Page 9 of Fae Divided
“Be careful what you say about my mother.”
“Enough,” came the quiet order from a few feet away. The Ferwyn male appeared at James’ side without warning—without an advance smell or sound.Impossible.
James kept his respirations slow and even, decades of training enabling him to hide his deep shock. “The outcasts’ Alpha I presume?” he asked calmly, nostrils flaring to catch the intruder’s scent while the gun and his gaze remained leveled on a chagrined Cameron.
“Nelson is not your enemy, Reed. And neither am I.” He made a cutting gesture to his warrior that James caught from the corner of his eye. Cameron’s chin lifted high in submission to his superior, his fangs immediately retracting.
“Could have fooled me,” James replied, but offered the Glock grip first to the now clawless shifter and then turned to face the leader of the exiled.
For the first time in over a century, James’ years as an elite spy and soldier failed him. He stared open-mouthed upon Jacob Tucker’s doppelgänger, the rebel Alpha almost the spitting image of Clan Walker’s beta.
“Gotcha,” the six-foot-five, mountain of a male smirked, causing the curved scar that covered his right cheek from the corner of his mouth to his temple to pucker, standing out starkly against his tanned skin. The disfigurement startling in itself as a Ferwyn healed completely from anything beyond a mortal blow: the loss of their heart or head. But besides the inexplicable scar tissue and black hair worn long enough to cover his nape rather than Tucker’s military buzz, the males were externally identical.
“How?”
“Jeremiah Grayson, Clan McCoy. Alpha of the West South Central Region’s Grayson Pack.” He offered his hand.
James ignored it. “Jacob Tucker’s twin.”
Multiple births were common for Ca’anam couples, the only pairing able to produce pups. A welcome boon for a race with fertility issues. And the answer to why Cameron’s scent was so familiar. The scarred Grayson would smell similar to his littermate, his bond coating the members of his pack like a thin veneer.
“Jacob TuckerGrayson.” The scorched smell of anger permeated the air, but Grayson shrugged. “I take it my brother hasn’t mentioned me? Not surprising. A deserter rarely talks about their past betrayals.”
It was common knowledge among the members of the Guard that Lieutenant Tucker had voluntarily left the region of his birth, but not the rationale behind the beta’s unconventional decision. Ferwyn males rarely traveled into another Clan’s territory during times of peace unless involved in high-level politics, the vast majority remaining within one designated region their entire lives.
“ThecurrentAlpha of Grayson Pack?” James asked incredulously, ignoring the slight to Samuel’s second in command.
The penalty for an active Alpha crossing Clan borders without prior permission was immediate capture and imprisonment with the likelihood of being ransomed and eventually returned home. But, forming an unauthorized pack in another príoh’s territory guaranteed a swift execution carried out by any local clanmate who discovered the intolerable breach in shifter protocol.
“Does King Nathan know you’re here?” Was Nathan Sinclair, the West South Central vampire king, collaborating with the knights and part of the rebellion?
“All questions for another day.” Grayson’s face suddenly went tight, eyes unfocused. His scar flexed along with his jaw. Cameron said nothing but remained alert to their surroundings while his leader fought some internal battle. Long seconds passed, Grayson’s brow pinching as though he were in pain before it finally smoothed, and his attention returned to James as if it had never left him. “First, we test your resolve, warrior. Then I’ll decide how much you get to know.”
“Another test?” James had to resist the urge to bare his neck to the more powerful Ferwyn, Grayson’s level of dominance equal to his twin’s.
In his early days with the Guard, James had done dishonorable things for the greater good of the region. Days before Samuel was the region’s commander, the Clan príoh, and his Alpha. Deeds that thirty years ago, Sarah’s love and their mating bond had helped him, if not forget, at least partially forgive. Damn the vampire prince to hell for placing him in this insufferable position again.
“Exactly.” Grayson swung his long arm around James’ neck like they were comrades or clanmates and headed toward Main Street. “First, you’ll meet a few of your future brothers, and then Cameron will get you a place to stay.” A place where his cobbled together pack would be able to keep a close eye on their newest recruit.
As a rule, outcasts avoided other shifters as any hint of feral behavior would land them in a steel cage. Did the Starkville pack—which was comprised mostly of young, transient students—even realize a group of renegades was congregating in their backyard?
Cameron grunted, but James didn’t see or smell any lingering signs of animosity from the warrior, unusual in a race of highly volatile males. He got the impression that maintaining anger at James for his humiliating defeat would go against Grayson’s wishes and wouldn’t be tolerated. The unusual deference for the duplicitous Alpha another tangled thread that he needed to unravel.
“Fine. I’ll follow in my truck.”
Grayson’s arm tightened, but his friendly tone never altered, his Texas twang heavy. “You’ll ride with Cameron and me. We have a lot to discuss and need to do it quickly.”
A Ferwyn male with his blond hair tied in a short ponytail appeared at the end of the alley, chin raised in subjection. James frowned at the extreme obeisance displayed when there was no question of dominance.
“Ah, there you are, Simmons. Do me a favor and bring our new friend’s vehicle to the farmhouse.” The Alpha patted James’ shoulder. “Keys.”
It was an order; one James couldn’t see a way to avoid. He dug into his front pocket and handed the fob to Simmons. He didn’t recognize the newcomer but easily identified the link to Grayson now that he could distinguish the subtle differences between his smell and Tucker’s. “It’s the dark blue Ram pickup parked in front of the Starkville Café.”
“Excellent. It will be delivered without a scratch.”
Simmons raised his chin higher if that were possible, his skin paling. Grayson’s grin never faltered, the threat behind his words held teeth.
“It’ll be waiting for him in perfect condition, my Alpha,” the outcast said, then took off at a run in the direction of the greasy spoon.
