Anson had his own command tent, thick white canvas and wooden floors. Elijah Stone was with him, as well as a dozen trusted men. All of them were lethal fighters. We’d be meeting after a hot meal. A chance to recuperate and then plan.
I studied Fallon’s expression as I passed with Mace at my side. She wore the speckled raw wool beneath her leather. Her blonde braid wrapped around her head, making her look like an ancient warrior. She flicked her hand to snap the tent flap closed; the gesture was imperious.
Inside the tent, a copper brazier glowed with charcoal beneath a vent to the outside. The raised wooden floor and tossed rugs tempered the chill. Hanging camp lanterns provided light. Blankets and bear pelts lay over camp chairs and the canvas-and-wood cots that were hellishly uncomfortable. I’d lived with worse conditions. And once we left the roads, ventured into the mountains, even these small comforts would disappear.
“Noa reached the base camp,” Fallon said without preamble.
I hid the excitement jolting through me. I’d known when she arrived in Azul. Known when she’d hitched a ride with the convoy, hiding in the last truck. All day—and every day she’d been gone—I’d struggled with the worry. Where she was, what might go wrong. Who might have intercepted her. What—if she was successful—it would mean for her. For us. If she returned with something useful from the witch, Pelonie, who had deceived the queens, stolen the wolves.
Now she was facing Lec Rus, and I wasn’t there for her.
“It gets worse,” Fallon said. “Barend showed up with his vampires, and I guess it turned into a royal pissing contest over who got control of Noa, with Angel casting the deciding vote.”
I looked at her, and she grinned. “Looks like Noa won the gods-damned parent prize.”
Mace stalked to the brazier and stirred up the coals. He excelled at managing the fighters while Fallon handled communication, but every time she knew more than he did, his annoyance simmered.
“Turns out Angel is an Alpha,” Fallon gloated. “And not just any alpha. She’s the Blackfish—alpha of legendary fighters.” Her glance toward Mace was thick with satisfaction. “I told you not to underestimate a one-eyed fighter who showed up too many times to be coincidental. And the kicker? Angel’s brother—the murdered alpha? Happens to be Noa’s long-dead father. Bronson Dade. The man who never came back for Noa’s mother.”
“Are you fucking with me?” Mace growled.
Fallon smiled. “I have more. Angel has half her fighters with her and they all have Noa’s back. See her as the daughter of their fallen Blackfish. I’m guessing the other half are in the forest somewhere, hiding on the crags despite the storm. Close to a hundred reinforcements, white ghosts you’ll never see.”
“No wonder they call her Angel.”
“She told us as much,” I reminded Mace, shaking myself for not guessing. I’d been too willing to excuse the similarities I’d seen, blaming them on fatigue and missing my mate. But relief flowed through me. We needed the help. Witches weren’t worth much for fighting. Neither were the nymphs. Their skills were more magical. And if the Blackfish were offering to protect Noa? If her father was their murdered Alpha, I’d trust no one more.
“How’d Noa take it?” Mace asked. “Learning the family connection?”
“From what your spies told me, she didn’t take it very well.”
I huffed a laugh, picturing her bright indignation. The flaring heat that had always turned me on, the fearlessness she never saw in herself. From the moment I met her, I’d recognized the truth in her—she fought like a woman who didn’t know her own strength.
My throat closed—pride or fear or both. But what surged for my mate was profound and soulful. And it made sense, who she was, if her father had been the Blackfish. Also a man with a destin noir. Who fought hard for justice and died young. Too damn young.
The information I had on the pack was limited, but impressive. Centuries ago, they’d dominated in the eastern part of the country, but population and modern pressures drove them steadily west and into the less populated areas. They became known for stealth and vengeance if the cause was right. Many had gained military prowess through covert services, serving under humans who either knew who they were or knew enough not to dig into medical reports that seemed strange.
I rubbed at my face with an unsteady hand, thankful for the news. Stew served as the hot meal, brought by one of the camp females. After we’d eaten, Fallon poured an inch of whiskey into glasses and held them out. Mace accepted the glass she offered with his fingers brushing hers. I saw it as a silent apology between them, and let the warmth of alcohol ease my throat.
“Alpha.” A guard stood with his hand holding back the tent flap. Light glittered on the knife he wore, sheathed around his thigh, and the leather belting his woolen tunic. “The Carmag wishes an audience.”
I gestured with the whiskey glass and turned away. “Let him enter.”
Anson walked in with Elijah and a blast of frigid air. The light outside was completely gone. Night had fallen swiftly, and only a crescent moon burned in an endless black sky, stabbed by distant stars.
Fallon did the honors with the whiskey, filling glasses. Then we gathered around the table covered with the map Mace had been studying. Polished stones weighted down the corners. We had nothing fancy in the field.
“I’ve cared for the dead,” the Carmag said. Meaning he’d burned the aberrations while honoring the dead wolves with a funeral pyre. “You sang the lament,” he added, his voice lowered. “I also sang before I came.”
“Then it’s done.”
“This time.”
I held the glass to my lips. Everyone around the table did the same, lost in silent memories.
“What about the weather?” asked Mace as he glanced at Elijah.
“There’s a break now, but another blizzard looms in the north.”
