will have to be told,” Knight replied. Ignoring her apology was rude, but accepting it meant he excused her nearly killing his brother. And he didn’t. She’d walked into their sanctuary town armed with a poison meant solely for loup garou. The fact that such a poison existed at all could be considered an act of aggression by the Congress of Magi.
“I understand.” She came closer, hands clasped behind her back, head angled down in a perfect imitation of submission. “I have something else I must confess to you both.”
Knight’s temper rose, even as his natural empathy told him to keep calm and listen. Rook tried to turn around in his chair and ended up slumped sideways with a confused look on his face.
“My family name isn’t Jones,” she said quickly, and visions of more dangerous jewelry quickly disappeared. “I apologize for lying about that.”
“Why did you?” Rook asked.
“I’m uncertain. It was a knee-jerk reaction to being brought up here.”
“And you didn’t want us connecting you to your father?” Knight added.
“I suppose so. My real name is Brynn Atwood.”
“Atwood.” Knight couldn’t place the name, but he’d heard it before in reference to the Congress. He’d even hazard a guess that her father was pretty highly placed in the Congress—which made their current situation even more complicated.
“My father is a Prime Magus.”
“Fuck,” Rook said. “Sorry, crap.”
It may have been old-fashioned, but their father had a personal rule about certain levels of swearing in front of ladies—even if they swore right back at you. Some habits were hard to shake, even while under the influence of drugs.
“That’s a fairly high position, right?” Knight asked.
“Four Prime Magi form the highest tier of the Congress, yes,” Brynn said.
Naturally. “So it stands to reason that he’d have a lot of enemies who might want him dead.”
“Of course. I’ve always known that, and until a few minutes ago, I had no reason to not think your family was among them. I hold no position in the Congress, so I have no access to their private information about the loup garou.”
Knight started to reply. A harsh beeping sound cut him off, echoed a few feet in front of him. He fished his cell phone out of his pocket, startled by the specific tone meant only for emergency text messages. Run business. Rook was trying to retrieve his own phone and not managing it well. Knight opened the message and was not surprised to find a single line from Father: Office, ASAP, 911.
“What’s up?” Rook asked, having given up trying to manage his own phone.
“I’m not sure, but Father sent a message to gather here, 911 code.”
“Not good.”
“What does that mean?” Brynn asked.
“It means you should hang out over there”—Knight pointed at the rear corner of the office, near the bathroom—“because we’re about to have a meeting.”
Brynn did as told without question, all while maintaining that submissive position. Knight tried to arrange Rook in the chair so that he didn’t look quite as sloppily stoned, but their father would know something was wrong the moment he walked in. Three sets of footsteps beat their way upstairs. His Father entered first, with Bishop and Devlin right behind him. Devlin stumbled briefly when he spotted Brynn, but he was too smart to comment. No one spoke or asked questions while Father walked to the other side of his desk—he’d speak when he was ready.
Their Alpha closed his hands into fists and pressed his knuckles against the top of the desk—a sure sign to anyone who knew him of his rising tension. Tension already filling the room and prickling at Knight’s senses. “I just received a call from Joe Reynolds,” Father said, his voice deep and angry. Reynolds was Alpha of the loup garou run in Springwell, Delaware, and the nearest run to Cornerstone. “A few minutes ago, he received an anonymous phone call that our sanctuary town in Connecticut
“I understand.” She came closer, hands clasped behind her back, head angled down in a perfect imitation of submission. “I have something else I must confess to you both.”
Knight’s temper rose, even as his natural empathy told him to keep calm and listen. Rook tried to turn around in his chair and ended up slumped sideways with a confused look on his face.
“My family name isn’t Jones,” she said quickly, and visions of more dangerous jewelry quickly disappeared. “I apologize for lying about that.”
“Why did you?” Rook asked.
“I’m uncertain. It was a knee-jerk reaction to being brought up here.”
“And you didn’t want us connecting you to your father?” Knight added.
“I suppose so. My real name is Brynn Atwood.”
“Atwood.” Knight couldn’t place the name, but he’d heard it before in reference to the Congress. He’d even hazard a guess that her father was pretty highly placed in the Congress—which made their current situation even more complicated.
“My father is a Prime Magus.”
“Fuck,” Rook said. “Sorry, crap.”
It may have been old-fashioned, but their father had a personal rule about certain levels of swearing in front of ladies—even if they swore right back at you. Some habits were hard to shake, even while under the influence of drugs.
“That’s a fairly high position, right?” Knight asked.
“Four Prime Magi form the highest tier of the Congress, yes,” Brynn said.
Naturally. “So it stands to reason that he’d have a lot of enemies who might want him dead.”
“Of course. I’ve always known that, and until a few minutes ago, I had no reason to not think your family was among them. I hold no position in the Congress, so I have no access to their private information about the loup garou.”
Knight started to reply. A harsh beeping sound cut him off, echoed a few feet in front of him. He fished his cell phone out of his pocket, startled by the specific tone meant only for emergency text messages. Run business. Rook was trying to retrieve his own phone and not managing it well. Knight opened the message and was not surprised to find a single line from Father: Office, ASAP, 911.
“What’s up?” Rook asked, having given up trying to manage his own phone.
“I’m not sure, but Father sent a message to gather here, 911 code.”
“Not good.”
“What does that mean?” Brynn asked.
“It means you should hang out over there”—Knight pointed at the rear corner of the office, near the bathroom—“because we’re about to have a meeting.”
Brynn did as told without question, all while maintaining that submissive position. Knight tried to arrange Rook in the chair so that he didn’t look quite as sloppily stoned, but their father would know something was wrong the moment he walked in. Three sets of footsteps beat their way upstairs. His Father entered first, with Bishop and Devlin right behind him. Devlin stumbled briefly when he spotted Brynn, but he was too smart to comment. No one spoke or asked questions while Father walked to the other side of his desk—he’d speak when he was ready.
Their Alpha closed his hands into fists and pressed his knuckles against the top of the desk—a sure sign to anyone who knew him of his rising tension. Tension already filling the room and prickling at Knight’s senses. “I just received a call from Joe Reynolds,” Father said, his voice deep and angry. Reynolds was Alpha of the loup garou run in Springwell, Delaware, and the nearest run to Cornerstone. “A few minutes ago, he received an anonymous phone call that our sanctuary town in Connecticut
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