Page 64 of Pack Ruin
“Oh yes,” I said, as her thoughts flashed over her face, her expressions showing she understood. “She can never come here.”
“Never,” Tana agreed. “And you… you can’t leave. But Finny, youhaveto.”
I sighed as she leaned against me, her presence calming my wolf slightly. “I’m going to. We’ll both go.”
Her whisper was shaky. “We’ll be rogues?”
“No. Father said the Mountain pack has a new Alpha. My friend, Brand. He hasn’t joined the Council, and…” I barely breathed the next words. “I’m not sure he will. They follow the old ways. And he’s… My mate is his mate as well.”
She breathed a word I hadn’t realized she knew.
“Tana!”
She ignored me. “That’s not possible. She can’t be your true mate, then.”
“She is, though. Mine, and his, and Glen’s. And do you remember Luke?” I knew she would. Luke had visited our pack years before, as a foster. He’d brought Tana a box of crayons and a coloring book of teddy bears. She’d been recovering from a punishment from Mother, for eating cakes away from the dining table. She’d been ashamed of the marks on her face and arms, but the two of them had spent hours together while she healed. Then Luke had gotten ill.
No one had understood what was wrong with him, though one of the doctors had suggested an unknown poison might be to blame. Luke, however, had hinted to me that he knew what was going on, and that suffering a dozen doctors’ questions and prodding was better than what would happen if he shared.
“She’s worth any sacrifice,”he’d whispered, just before he’d left.“And so is your sister. Don’t forget that. Good luck, Finn.”
As I gazed into my sister’s wide green eyes, so much like mine, I wondered if there was a limit to how much I would have to sacrifice to keep the ones I loved safe.
Love.
“I love Flor,” I whispered, shocked at the thought.
“Finn?” Tana’s eyes filled with fear, but not because I’d accidentally admitted my love. “Flor? The one Mother’s been ranting about, the wild girl from Southern? Father said she wasdirty and foul-smelling, and she cut a male’s head off with a steak knife.” My hand went back to her mouth until she calmed.
“Be nice. That stinky Southern killer is your sister-in-law now. I actually think you’ll get along like a house on fire.”
I didn’t know her eyes could get wider, but they did. “Really?”
“No. I think if the two of you were left to your own devices, you’d burn down at least one house. Maybe a whole pack.” I tugged at her hair, and she made a grumpy face before she got up to brush it at my sink.
“I’d burn this one,” Tana muttered. “Then we could leave.”
I opened my mouth to tell her about the plan I’d made. I’d exchanged encrypted emails with an Italian Enforcer just the day before, hinting that I had information on the death of the missing Heir. I’d made sure the pack knew that I would provide far more than information if Tana were taken to safety, ideally to Brand.
Before I got the chance to tell her, I heard a knock at my bedroom door. It was one of the maids. “Your father has requested your presence in the lower levels.”
I nodded and shut the door, grabbing a clean shirt from my closet and rinsing out my mouth. Tana had turned off the sinks and shower, so I breathed my instructions in her ear.“Stay here, Tana. I have no idea where Niall is, and he’ll take any opportunity to get you alone.” She nodded, her chin trembling.
Niall had been absent—I assumed busy in the lower levels—all week, while I had been “indisposed.” But I’d glimpsed him in the hall outside our private wing the evening before. If I was working in the lower levels, he’d take the chance to get his hands on my sister. I didn’t think he’d enter my room, but I couldn’t be certain.
“Don’t leave my bathroom. Don’t make a sound. Lock the door after I go, and if you have to, you know what to do.”
Her eyes flicked to the sink. I’d taped a short blade, no bigger than a pocketknife, to the back of the fixture, inside a sturdy holder. It wasn’t silver, but the blade was coated with an extremely strong powdered sedative that worked on shifters, at least for a while.
“Good luck,” she whispered. I knew I’d need it.
Father met me at the entrance to the lower levels, impatience in every line of his face. He handed me a set of the white coveralls that indicated what kind of work we would be doing.
Bloody work.
I slipped them on without speaking. The color white had been Mother’s idea. She said it was more effective for our prisoners to see their blood on the fabric, and resulted in quicker and more comprehensive information. Unfortunately, in my experience, she was right.
“We think you were poisoned,” Father said. “We questioned the ones who would gain the most, but they were… not forthcoming.”
