Ascension (14 page)

I sprang the moment his back was to me. My hand was around his mouth before he realized I’d left the sofa. I could have killed him then. But of the three Santos boys, Andrew had given me the least reason to hate him. I didn’t like him, but he wasn’t enough of a threat to warrant killing. So I wrapped my free hand around his throat and squeezed until he passed out. Then I lowered him to the floor and crept from the room.

As soon as I walked into the rear hallway, Jeremy slid through the back door. He motioned me to silence, cocked his head and listened. Footsteps sounded above. Jeremy waved me closer and I whispered what had happened so far—that Andrew was unconscious in the study, and Wally and Stephen were searching.

"Time to let them find me," Jeremy murmured.

Of all the parts of Jeremy’s plan, I hated this one the most. But Jeremy insisted we play this to the end, that we had to know, beyond a doubt, what they had in mind.

Jeremy pointed to the kitchen. When I hesitated, he met my gaze and jabbed his finger toward the room. I muttered under my breath, but obeyed.

I slipped into the kitchen, half-opened the pantry door and stood behind it. In the hallway something crashed and the footsteps above stopped.

"Clay?" Jeremy called, his voice weak, as if sedated. "Clayton?"

A softer bang as he knocked into the hall-stand. Overhead the footsteps resumed, quieter now, heading for the staircase. Jeremy’s unnaturally heavy footfalls thudded toward the kitchen, interspersed with the odd thump as he stumbled into a wall. By the time he threw open the kitchen door, Wally and Stephen were on the stairs, moving fast now.

"Clayton?" Jeremy called into the kitchen. "Damn it, where are—?" The squeak of his shoes as he turned. A soft intake of breath. "Wally? Stephen? What are you—?"

A thump. I dove from my hiding spot as Wally pounced on Jeremy. Not seeing me, Stephen raced across the room to join his uncle. I slammed into him and we sailed into the far wall. Stephen’s eyes went wide.

"Surprised?" I said. "You wanted to fight me, you got it."

He swung, but in his haste didn’t aim, and I didn’t even need to duck to avoid it. I grabbed his arm, ripped it backward and heard the bone snap. Stephen howled. I put my face to his.

"What? Can’t fight
me
with one arm? What about Jeremy? Care to test that boast now?"

He drove his good hand into my stomach. The air whooshed from me and I stumbled back, but when he brought his hand up again, I grabbed it and threw him over onto his back. Still holding his left hand, I took the forearm between my hands, met his wild eyes and broke the bone. While he screamed, I leaned down and whispered in his ear.

"I could stop here," I said. "You’re not fighting anyone with two busted arms so, really, I should just stop. But I’m not going to. And you know why? Because you wouldn’t if it was me lying there. Sooner or later, it’s gonna come down to this, and I’m not taking the chance that you’ll go after Jeremy again in the meantime."

He opened his mouth, but I grabbed him by the neck and snapped it before he could say anything. Then I tossed him to the floor and raced across the kitchen to where Jeremy and Wally were fighting behind the table. Jeremy had Wally in a headlock, but before he could tighten his grip, Wally managed to kick Jeremy in the stomach and wriggle free. I jumped in and grabbed Wally by the back of the shirt. Jeremy stopped. He looked up at me, met my gaze and, very slowly, shook his head. It took every ounce of will, but I forced myself to let go of Wally and step back. Jeremy sprang at him and they went down fighting.

That was the longest five minutes of my life. I knew Wally was at least as good a fighter as Jeremy, yet I also knew that Jeremy had to do this himself. So I welded my feet to the floor and I watched. Finally Jeremy got Wally back in that headlock and, with a sharp thrust on Wally’s chin, he ended it.

Jeremy struggled to his feet and wiped his sleeve across the blood streaming from his split lip. His left eye was fast swelling shut.

"You okay?" he asked.

I managed a laugh. "Yeah,
I’m
fine. Let me grab some ice for that lip. Looks like you might need some stitches for it, too." I looked him over. "Is that it?"

He nodded. Silly question. He could have a dozen broken bones and he’d still wouldn’t admit to any injury I couldn’t see.

