Misguided Wolves

34. Blood and Bonds

Jackson wiped sweat from his brow, chest heaving. The young warrior beside him, panting but bright-eyed, grinned. “I’ve got a good feeling! Everyone’s improved!”

Jackson’s pride swelled. “Thanks to you and your skills. I can’t thank you enough.”

He meant it. This warrior, named beta despite their temporary roles, had unified Logi’s and Fror’s fighters, blending their styles into a new, formidable technique. Jackson had expected the man to scoff at the offer, but he’d stood tall, embracing the duty with zeal. Logi’s warriors and Fror’s newcomers trained seamlessly, even Mark and Dean learning from the youngest ranks.

Jackson’s excitement spiked as Elliott arrived, his mind racing with how Elliott’s skills might enhance the mix. But his smile faltered when Elliott spoke to Mark, confusion on his face. Mark’s eyes widened, shock giving way to rage. After a frozen moment, Mark stormed off, Luka trailing him. Elliott scratched his head, looking lost.

“What was that about?” Jackson asked. “What did you say?”

Elliott approached, brow furrowed. “I’m not sure. Hova gave me this wayfinder thing, said Mark’s suspicions were correct but not to blame you. I hoped you’d know more.”

Jackson racked his brain but drew a blank. A wayfinder guided the lost—why would Mark need it? And why him? “I’ll talk to Hova,” he said, squeezing the beta’s shoulder. “This one’s eager to train with you, Elliott.”

Ensuring the warriors had what they needed, Jackson headed to Hova. Passing maids giggling about bedding Fror’s young fighters, he rolled his eyes, hoping his future mate would have more discretion. Hova awaited him, her rueful smile hinting at answers.

“Always a pleasure,” she said. “You have questions.”

“What do you mean, don’t blame me? What did I do to Mark?”

Hova’s eyes softened with sadness. “It’s not your doing, honey. Buried truths are resurfacing.”

Frustrated, Jackson pressed, “Just tell me!”

Hova sighed, moving a bookshelf to reveal a dim passageway. Jackson’s confusion deepened—he’d never known this existed. Hova giggled at his surprise, cupping his face and kissing his cheeks. “The answers lie through here. I love you like a son, always will. I’ll be here when you’re ready to talk.”

“How will I know where to go?”

She chuckled, sipping tea. “You’ll know.”

Jackson shrugged, squeezing through the tight tunnel, ducking cobwebs and sidestepping narrow stretches. Frustration grew until distant yelling stopped him—a man and woman arguing. He recognized Mark’s voice, laced with rage and betrayal, and Margaret’s, defensive and shrill.

“What do you mean it doesn’t matter?” Mark roared. “A child is a big deal!”

“It was long ago, before we married!” Margaret countered. “Why does it matter?”

“Because it was when we were engaged! Right before our own child!”

Silence fell, broken by a chair scraping stone. Mark’s voice softened, but resolute. “I’ve had suspicions for years. Tell me the truth, if you ever cared for me.”

Margaret whimpered, but Mark held firm. “Fine! You’re right. When I went home for a year, I found my true mate. I knew I should reject him, but I couldn’t…”

“Why not tell me? I’d have let you go.”

“No! My family needed your alliance!”

After a pause, she continued, “My family was ruined—bad dealings, debts. Your dowry saved them, secured an alliance. But I needed to feel it, just once. It started innocent, then… we became intimate.”

“Where is he now?” Mark demanded.

Margaret sobbed, wood splintering—Mark’s temper breaking furniture, as was his way. “Tell me! Does he know he has a son?”

“No… I didn’t want loose ends, so I—I had him killed. He was a nobody, a miner. No one missed him!”

“You used him, then killed him to save your reputation?” Mark’s voice shook.

“I did it for us!”

“No! This is your selfishness! Does your son know?”

“No, and don’t tell him! I tried witches to end the pregnancy, but it failed. I hid, gave birth in secret, and left him at the priestesses’ temple in the dead of night.”

“I’m glad you did,” Mark said.

Margaret’s sobs softened, hopeful. “Really?”

“Yeah. Hova was a loving mother to him. I feel bad Kate never had one like her.”

Jackson’s heart pounded—they meant him. His birth mother was Margaret, his sister Kate. He’d imagined finding her, but not like this. Margaret screeched, “You’re lucky I gave you an heir! I never wanted children!”

“Don’t worry,” Mark said coldly. “We’re not Fror’s leaders anymore. Nothing keeps you here, and no one wants you. Leave by morning.”

“Please, I can be useful!” she wailed.

“I don’t care where you go. You’re lucky I don’t kill you!”

Jackson hesitated, then pushed the painting aside, stepping into the room. Margaret’s eyes widened, calculating. She scrambled to him, gripping his tunic. “Help me! I’m your mother!”

He growled, “Hova’s my mother. You just carried me.”

Rage flashed in her eyes, quickly masked. “If things were different, we’d have a wonderful life with your father! The goddess gave us a second chance!”

Jackson smiled coldly. “The goddess did give a chance to set things right. You birthed Kate, destined to unite the lands, and me, to guide her. Your job’s done. As acting king, I banish you. Return, and it’s a hostile act.”

“I’m your mother! Have mercy!”

“Did you give my father mercy when you killed him?”

Her face twisted. “He didn’t see it coming! I let him mark me, and as he climaxed, I drove a silver dagger into his chest. He died happy!”

“You call that mercy?” Jackson’s fury blazed. He took a breath, calming. “Banishment is my mercy. Guards!”

Two warriors burst in. “Escort my dear mother to the border,” Jackson ordered.

They glanced at each other but obeyed, dragging Margaret away as she wailed, “I should’ve gotten rid of you! You’ll regret this!”

“I doubt it,” Jackson said, waving them off.

In the gardens, he found Mark, serene, eyes closed, basking in the untouched blooms. Jackson stood silently beside him. Mark opened his eyes, free. “I can’t remember the last time I just stopped and took a moment.”

“Not angry?” Jackson asked.

Mark chuckled, gripping his shoulder. “I feel light. I was furious—not at the affair, but her actions. Abandoning you, killing your father… unforgivable. I’m sorry your mother lacks love. I can’t replace your father, but I’ll be here, like I always wanted a son like you.”

“Don’t pity me,” Jackson said. “Hova was wonderful. I’m glad the priestesses raised me. I… banished Margaret. After hearing about my father, I couldn’t let her stay.”

Mark hugged him tightly. “You made the right call. Her sins will haunt her worse than death.”

Jackson’s chest swelled, pride mirroring a son’s for a father’s praise. He hugged Mark back, vowing to protect him and Kate. Hova, watching through her sight, sipped tea, her heart full of love for the boy she raised.