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Chapter 2-1

2

Alistair Cooper sat at his desk. He savored the French vanilla aroma wafting through the space; it was just strong enough to enjoy without overpowering his wolf-shifter senses. He never waded into the mind-numbing drudgery the Shifter Council called reports without putting a fresh candle in the warmer. Only a small sliver of the stack remained when the sound of voices raised in heated exchange overpowered the crackling of the paper in his hands. He recognized Gabrielle’s voice almost at once and returned the form that had been his focus to its stack. Then, he cleared his desk of anything throw-able or flammable or otherwise spoilable and leaned back against his chair to wait.

“I don’t care what family the kid’s from,” a man’s voice said, muffled slightly by the thick oak door. “We should have killed him.”

“Dammit, Jack! How stupid are you? Do you honestly think Connor Magnusson would just accept that his family-member disappeared in the national forest?” Gabrielle shot back.

Wham! Wham! The impact of what sounded like a clenched fist on the outside of his office door seemed just high enough for Gabrielle’s shoulder. Jack Hastings, the other veteran hunter he’d sent with the team, was almost a full foot taller.

“Welcome back, Gabrielle,” Alistair said, loud enough for her to hear him. “Do come in.”

The oaken door swung open on silent hinges, and Gabrielle strode inside. Her steady, relentless gait brought back memories of Patton’s forced march to Bastogne. Jack closed the door behind him and followed her, stopping at her side.

“All right, you two,” Alistair said. “Let’s take a moment to step back and regain our calm.”

Jack bowed his head and closed his eyes, while Alistair watched Gabrielle continue to glare at Jack. Once or twice, he saw her pupils shift to vertical slits, a testament to her fury if she needed so much effort to keep her human form. After a few seconds of Gabrielle not calming at all, Alistair swallowed a sigh.

“Very well. One of you, tell me what this is all about,” Alistair said. “I heard you a few seconds before you… ahem… knocked.”

Jack’s head shot up, and he said, “We weren’t able to catch the cougar before he claimed another victim, but this victim killed the cougar without dying. Gabrielle insisted on bringing him back here to the infirmary when we should have just finished him.”

Alistair nodded. “I see. And how does Connor Magnusson fit into this?”

“I’m as certain as I can be that the victim is Magnusson’s family,” Gabrielle answered. “He used a shifter-bane blade with the Magnusson glyph to kill the rogue.”

Alistair gave a few slow nods, then pierced Jack with his gaze. “And why were you advocating killing him, Jack?”

“We don’t need another crazy mountain lion, Alistair. I don’t care what family he’s from. I don’t see how we can take the chance the rogue’s madness wasn’t a sickness.”

Alistair worked his lower lip between his teeth, bringing his eyes back to his desk. No matter how he turned the matter over in his mind, there didn’t seem to be a ‘right’ answer. Yes, there was a truce between the Magi and the shifters, but that truce was uneasy. Very uneasy. It was only a dozen years old, plus or minus, and that didn’t even equate to a blink of the eye for either side.

“And you’re certain the cougar turned the boy, and it wasn’t just a regeneration charm or something like it?” Alistair asked, looking to Gabrielle.

She shook her head. “The cougar turned him, Alistair. By the time we made it back here, he already smelled like a shifter.”

“Another mountain lion in our ranks,” Alistair grunted.

“No, sir,” Gabrielle countered. “I don’t think so. His scent isn’t like any mountain lion I’ve ever tracked.”

Alistair’s eyebrows quirked upward. “It isn’t?”

Gabrielle shook her head. “He’s definitely a feline shifter. I just can’t tell what breed. I’ve never encountered a feline shifter with his scent before.”

Alistair felt a pit forming in his gut. If Gabrielle couldn’t recognize his scent, the scent was still in flux, or… no. There was no way—no way at all—that he could be a primogenitor. Primogenitor shifters were beyond rare, and they most often occurred in the more prevalent shifter lines… like the wolves. Alistair could think of only two dire wolf shifters in the world, but he’d never heard of the cats producing a primogenitor.

“Yes… well, I’m sure his scent is still in flux,” Alistair remarked. “We have that sometimes with turned shifters. I’ve also come to agree with your decision, Gabrielle. I see no outcome from us killing Connor Magnusson’s family that isn’t bad, whereas allowing him to live just might prove beneficial in the long run.”

“Okay, fine. Junior gets to live,” Jack growled, “but that still doesn’t excuse Gabrielle from securing that vile blade with the possessions we recovered. We should destroy that blade now… while we have the chance.”

Gabrielle resumed her glare at Jack. “For all your skills as a hunter, you’re still an i***t, Jack. Just how do you think it would play out when he goes to visit Connor and tells him that he lost the blade? Or better yet, that his new shifter friends destroyed it before he woke up? Are you trying to get us killed? And beyond that, just how do you propose we touch the thing to destroy it, anyway? Sure… bane weapons should only harm their targets when used, not simply carried, but do you really want to risk it?”

Alistair fought to maintain his non-expression. He found Gabrielle’s passionate assault on Jack’s statement far too enjoyable. He cleared his throat and said, “We’ll leave what to do with the blade up to the young man. I can’t imagine he’d want to keep it, but he might want to return it to his grandfather once he understands both its nature and his. Is there anything else?”

Jack looked like he still wanted to argue his case, but he clenched his jaw and shook his head.

Gabrielle shook her head, saying, “No, sir. Thank you.”

“Thank you both,” Alistair said, nodding once to signal his dismissal.

Both Jack and Gabrielle returned his nod, then pivoted and left his office. Alistair waited until he heard the door latch to heave a sigh, and his thoughts drifted to an ancient Chinese curse: May you live in interesting times. There was no doubt in his mind the coming weeks—perhaps even the coming months—would be very interesting.