Black Rook (35 page)

“Fiona was born.” Brynn spat the words, their shape disgusting on her tongue.

“Fiona was born, yes.” He smiled sadly. “And about three minutes later, so were you.”

If she hadn’t been sitting down, Brynn was certain she would have fallen over. Her heart slammed against her ribs so hard she was afraid it might rip through flesh and bone and explode. Everything tilted. She could have handled the idea of Fiona being her half-sister, sired by her father and a loup garou. She wasn’t sure how to deal with this—knowing that Fiona was the twin sister she’d been told had died just after their birth. That her birth mother wasn’t her biological mother, and that both women had been involved in a horrible experiment in genetic manipulation.

“Are you all right, dear?” a stranger’s voice asked. An elderly woman leaned over the table, her lined face full of worry.

Brynn blinked at her, wanting to scream that nothing was all right, and it would never be all right again. Only the lady was being kind, and Brynn would never do such a thing. She struggled to find her voice. “Bad news,” she said.

“I’m sorry to hear that. Do you need anything?”

She glanced across the table at her father’s empty chair. He’d dropped his bomb and fled the destruction and its aftermath, the coward.

“She’ll be fine,” a new voice said, even as a familiar body slid into her father’s vacant chair. Fiona smiled up at the old lady. “I’ll take good care of my sister, don’t you worry.”

Chapter Twenty-two

Rook applied the old “a watched pot never boils” adage to his cell phone, after he’d spent an hour staring at it over breakfast. Brynn would call when she had information and was able, not because he willed it so.

He tried distracting himself by playing his guitar. First in his room, then downstairs in the library, and finally on the back patio. His fingers couldn’t find the chords no matter his physical location. His heart wasn’t in the music—not while part of his heart was in Philadelphia. He gave up feeding his own needs and decided to see to his town’s.

Despite the lack of action last night, town residents were still on edge and nervous. It didn’t help that their White Wolf was as agitated as everyone else. Rook did his job as a son of the Alpha by walking around town, chatting with his people, and just being present. He hadn’t done a good job of this since his return from college three months ago; he’d spent more time begrudging his lost music career than he’d spent winning the affection of the run. An affection and loyalty that Bishop had been given for years, because he’d worked for it. The run trusted him.

Rook genuinely liked the socializing part of his role as the Alpha’s son—a role he would still have as second to Bishop. Gray Wolves becoming Alpha was not impossible, it was just very rare. Bishop had the intelligence and training to be a good leader. Physically, he was almost as strong and fast as Rook. And everyone respected him, deferred to him, looked to him to lead when Father wasn’t present. Bishop’s voice was father’s. Rook was the prodigal son who’d come home tattooed, full of holes, and oozing resentment for his broken career. He was respected out of duty, not because he’d earned it.

Bishop deserved the position of Alpha. He’d already struck up a friendship with Jillian Reynolds, the next Delaware Alpha female, and those relationships were useful to have. He was unmarried and unattached, but he’d have no trouble finding a suitable wife to take the position of the Alpha female.

Rook, on the other hand, was falling in love with a half Magus.

He checked on the Potomac survivors, as well. Seeing only a handful of faces from the crowd he’d sang with a few precious nights ago physically hurt him. Iris had survived the attack, and she hugged him for a long time while she cried.

Afterward, he found himself wandering in the direction of Dr. Mike’s house—the one place he was always sure to find Knight. The house was unusual to the others in that it had a second floor balcony directly above the front porch, and Rook’s pace slowed when he spotted two figures sitting up there. Shay was easy to identify by the thick tangles of her strawberry blond hair. She was stretched out on a lounge chair, covered in a blanket, face turned up to the sun.

Knight sat next to her, holding one of her hands. His lips were moving, the words lost in the distance between them. Their actions spoke pretty loudly, though. The gentle way he touched her. The calm way she seemed to speak. Rook held no hope that Knight had confided in Shay, but he was glad his brother had found someone to focus on while they searched for the hostiles.

The front door opened and ejected Devlin Burke, bandage free and seeming back to his old self. He spotted Rook as he trotted down to the sidewalk and veered toward him.

“You look better,” Rook said to his friend. “Sorry I didn’t come visit.”

They hugged briefly, then stepped apart. Devlin grinned and popped his knuckles. “Knight told me you had your hands full. I’m good now, anyway. I shifted last night and again this morning.”

