The Revelation (8 page)

             
Burying her face in her arms, Viola wept. For a lifetime of sorrow, for her mate's despair and uncertainty, and for the child she would bring into the world despite the danger, she wept.

              In the next few days, Viola found herself actively seeking out Yuna for the first time since their confrontation in the younger woman's cottage. When she found the woman in the expansive library, pretending to be buried in an expansive volume of Shakespeare, she embarrassed herself by collapsing into her lap and sobbing. Once Yuna had gotten over her shock, she was the first to hold the flame-haired woman in her embrace and promise that everything would be alright.

             
As she swore to keep Viola's secret, the woman's respect for the girl only grew. Yuna had far more than enough problems of her own to deal with, and still she saw fit to console her: a woman who had almost let her mate take her life. But then again, the girl had been remarkable for as long as Viola had known her. She'd held up well in a cell, and when  faced with the prospect of her child's violent birth, she brushed nightmares aside like they were nothing.

             
When the older woman had come back to herself again, Yuna smiled, handing her a last tissue.

             
“There she is.”

             
Her comment made Viola arch a perfect brow. “What do you mean?”

             
“You had me worried for a second.” Taking her hand, the dark-haired girl squeezed it warmly. “Now you look more like the Viola I know; and the Viola I know is a fighter.” She patted the red-head's exposed wrist, emblazoned with Liam's mark. “Don't worry, Liam will come around. You are asking him to make a lot of changes.”

             
At the accusation, the dark-eyed woman couldn't help the snide comment that escaped her.               “You're one to talk.”

             
To her pleasant surprise, Yuna only laughed. The young woman doubled over in mirth, the sound of her amusement echoing throughout the library until she was gasping and complaining of sore muscles.

             
“I guess... I guess we're both trouble makers.”

             
“Yes.” Viola gave a single nod. “But your mate is the Alpha of our clan.”

             
Yuna's expression almost immediately sobered and the crimson-haired woman was relieved by how fast she took the hint.

             
“Right. I'll talk to Luther immediately.”

**

              “You what?”

             
Staring at his sister-in-law with wide eyes, Luther found himself at a loss for words. When he did finally manage to speak however, he had a lot to say. “This is hardly the time, Viola! There are Hunters at our backs, we're in close quarters with the Elders- who made the laws that forbid your child, in case you forgot- and speaking to Liam first? Really?”

             
“It wasn't as if I intended to become pregnant, Luther. Do you think I'm not aware of the inconvenience of the timing? And don't speak to me as if I don't know your brother. I'm bonded to him for God's sake. And in case you forgot, he walked out of the goddamn door on me.”

             
“Both of you, please, calm down.”

             
For the umpteenth time, Luther was glad that Yuna was there to mediate. She kept his ire from reaching uncontrollable levels- if just barely. Honestly, the Alpha couldn't believe there had been a time that he'd actually anticipated taking on the strain. His position afforded him with far more headaches than perks. “Luther, Viola is going to have a baby. A human baby. She's not going to give it up. End of story. So, what do we do now?”

             
Groaning, the tall man drew his hands over his face as if the gesture would help him regain his composure. There was precious little they could do. Despite Viola's proclamations that hell itself couldn't be able to tear her child away from her, he was certain that the Elders would hold her down and perform a manual abortion if they saw the need. And the action would come all the sooner if his brother had told them of his mate's condition.

             
According to Yuna, it had been a few days since the argument between Liam and Viola, and so far, they'd seen neither hide no hair of the council. This led the young woman to believe that they were safe- for the moment. But how long would that moment last? And how on earth was he going to come up with a viable reason to protect Viola's baby? The Elders were hardly the idealist, pro-lifers that Yuna was.

             
“Well,” He finally managed, when he'd cleared his mind enough to think straight. “The most pressing matter, of course, is control. You need to learn it if you're going to be any kind of mother to your pup. Baby.” At Viola's scowl, he quickly corrected himself.

             
“You think I don't know that?” she snapped defensively. The look of reproach both he and Yuna shot her, however, softened her slightly. “My apologies. I'm on edge.”

             
“Aren't we all.” Luther sighed. “Now, do you want me to teach you or not?”

             
Unexpectedly, Viola's eyes shone with something that looked incredibly like- but could possibly be- tears. In total shock, Luther could barely react as the woman threw herself into his arms, burying her face in his chest.

             
Viola never cried.

             
“Thank you, Alpha.” When she finally looked up at him, however, any trace of what he thought he had seen had vanished. Luther decided that it must have been a trick of the light. However, the warm smile that Viola was gracing him with was very real.

             
“Of course.” When faced with overt gratitude that didn't come from his mate, Luther usually found himself more than a little embarrassed, and this case was no exception. He quickly extricated himself from Viola's grasp, only to be met with a grinning Yuna. He couldn't remember the last time he'd seen her smile so beautifully.

             
There had been relatively little to smile about recently.

