fighters, but like me, she doesn’t relish it.
“Then what’s the problem?” Trigg asks.
“We eliminated all cases except for one.”
“I take it we shouldn’t be relieved.” Uncertainty marks Claude’s voice.
“Not in the slightest. Greyson Slade mated with a vampire.”
This time everyone gasps.
“Exactly.” I pace a short track at the head of the table. “How he’s evaded the Council all these years is beyond our comprehension. What he did with the creature he created, we can’t be sure. But I never felt anything like the disturbance earlier, which makes me wonder if it was Magical’s Most Wanted.”
“What kind of power are we talking about?” Trigg balks.
“That’s the problem, we don’t know what she is. We know that Greyson is the result of a fae and wolf mating. We know what a vampire is. But all three?” I tilt my head.
“A power unlike any ever unleashed,” Trigg says.
I cut him a look. “The Accords prevent it from happening again. To keep us all safe, and more importantly, to keep humans safe from us.”
“It’s funny, from time to time, I get a strong hankering for a cut of bloody meat,” Avril says.
“We eat bloody meat all the time,” Baker says.
“By funny, I think she means human flesh,” Trigg says, referring to his girlfriend’s comment.
She laughs darkly.
There’s nothing funny about this. We created the Accords to keep us from indulging our basest desires—wolf-shifters for human flesh, vampires for human blood, and fae, well, I do my best not to think about their tendency to enjoy tormenting humans.
I lower into the chair. “There was always the chance—no, the hope—that the daughter Greyson and his vampire mate spawned was powerless. That somehow all of that energy couldn’t be contained in one person. Or that she didn’t survive.” But deep down I knew that wasn’t true. Beneath the surface, deep in my wolf bones, I’ve felt the restlessness of her magic existing in the world for quite some time now.
“So if she’s all three—shifter, vampire, and fae—will each of the Council be hunting her?” Claude asks.
Urgency rattles my bones. “Likely.”
“I don’t like this,” Inga says, having experienced the fallout of war.
“What about the enemy? What if they get to her first?” Baker asks.
I scrub my hand down my face. “That’s what I’m afraid of.”
Amanda skulks into the room. “What is Alpha Corbin afraid of?”
It’s always a game with her. “Technically, I’m not afraid of anything. I’m concerned. It’s different. More importantly, what are you doing here? You weren’t summoned to this meeting.” I jerk my thumb to the door.
“As the primary candidate for female Alpha, I figure I ought to know what’s going on in my pack.”
“Our pack,” I quickly correct.
Although I’m Alpha, we’re still a family. And she is not the primary candidate for female Alpha. Far from it.
“We were just discussing Magical’s Most Wanted,” Inga says.
I silence her with a sharp glare. “The content of our conversation is confidential.”
“Say that three times fast,” Amanda says. “But about the MMW—”
“Run around Headquarters three times fast,” I order.
She doesn’t move.
“Amanda, I’m not kidding.” If she forces me to pull an Alpha move, I will. I prefer not to use my power to enforce my commands.
Avril watches with amused eyes.
When Amanda still doesn’t move, I fix my dominant gaze on her.
Her eyes dip in submission. As if I’d placed my hands on her shoulders and physically turned her around, she starts toward the door.
“Go. Run.”
She had no choice. If I’d told her to dye her hair pink, run through town with a herd of goats, and proclaim her love for vegetarian cookery, she would have to.
“Three laps,” I repeat and then close the door but not before she casts me a wink.
I let out a long rumble of irritation. “I’d rather not start locking the door, but—”
“I’ll talk to her,” Baker says.
“Nothing?” Inga asks, referring to any spark between us that we might be fated mates since technically Amanda is an eligible female.
I’m not slightly interested. Amanda and I spent an evening in each other’s company before I realized she’s not selfless. That’s what it takes to be an Alpha. It’s what sets me apart. I will live and die for my pack. I can’t do that if I have a mate. She’ll come first. That’s how it works unless she’s also Alpha.
“Still nothing,” I emphasize.
“You have to find your fated mate,” Claude says.
“No.”
“You can’t be the lone wolf forever,” Baker says. “Our pack needs a female Alpha.”
“We could nominate him for that bachelor dating show,” Trigg suggests.
Camilla hides a smile.
“We don’t need more fighting. I’ve strived for peace for years. We finally have it.” But not if this abomination of all magicals is loose among us. A growl rises inside.
I know what I need to do. Hunt her down and destroy her. Whatever she is. I have to protect my people.
“Prepare the plane,” I order.
“Already done, sir,” Baker replies.
“Who do you want to come with?” Avril asks, always eager for a fight.
“I’m doing this alone. If we go together, we might alert the vamps or the fae. Right now, we have stealth on our side.”