“Good.”

“First one hurt like hell, but I guess that was expected, huh?”

Rook nodded. Even though it was common knowledge that shifting sped up the healing of physical injuries acquired in skin, the method was rarely used in Cornerstone because of the additional pain involved. Aside from the occasional testosterone-fueled brawl over a woman, serious injury was uncommon. Unless insane vampire hybrids were trying to kill them.

“What’s wrong with you?” Devlin asked. “You look like someone just smashed your favorite guitar into little bitty pieces.”

Going on gut instinct that Father would want Devlin brought up to speed on everything he’d missed overnight, Rook gave him the condensed version, including Brynn’s quest for information. Devlin listened without interrupting, absorbing the information, and nodding along when appropriate.

“The little witch has guts, huh?” Devlin said when Rook finished. Only knowing Devlin for his whole life kept Rook from being insulted by the “witch” comment. Devlin was a good fighter and loyal to the end, but he was never deliberately cruel, and it came off like a favorite nickname.

“Yes, she does.”

“I’m shocked you let her go.”

“It wasn’t my place to stop her. This is something she has to do.”

“Well, here’s hoping she comes up with something useful.” Seeing Rook’s glare, he added, “And gets back safe and sound.”

“That’s the part that worries me.”

“Hold on, stop the presses.” Devlin planted his hands on his hips and smirked. “You’re falling for the little witch. Aren’t you?”

Rook opened his mouth to shut him down, only his phone chimed with a text message. He yanked it out of his pocket. The return number wasn’t familiar, despite the Pennsylvania area code.

I can’t help her now, but you can. Reading Terminal Market. Tell her I’m sorry. –AA

“AA.” Archimedes Atwood.

“Her.” Brynn.

Pulse racing, he thumbed open the attached photo, not even caring how Atwood got his cell phone number. Not when the photo opened. It showed a busy dining area in what had to be Terminal Market, with two black-haired women sitting across from each other at a table.

“Is that your witch?” Devlin asked. “Who’s she with?”

Rook nearly choked on the name. “Fiona. Damn it.”

“Where’s Reading Term—?”

“Philadelphia. I have to go.”

Devlin grabbed his arm in mid-lunge and nearly separated his shoulder. “Wait a sec, pal.”

“Are you seriously going to try to stop me?” Rook turned a murderous glare onto his friend.

He let go of Rook’s arm and stepped back. “No way. I’m going with you.”

“Fine.”

“You gonna tell your father?”

“When we’re on the road.”

Devlin blanched. “Great.”

***

For the first time in her life, Brynn had lost all control over her own body. She wanted to scream for help. She wanted to get up and run away from the table. She wanted to reach across it and choke Fiona for everything she’d done. She wanted to
react
and all she could do was stare.

Fiona settled back in her chair and licked the dripping side of an ice cream cone. “I’d ask if I ruined the surprise for you, but I saw you talking to our dad before,” she said, her tone as breezy as her posture. “And I saw your face after. Bet you didn’t see that one coming, huh?”

Brynn couldn’t find enough air to speak, even if her vocal chords weren’t frozen. Logic failed her. Nothing made sense anymore. Not the voices talking around them or the shape of the table, or even the color of the ice cream. She felt like she’d fallen down the rabbit hole into a world where nothing was as it should be, and everything was backward. Up was down. Black was white. Her dead twin sister was alive and a mass murderer and sitting in front of her.

“Relax, B, I’m not going to kill you,” Fiona said. “I made a deal with Daddy, remember? I may be a little high strung, but I keep my promises.”

The familiar way Fiona spoke to her, as if they had some sort of sisterly bond, sent a pulse of revulsion through Brynn’s chest. She wanted Fiona away from her—not because she was a hybrid, which would be beyond hypocritical at this point, but because she was a cold-blooded killer. Possibly even insane.

Her overwhelming disgust for Fiona, however, did not halt the desperate questions racing through her mind. “Why?” Brynn choked out. “Why did they keep me and not you?”

“Oh, that.” She wiped a streak of chocolate ice cream off her nose with the back of her hand. “Apparently, I was too obviously loup from the start. I got the loup smell, you got the Magus smell. Plus, you know, these.” She leaned forward and widened her eyes, showing off a pattern of brown and copper specks.