             
Sighing, he pulled the small woman against his side as she spared Viola a hopeful glance. There was no guarantee, however, that Viola could learn the control required to mother a human child. As far as Luther understood, the ability was one that was being rapidly lost. While those of their kind from centuries ago could talk and walk upright just like men during the ripening, such things were now becoming a lost art. His parents had told him numerous times that his level of control was highly unusual.

             
He only hoped it was teachable.

             
If it wasn't... their world was only going to get much darker.

**

              “Did you find it?”

             
Leaning over a large wooden table piled high with maps and books centuries old, Micah felt rather than saw the entry of his second in command. One of Tasha's many talents was that she could move without making the slightest sound; indeed, she could often move without being seen at all. It was an ability honed from years of training- a dedication surpassed only by his own.

             
“Nothing yet.” Tasha tossed a heavy book to land atop a plethora of crumbling documents with a resonating thud. “There might be something in there. I've been scouting every library I could find. I have the others asking around for suspicious activity.”

             
“It's Europe.” Micah found his lip curling as he spat the fact. “Their 'land of origin' is here. They're crawling all over some hole, somewhere, and we're going to find it.”

             
Sinking into a plush hotel chair beside him, Tasha fixed him with her clear green gaze. “What about the mother den?”

             
Scowling, Micah turned from her to heave open the large volume she'd brought him. The entire contents were in Gaelic. Groaning, he shoved the tome away. “A myth. I can't imagine they'd be so idiotic as to gather somewhere in such large numbers.”

             
Green eyes narrowed. “That doesn't mean it should be discounted. You yourself always talk about how wolves are getting bolder. Would it really be so farfetched?”

             
Not for the first time, he reigned in his own personal inclinations to consider what Tasha suggested.

             
Ever since he'd been a child- since his father's childhood, and his father before him- it had been rumored that there had been an expansive, single den, from which every wolf had originally been spawned. For such a place to exist meant that the site would have to be thousands of years old, and that the creatures were willing to make themselves vulnerable by packing probably hundreds of their number into one location.

             
If there was anything that Micah had learned in his years of hunting, it was that frightened wolves tended to split up. They were smart enough to know that their numbers didn't matter to hunters, who had used every tool available to them to become adversaries that their prey would fear. Wolves took care to spread their numbers thin and kept to themselves. They feared discovery above all else; not only because of Hunters, but because of what it might mean if the world discovered their existence.

             
It was perhaps their singular piece of luck that Hunters preferred extermination over exposure. If he'd wanted, Micah could have given the world a taste of what it was like to feel apprehension at every full moon; to know the terror of glowing golden eyes and razor sharp claws. Even though the idea held some measure of appeal he didn't want to take the chance that humanity, in their ignorance, would somehow embrace the creatures. Wolves were to be feared, to be hunted, and to be killed. Nothing more.

             
His entire life he'd longed for a day in which he'd be a part of their extinction and know that the world was better for it.

             
Perhaps he was closer than he'd thought.

             
“If you were looking for a mother den,” he finally inquired of the woman at his side, “where would you start?”

             
“Old castles, manors, and historical sites,” she answered immediately. “Places that are hidden in plain sight.”

             
“And what if we found it?” Micah turned to her, crossing brawny arms over his chest to fix her with his piercing, dark gaze. “We haven't the manpower to take it, if there really are as many of them there as they say.”

             
“Then we summon more Hunters.” Tasha's eyes had taken on the dangerous sheen that usually meant imminent bloodshed. “As many as we require.” In a motion faster than the human eye could capture, the woman stood and sliced through a nearby lamp. The knife was in her hand and instantly gone, leaving the smallest sliver of white in the china. After a few seconds, the apparatus neatly parted, the upper half sliding down at an angle until it tumbled onto the floor to shatter. “We're stronger than them. We're faster.”

             
Tasha neglected to mention exactly how much of their humanity they'd given up becoming so.

             
Though Micah had never regretted his decision to follow in his father's footsteps and avenge the death of the one he'd loved the most, remembering the pain of his making was enough to incite many sleepless nights, even decades later.

             
The needles, the serums- how he'd been drowned in fluids that had made his skin burn and almost melted his eyes from their sockets... it had been long ago. But it wasn't the type of experience one could ever forget.

             
The haunted look in Tasha's eyes told him that she too remembered the process. It was something they had always been told to speak of to no one; and in that, they found companionship. Straightening from where he leaned against the table, Micah yanked Tasha upright and against him, reveling in the strength he found in the muscles beneath his fingers. Despite the violence of the gesture, she didn't pull away from him, her deeply hued eyes still as stoic as they had ever been.

             
In a different world, Tasha could have been like her.

             
She could have been carefree, innocent, and naive.

             
Instead, she was nearly as monstrous as those they hunted; and Micah found that the fact drew him to her like a moth to a flame. “Undress,” he ordered firmly, beginning to rise in his trousers. “Now.”

             
Tasha's full mouth curved into an indulgent smirk. “I might have made other plans.”

             
“They've been canceled.” Micah ripped at the dark blouse she wore, popping buttons and tearing fabric to expose a pale stomach and firm, high breasts pockmarked with scars that had still yet to fade.