“Wouldn’t they have already heard the alarm?” Avril asks.
“Not necessarily.” I lean in. “We don’t know what kind of magical she is. There’s a chance she’s primarily shifter, and that’s why I sensed the disturbance.”
“Not with that outpouring of magic, knocking the human out,” Baker says.
“That would be the fae in her,” Avril says, not at all a fan.
“Any evidence of her being a vampire?” Camilla asks with a slight shiver.
We turn to Baker with his surveillance and intel.
“Not that I’m aware. However, there’s a good chance one raised her.” Flipping his laptop on, he enhances an image of a woman with smooth skin, curly brown hair, and black eyes laced with red that only wolves can see. Jaqueline Slade.
“There’s no chance Greyson would’ve left his mate, the mother, to raise h
is child. Too risky,” Trigg says confidently.
I lift and lower a shoulder. “Assume nothing.”
“What makes you think she’s part wolf?” Camilla asks.
“The fact that I sensed her,” I say simply. I don’t always trust my human senses, but my wolf has never steered me wrong.
“If we use the assume nothing logic, coupled with Magical’s Most Wanted, and her parents, since Greyson was dual-magical, that means she’s tri-magical.”
“To summarize,” Claude says, “You detected the MMW overseas—” Wolf senses are strong, but I ignore the slight narrowing of his gaze that tells me it’s unusual. I know.
“Her name is Kenna Slade,” Baker says, enlarging a photo of her on the computer. I hardly spare a glance at the creature whose existence defies magical law.
“Kenna Slade,” I repeat. I am coming for you.
“Corbin detected Kenna Slade and identified her as a threat. There’s a good chance the fae and possibly the vampires did as well. You want to track her down and...” Claude picks up, summarizing then leaves off for me to fill in the blank.
“Destroy her.”
“We can’t let anything come between us and peace,” Inga says, understanding the delicate nature of the situation.
We live and die by the Articles of Accord. Without then, the magical world and human alike would be in ruins.
“But there’s one more element at play. The Klave,” Baker says.
The pack members each grumble.
“If they get word of the MMW who has the potential to be as powerful as shifters, fae, and vampires combined, then that hard-won peace is in trouble,” Claude says.
“It already is,” I mutter, referring to the rebel group of magicals bent on undoing the Accords and throwing off the balance of our world, which would then allow us to infiltrate the human world and eventually obliterate them. No, not the opportunity, the desire, the instinct, the craving. We’re little more than monsters protected by magic.
I move to the door. “I’ll be in touch when I get stateside. Otherwise, I’ll see you back here with the girl.”
“So you’re planning on sparing her?” Inga asks with relief in her voice.
“I didn’t say I’m bringing her back alive.”
Inga flashes me a look. She knows that Tatiana predicted I’d soon find my fated mate over the sea, and it would mean the beginning of the end for us. But not if I can help it.
Chapter 5
Kenna
As the airplane descends toward Glasgow, the ocean glistens from the setting sun as if winking goodnight. It’s early summer back home and whereas we’re well into warm days, when I get outside, the chill in the air suggests winter already arrived this far north. I follow signs to the train connection that will bring me to Intherness, Concordia.
I wonder how a train will bring me there since the country is an island. While I wait, an informative sign informs me that a tunnel goes under the North Sea like the Chunnel between England and France, but much longer. Air traffic in and out of Concordia is minimized and almost exclusive to private planes. No wonder I haven’t heard of it—they’re practically closed off from the rest of the planet.
Soon, the train pulls into the station, and I board, finding a forward-facing window seat—not that I’ll see much while underground. I try not to think about how that makes me feel thick with claustrophobia.
While traveling, I try to find out as much as I can about this small and relatively unknown country. I’m a geography buff and envision the map on the wall of my old bedroom, picturing where I am in the world.
It’s then, as the train leaves Glasgow, that another last time hits me. It’s likely that yesterday was the last time I’d ever be at the apartment in Portsmouth and likely the last time I’d ever see Matt—he was definitely alive when I left.
But was it also the last time I saw my mother? No, I can’t let myself think that.
There’s another last time that I can’t quite place. As I gaze at homes lit from within, dotting the Scottish countryside, it was the last time I was me. Well, me as I’d always known myself without static electricity pouring from my limbs. My chin trembles at the notion of losing myself, changing.
I root down in the present, focusing on my next step. I can’t afford to get emotional right now. Not when my mother told me to run. Not when she’s missing. Not when I’m in this uncharted territory and headed to a foreign land.
I pull out a brochure in the seat pouch. Concordia is one of the oldest, smallest, wealthiest, and most little-known countries in the world. I focus on the facts.
There is a king and a queen.
