Fratricide, Werewolf Wars, and the Many Lies of Andrea Paddington

  * * *

  They treated her well: gave Lisa her own room, a nice one. Fully furnished. Her own fireplace to hold back the winter’s cold. Food. Water bowl.

  Whether it was from stress or natural timing, the change had happened. She was now, and would remain until the birth, a wolf. Returning to human after her usual three days always took some adjusting, of separating the lingering wolf instinct from what humans were supposed to do. How strong would that instinct be after six months?

  Not that she was thinking about herself much anyway. Her time as a wolf was trivial next to James, or the fact that the Understanding Tree, not the Tree of Life, was here in Estika. What would happen if James convinced Beck to eat it? The Andrastes thought that the champion eating the Fruit of Understanding would be a bad thing. When she’d asked why they’d left it here in plain sight, Lilith had rolled her eyes at her husband as if to say “I tried to tell him, but would he listen?”

  What would happen when Beck ate the Fruit? Had he already? How would that affect James? If eating the wrong fruit killed his brother, might he come back angrier and more hopeless? More divorced from the world? More willing to do something horrible?

  She didn’t know; she only knew that she hadn’t felt safe around him. The timid boy and man she’d known had been replaced with this fierce arbiter.

  Gods, she needed to stop thinking about this. She—

  Footsteps, in the hall outside. She almost never heard the Andrastes coming. Did that mean someone else was here? James?

  Was that good or bad? Did it mean he’d killed Beck? Was he here to…

  Oh Gods. Was this to be the awful union? The abominable act that ended creation?

  The bolt was drawn back and the door swung open and there stood… Mitchell. Not James, but Mitchell. Lisa could never remember being happy to see him before.

  He spotted her. “Ah.”

  Lisa just watched him. It was possible to shrug or nod as a wolf, but Clarkson always said it didn’t look real. When James pointed out that it was right in front of him, Clarkson just insisted that she was photoshopped.

  “Come on,” Mitchell said. He leaned a hand down, then straightened when he realised that was condescending. “Sorry.” His beady eyes darted away and back. “James is dead. He had a plan to come save you, but it didn’t work. Beck died. When he brought the body here to show them he’d fulfilled their prophecy, they killed him.”

  Should she feel grateful? Validated that Adonis had taken her warning about the danger of the blessed union seriously? Or should she be mad that they had killed her husband?

  She didn’t know!

  Gods, why couldn’t wolves cry? It hurt so much.

  “They have what they wanted,” Mitchell said. “Their prophecy’s done. We’re free to go.” He stepped aside, inviting her to leave her cell. Lisa didn’t want to. In here, she could still deny it. Pretend he was alive and that it was all hypothetical. Out there was the reality. Out there, she was a widow. Out there, she’d become a mother to a monster’s child.

  One padded foot in front of the other, Lisa came out of the cell and followed Mitchell from the castle. They passed up the stairs and into the main keep, but the vampires were nowhere to be seen. A man-sized figure had been wrapped in linen and placed next to the front door. Mitchell picked this up and carried it.

  Back at the headquarters, Truman covered his eyes and turned away. Skylar cried into her hand. McGregor placed her head on his shoulder. Will and Curt muttered a prayer. Clarkson just stared at James’s corpse, shaking his head in tiny motions.

  Then, there, it finally hit her: the reality. He was dead. She would never create another memory with him in it. Never wake up beside him again. No more silly jokes and loud laughter. No more lingering looks in the quiet. No more silly sticky-uppy hair. No more being told she was his everything.

  No more… James.