He stared down at Wally and Stephen and, for a moment, looked as if he might be sick.

"It should never have come to this," he said. "I don’t know where—" He paused, eyes closing. "We’re Pack. We don’t kill—" Another glance at the bodies and a long, slow shake of his head as his eyes filled with a quiet grief.

"Yeah, it shouldn’t have happened," I said as I took a bag of frozen peas from the freezer. "But you can fix that now."

"Hmmm?"

I shot a pointed look at Wally and Stephen. "Three to five. You won."

Jeremy took the peas and shook his head. "Not like that. I won’t take power by killing off the other side."

"But—"

"I have an idea," he said. "One that I hope will settle this for good. You said Andrew’s alive?"

"I just knocked him out."

"Good then. I’ll call Antonio, see if he can get back here sooner than tomorrow night, and we’ll finish this."

Nine o’clock Friday morning. We met at Stonehaven. When Malcolm arrived, Antonio ushered him into the living room with Raymond and Daniel. Seeing Andrew alive, Raymond’s eyes lit up, but any remaining hope for his brother and eldest son died as Jeremy explained what had happened. When he heard the news, Raymond walked quietly to the sofa and sat down. Daniel flew at me, as if it was my fault Wally and Stephen had tried to kill Jeremy. Antonio intercepted Daniel before he got to me, then led him to a chair and signaled for Peter to guard him. Throughout it all, Malcolm just stood there, expressionless. Then he shook his head.

"I don’t know how this happened," he said. "I knew they were getting restless, but I didn’t think they’d try this."

Andrew’s head shot up, and he opened his mouth, but a look from his father cut him short.

"So you had nothing to do with this," Jeremy said.

Malcolm’s mouth tightened. "Are you calling me a liar, boy?"

"Yes, I am. I’ve been to Pearl’s house. I found her body. You did a good job of making it look like a heart attack, but your scent was everywhere."

"That’s because I went by there a couple of days ago—"

"Clay?" Jeremy cut in. "Tell us what you heard."

I related what Wally and Stephen had said in the study when they’d thought I’d been asleep. Malcolm rubbed a hand across his mouth and I could tell he was thinking fast.

"Clayton may have misinterpreted what he heard," Malcolm said carefully. "I knew Stephen was looking for an excuse to kill him and I’d forbidden it, but that was months ago—a general rule, not related to any specific circumstances."

"Bullshit!" I said, wheeling on Malcolm. "I didn’t mishear—"

Jeremy raised his hand. "It’s not important. If Malcolm says they acted alone, then we have to take his word for it. However, that leaves us with a problem." He turned to look at Andrew. "Conspiring to kill a Pack brother is a capital offense."

Andrew paled. "No, I—"

At a glare from Malcolm, Andrew closed his mouth.

Jeremy continued. "If Andrew acted on orders from someone he considered to be in an Alpha position, then he can’t be held responsible. However, if he acted on his own, or along with his uncle and brother, the punishment is death. That’s the Law."

Raymond glanced up. His gaze went first to his son, then to Malcolm, and a look passed between them. Raymond turned to his son and gave a small nod, telling him everything would be okay.

"Are you Alpha?" Malcolm asked quietly.

"No," Jeremy said.

"Then you can’t make that decision, can you?"

"It’s not a decision," Jeremy said. "I will abide by the Law. If Andrew acted on your command, he lives. If not, he dies. The only person who can ‘decide’ anything is you. Tell us what happened and, if necessary, the punishment will be carried out."

"By you?" Malcolm said, walking over to stand behind Andrew. "That is the Law, you know. He tried to kill you, therefore it’s your right—and duty—to kill him yourself." He met Jeremy’s gaze. "Can you do that . . .
son
?"

Jeremy looked into Malcolm’s eyes. "The question isn’t how far I’ll go, but how far you will . . .
father
."

They locked gazes for a moment. Then Malcolm snarled, reached up . . . and broke Andrew’s neck.

"That’s how far I’ll go," he said as Andrew’s body fell to the floor.