Everything is orderly and timely.
The colors are royal blue and silver—décor prominent on the train. When I showed my digital ticket earlier, the porter chuckled. “You won’t have much use for that up north.”
I think he was referring to my phone, but got distracted by a mural on one wall depicting a scene of a snowy landscape over which flew a royal blue flag with two interwoven crowns in the center and surrounded by a border of silver stars.
I’d passed through several train cars including one with a piano and thick carpeting for entertainment, another was a formal dining car with wooden tables set with fine china. There was a lounge, a mini spa, and a study. Several more cars contained cabins for guests and a grand suite, for the royals. I’m in what I heard someone call the common car.
But there was nothing common about the surge of energy that shot from me earlier. It’s surreal as the moment comes to me in fragments. But it really happened. Even as the initial experience fades slightly, my fear doesn’t leave. What if it happens again?
Focus on the facts I tell myself again. The unknown is too big. Too much.
Concordia’s principal exports are a rare element required for oil refinement, followed by the natural resource itself in some of its principalities.
Its chocolate cake is renowned. The queen, a baker has intervened the popularity of cookies.
My stomach rumbles. I’ve hardly had an appetite. I dig in my backpack. Usually, I have some sweets stashed in here. I find one chocolate kiss and decide to save it for later.
Instead, I apply Cherry Chapstick—my favorite—and think about doughnuts. I fire off an email to my boss, explaining that for graduation, my mother sent me on an unexpected trip to Europe. The owner of the doughnut shop will understand, knowing from experience that except while working as a nurse, Jackie Slade is kind of flaky. It wouldn’t come as a surprise to my boss that in her attempt to surprise me, she neglected to tell them about my pending absence.
Andi, my best friend, is another matter. It’s early morning back home, and she’ll still be asleep. I email her a similar story and promise to send pictures.
From the train porter’s comment, that might be the only thing my phone is good for up north.
The lights in the train car dim as we enter the tunnel. The motion of the wheels on the track is like a lullaby.
Soon, I doze in and out of sleep as the train chugs through the night.
Every time my dreams land on the scene in my living room, I wake with a sharp start. I cannot begin to fathom what happened. How I conducted electricity. It looked it was going to rain that afternoon so maybe it was a freak bolt of lightning. Andi is always telling me about random occurrences. Her mother once said that she’s one in a million, even though she’s one of eight kids, and has since been on a quest to find out other things that only happen once in a million number of times. Usually, they’re not good.
When the train emerges from the tunnel, the sky is light gray with the dawn. I stretch in the seat. There are only a few other people in the common car. Most travelers have private compartments.
The conductor announces our arrival in Intherness in less than ten minutes, giving details about the weather—rain in the forecast.
Nerves jangle inside.
Why couldn’t Mom have sent me somewhere tropical? Then again, sometimes
I can tolerate the sun, other times it practically makes me ill—another one of my weird allergies that seems to come and go. However, salt and silver always interfere with my system, which makes eating out tricky, hence why my stomach is loud enough to wake the guy snoozing in the seat across the aisle. Thankfully, it doesn’t. As for the silver, my mother joked that my future husband has it easy since I won’t be hoping for much in the way of jewelry.
As the train pulls into the station at Intherness, I gather my things, having told myself to open the envelope she gave me as soon as I step on Concordian soil.
Once off the train, majestic snow-capped mountains rise high in the distance in one direction and the ocean stretches toward the horizon in the other.
I take a deep breath, moving to the front of the station and out of the way of other travelers. I draw a deep breath, tucking my thumb under the fold of the envelope, and anticipating my mother to tell me to stop. But she’s not here.
I tried texting her a hundred times, but I’m guessing her phone is sitting on the counter buzzing, if not already dead from a depleted battery.
I open the envelope and pull out a cream-colored piece of paper with a formal yet official-looking script. The top is a deed to a property along with the address. A change has been made, naming me as the owner.
I swallow thickly.
Greyson and Jaqueline Slade are the previous owners.
My stomach dips.
That’s my father’s name...and my mother’s. It says they purchased the home in 1872. None of us were alive almost a hundred and fifty years ago. It’s impossible.
I turn the paper over. It’s blank. I read the document again from top to bottom. I examine the fine print. I’m the owner of what sounds like a manor named Lonsdale in Cardington, Concordia.
Inside a wooden frame and mounted on the wall of the train station is a map as big as the one on my wall back home. Only this one shows this country in its entirety.
I find my current location, Intherness, at the bottom. Then I scan for the town on the deed, Cardington. I skim past quaint sounding villages, meandering rivers, lakes, and mountains. The north is largely unpopulated. Naturally, the house is up there. My mother mentioned nothing about this. How did she buy a house in the 1800s?