“But you inherited Father’s powers.”

“Some of them, yep. They’re pretty cool, let me tell you. I could melt the rest of this cone into cream in two seconds flat, but I’d rather eat it than wear it. Daddy couldn’t hide me in plain sight like he wanted, but I guess they decided they could pass you off as normal. Too bad your powers kind of suck.”

An odd pang of regret hit Brynn hard—regret for the life she hadn’t known with the sister she’d been told had died. And she quickly shoved that regret away. Fiona was a killer, period. They might be related by genetics, but they were not family.

Rook’s my family.

“I can see you thinking,” Fiona said. “Asking yourself all kinds of questions. If it helps, I didn’t know about you until my—until my contact told me that a baby Magus named Brynn Atwood was helping out the Cornerstone dogs. It made me a little suspicious of our old man. And then you showed up at the trailer and I got a whiff of you. Who knew we had so many long-lost siblings?”

She means Shay Butler. Sweet Avesta, Shay is my half-sister.

The Butlers had been her family, which made Stonehill, in many ways, her community as well. Brynn’s entire body rippled with rage for those lives lost, and for the lives her twin sister was still bent on ruining.

“Don’t look so disgusted, honey.” Fiona seemed to be enjoying the one-sided conversation. “The loup garou are animals. You’re a fool for casting your lot with them. You never knew her, sweets, but our father treated our biological mother like a queen, which is more than her own people did.”

Brynn shook her head. That wasn’t right. Chelsea Butler was a White Wolf. She’d been treasured by her run and mourned when she was taken. “What do you mean?” she asked.

“She speaks!” Fiona dropped her half-eaten cone onto the table, oblivious to the mess it made as it splattered. “It means I’ve seen proof that Andrew Butler sold his wife to the Magi for half a million dollars. Money that is in trust for his daughter Shay and accessible on her thirtieth birthday.”

“But that’s—” Brynn didn’t know what it was. Archimedes all but admitted to kidnapping Chelsea not ten minutes ago. White Wolves were too valuable to a run’s healthy existence for any Alpha to sell theirs—especially not their own wife. And Fiona was just crazy enough to make up such a story. “I don’t believe you.”

“Then don’t believe me. I know what I know.” She clasped her hands and rested them on the table and leaned over; she grinned like a kid about to spill a big secret. “I also know the Magus you thought was your mother, the witch who gave birth to us, didn’t die of natural causes. She killed herself when she found out what Daddy impregnated her with. She found out what her precious baby Brynn really was.”

Brynn couldn’t take any more. She tried to stand, only her feet didn’t want to work. Her knees didn’t lock. She pushed back in her chair, as far from Fiona’s tainted words as she could get. She was cold all over, numb inside, thoughts racing too quickly to catch and decipher. She pressed her palms into her eyes to stave off frustrated tears. “Why are you doing this to me?”

“Telling you the truth? Because the truth is a powerful weapon, B. Our father lied to us about a lot of things for our whole lives. But he’s a fool, and he’s losing his power over both of us. It’s time to stand on our own two feet, don’t you think?”

“I’m doing that.”

“By playing in the dog pen? The loup garou are weak-minded animals. You and me? Us and the triplets? We’re the strong ones. The Magi think we’re pets on their leash, but we’ll prove them wrong very soon. You should be with us, with your family. You’ll be an aunt, sister.”

Brynn’s blood froze. Fiona and Victoria had been alone with Knight for over two hours. Had more happened than he’d admitted to? Or was Fiona speaking in future hypotheticals?

“You can’t stop us from taking what we want,” Fiona continued. “And neither can his family. We will kill every dog in Cornerstone to get Knight back, starting with his brothers, and that’s a promise.”

“Why?” Yes, it was an incredibly stupid question. Far beyond the obvious reasons for wanting Knight, Brynn didn’t understand what motivated Fiona to go to such murderous extremes. She needed to understand if she was going to stop Fiona from reaching her goals and killing more loup, and she willed herself to pay attention.

“Power, dear little sister. You’ve seen what four of us are capable of. Can you imagine what we can do with more? It will take years, of course, to build a proper army. Once we have it, though? The Magi, the vampires, and the loup will be
our
slaves. Ours to control and torment. Ours to use as we see fit.”