Chapter 8

CHAPTER 8: THE MEETING

The old church stands at the territory's edge. Broken windows. Collapsed roof. Moonlight filters through gaps, painting the floor in silver stripes. I walk through the door at midnight. Alone. Visible.

Kael is somewhere in the trees. Hidden. Watching. We argued for an hour.

"I go alone," I said. "She said alone."

"Trap," he said. "Obvious trap."

"Maybe. But she knows about my mother. About your war crimes. Information worth risk."

"Not worth you."

We compromised. I walk in open. He shadows from outside. If I scream, he comes. If I don't, he waits.

The church smells of mold and old smoke. Pews rotted. Altar collapsed. A figure waits near the broken altar. Hooded. Small. Female. The voice from the phone.

"You came," she says. "Good."

"Who are you?"

"Someone who knows truth." She pushes back her hood. Old. Gray hair. Eyes like my mother's. If I knew my mother.

"Where is she?" I ask. "My mother. You said you know."

"First, payment." She holds out her hand. "Ten thousand. Then I talk."

I have the money. Kael gave it. Rolled in his palm before I left. Said it was from his emergency cache.

I hold it out. She reaches.

The window shatters.

Men pour through. Six. Armed. Silver blades glinting. Darius's guard. His emblem on their shoulders.

The old woman smiles. "Sorry, Princess. He pays better."

I run. Toward the door. A guard blocks it. Big. Grinning. I shift. Partial. Claws out. I slash. He dodges. Too fast. Trained.

Another guard grabs my arm. Twists. I scream. Not from pain. From signal.

Kael crashes through the stained glass.

Wolf. Full shift. Massive. Gray fur blackened by shadow. He hits the first guard like a truck. Bone cracks. The man flies.

I fight the grip on my arm. Bite. Kick. The guard drops me. I scramble back.

Kael moves through them. Beautiful. Terrifying. Claws and teeth and fury. Three down. Four. But they have silver. One slices. Kael's flank opens. Blood. Dark. He does not slow.

The old woman runs. I chase. She knows something. She said my mother is alive. I need to know.

She trips on broken pew. Falls. I catch her. Slam her against the wall.

"Tell me," I growl. My voice is wolf. Not human. "Where is my mother?"

"Dead," she gasps. "Dead for years. I lied. He paid me to lie. To trap you. To prove you are violent. Unstable."

My claws press her throat. "The war crimes. Kael's. You said you know truth."

"Self-defense," she whispers. "The council observer attacked first. Kael defended. Darius framed him. Political charges. All lies."

A gunshot. Loud. Close.

The old woman jerks. Red blooms on her chest. She slides down the wall. Eyes wide. Dead.

I turn. A guard stands in the doorway. Gun smoking. He aims at me.

Kael hits him from the side. Wolf jaws close on throat. The guard drops. Silent.

Silence returns. Heavy. Thick. I stand over the old woman's body. Dead before she could say more. Before I could ask more.

Kael shifts back. Human. Naked. Bleeding from flank, shoulder, a dozen small cuts. He limps to me.

"Fina." His voice is rough. Wolf still in it. "You are hurt."

I look down. My leg. A slice I did not feel. Blood soaking my pants. Deep. Not mortal. Not nothing.

"She lied," I say. My voice shakes. "About my mother. Dead for years, she said. Paid to trap me."

"But the war crimes," Kael says. "Self-defense. Truth I could not prove."

"She is dead. The proof is dead."

Kael looks at the body. At the guards. At the church filled with death.

"We must go," he says. "More will come."

He lifts me. I protest. He ignores. Carries me like a child. Like something precious. His arms are strong. Warm. Blood sticky between us.

We run through the forest. Fast. Silent. The safe house is miles. He does not tire. Does not stop. His heart hammers against my shoulder. Steady. Sure.

Inside, he sets me on the table. Finds bandages. Water. His hands shake now. Adrenaline fading.

"Your leg," he says.

"Your side," I say.

"We both bleed."

He cleans my wound first. Gentle. Careful. The cloth is rough. I hiss. He pauses. Continues.

"I should have stopped you," he says. "Should have locked you in."

"Then we would not know. About the framing. About Darius."

"We would not be bleeding."

I touch his face. His cheek. The blood there. Not his. The guard's. "You came when I called."

"I will always come."

Our eyes meet. Close. The air changes. Thickens. His hand rests on my thigh. Bandaging forgotten. I lean forward. He leans in.

The door opens.

Ronan stands there. Face blank. "Smoke," he says. "From the east. Vera's estate. Something burns."

We separate. Not quite touching. Not quite apart.

Kael stands. Moves to the window. "Marcus," he says.

I follow. Look. The horizon glows orange. Far. Faint. But real.

"Is he—"

"Alive," Kael says. "Darius would not burn his own heir. But he sends message. He knows we met the informant. Knows it went wrong. He celebrates."

I look at the dead woman's words. Rolling in my mind. Dead for years. My mother. Gone.

But something else she said. Before the bullet. Before the end.

I close my eyes. Remember her voice. The whisper. The secret.

"Your mother is alive," she said. Last words. Dying breath. "Not dead. Hidden. Vera hides her. Has hidden her for twenty-six years."

I open my eyes. Kael watches me.

"What?" he asks.

"She lied at first," I say. "Paid to lie. But at the end. The truth. My mother is alive. Vera has her. Twenty-six years."

Kael goes still. "Vera. Darius's mother."

"Yes."

"Then we do not just fight Darius." Kael's voice is hard. Cold. "We fight the woman who raised him. Who taught him. Who may be worse."

I look at the fire on the horizon. At the blood on my hands. At the man standing beside me, burned and bleeding and still fighting.

Thirteen days.

My mother lives.

And I will find her.