The room went silent. Jeremy paled, as shocked as the rest of us. I glanced over at Raymond. He stared at his son’s body, face contorting with pain. Then he glanced up at Malcolm and, for a second, rage replaced the grief. Malcolm tensed. Then Raymond dropped his gaze, got to his feet, put his arm around Daniel and led him from the room.

A few moments later, the front door clicked shut behind them. Malcolm launched himself at Jeremy, face twisted in a snarl. I lunged into his path, grabbed him and threw him against the wall. He recovered and shot back toward me. I braced myself, but he veered past, heading for Jeremy again. I grabbed Malcolm by the shoulders. He twisted and knocked my feet out from under me, but I kept my hold and we both went down.

Once down, and fighting, it should have been a fair match. Yet instead of trying to incapacitate me, Malcolm just kept trying to throw me off, his attention still fixed on Jeremy. Within minutes, I had him pinned, my forearm jammed against his throat. As I pressed down, he barely struggled and, for a moment, I thought this was what he wanted—a wolf’s death. But then he looked into my eyes and, as his widened in disbelief, I realized he hadn’t struggled because he hadn’t really thought I’d kill him. But when he looked into my face, he saw his mistake. Whatever bond he thought we shared only went one way. And when he saw that, a look passed over his face, something akin to grief.

"Clayton," Jeremy said sharply. "Let him up."

I stopped pressing down on Malcolm’s windpipe and looked up at Jeremy. "We can’t trust him, Jer. You know we can’t."

"Let him up and he’ll leave. There’s nothing here for him." When I hesitated, he added a soft, "Please."

As much as I wanted to finish what I’d begun, I knew Jeremy was right. With the Santoses gone, the fight for Alpha was over. Jeremy had won. To begin his reign by condoning the death of his defeated opponent would taint his Alphahood forever.

I grabbed Malcolm by the arm and yanked him to his feet. As I did, I leaned over him and whispered in his ear, too low for Jeremy to hear.

"I’ll be waiting for an excuse," I said. "Remember that."

Without waiting for a response or a reaction, I twisted him around, grabbed him by the shoulders and escorted him to the door. Then, with Jeremy behind me, we stood and watched Malcolm leave.

He didn’t look back.

We never saw Malcolm again. We expected him to call for his things, but he never did. Over the next year we heard rumors that he’d been sighted here and there, tracking down the mutts with the best reputations and challenging them. Antonio thought that was his way of doing the "honorable" thing—suicide by mutt. And, eventually, he did meet one he couldn’t beat. By the time the story got to us, it was six months old. Antonio went in search of the mutt who’d killed Malcolm, to confirm it. Before Antonio caught up with him, Malcolm’s killer became a victim of his own success—his victory having brought him a slew of challenges, including one ambitious mutt who didn’t play by the rules, and had killed him.

For a few years after that, we waited, half-expecting to return from a run one night and find Malcolm alive and well, stretched out on the sofa, beer in one hand, sandwich in the other. Finally, we packed up Malcolm’s things and hauled them to the attic. Jeremy gutted Malcolm’s room and made it into another guest room. Soon, there was no sign that Malcolm had ever lived at Stonehaven. For me, that exorcised him from our lives. For Jeremy, it wasn’t that easy, but he had other things to occupy his attention, and keep him from dwelling on his father’s fate.

As we’d feared, the fight for Alpha had indeed split the Pack in two. Only we six were left. A few months later, Ross Werner returned, and Jeremy accepted him back without comment. When another year passed with no word from Dennis and Joey, Jeremy sent me and Nick to search for them in western Canada, but it was hopeless. As Joey had said, there was plenty of room to lose yourself in up there, and he and his father had done just that.

Under Jeremy, the Pack reinvented itself, a slow but steady process that took years. We paid more attention to mutts, keeping them off our territory but at the same time watching them, and acting if they did anything to call attention to themselves and werewolves in general. In this, I became Jeremy’s enforcer, along with Antonio. Before the next decade ended, Antonio would bow out of this job, and I’d have a new partner, one that would turn the Pack upside-down yet again, fill the void in my life . . . and nearly end it, on multiple occasions. But that’s another story.