An Alpha for Valentine

TWELVE

DEVIN

"She is dead," My voice barely rose above a murmur, a heavy admission more for my own ears than his.

As my eyes met Jason's, a wave of tension gripped my stomach, coiling it into knots.

I knew my brother inside out. He wore his emotions like a well-worn coat, and in this moment, it was wrath that adorned him. It wasn't solely the loss of the Delicate that soured his mood. No, it was the fact that she departed without leaving behind a trace, a breadcrumb to lead us forward.

A surge of frustration surged within me, fueled by the injustice of it all. Without thinking, I pivoted to face Jason, my palms connecting with the hard wall of his chest, propelling him backwards. My voice, raw with accusation, pierced the air.

"This is on you! She might still be breathing if you hadn't been so damned heartless."

To my surprise, Jason didn't retaliate in kind. Instead, he grasped my hand when I tried to push him again. His voice, tinged with concern, cut through the charged atmosphere.

"Devin, what's come over you? Might Valentine Monarch, our new resident Luna be the catalyst for this change?"

A bitter laugh escaped me, rife with the acrid taste of resentment. "You'll never understand, Jason. This is about humanity, about compassion."

His lips twisted into a cruel smile, an echo of our shared bloodline. "I know you have always found humans and their small lives amusing but do not fool yourself. You are not one of them. Play the hero all you want. Deep down, you're no different from me, we both know you are even worse."

Before our clash could escalate further, the door swung open with a portentous creak, revealing the stern figure of the priest. His sharp eyes bore into us, demanding an explanation.

"What's transpired here?" His voice was a command, slicing through the charged air, grounding us in the reality of our surroundings.

He strode over to the Delicate's lifeless form, his breath catching in his throat. "What happened to her?"

In unison, we straightened ourselves, a silent pact not to let this human priest, no matter how vile, witness the depth of our internal strife. We couldn't afford to reveal our vulnerabilities, not now.

Jason's words were a venomous strike, leaving a palpable bitterness hanging in the air. "Your Delicate was useless, that is what," he spat with scorn that cut through the room. "Do you have another?"

The priest's gaze flickered between us, his expression a cocktail of disbelief and fear. "Delicates are not easy to come by. This one was my moneymaker."

His feeble excuse only fueled the fire within Jason. "Perhaps you should reconsider your line of work, then. It seems your 'moneymaker' met a rather unfortunate end."

I remained silent, observing the interaction with a detachment that bordered on cold. We needed information, and this priest, vile as he was, held the key. It was a dance of power and desperation, a delicate balance we had to maintain. The air crackled with tension, the scent of blood and lingering death a grim backdrop to the verbal sparring.

"Do you have another Delicate?" I repeated. I knew how outlandish it sounded but a junkie was always a junkie. All I needed was an offer that he could not refuse. "I'll give you more moonshine and even vampire blood to top it."

"I do not have another Delicate," The priest replied. "These things are expensive as hell and cheap ones come with a lot of baggage. You know, bounties and families. The last thing I want is for some Delicate Right movement to walk into my church and accuse me of trafficking. You know what that does to a man."

A wave of nausea washed over me. The dead Delicate was indentured. I had imagined she was a worker. But to hear that she was a slave made the knits in my stomach tighten even harder. This man was clad in the vestments of the faithful, yet he was so morally bankrupt. How could he stoop so low?

It took a moment for the words to find their way out of my stunned silence. Jason's observation was uncomfortably astute. I was behaving oddly, and perhaps Valentine was the catalyst.

There was no time to play Robin Hood. I came here for my brother, Satake and that was it. The world we knew was incredibly cruel. You either evolved to be a predator or die a prey. The cycle was vicious but it was necessary.

I straightened myself, meeting Jason's gaze with resolve. "We should leave," I murmured, my voice steady but edged with urgency. There was nothing else for us here if the priest did not have another delicate. As much as it hurt to admit, we had very little to work with. The only thing we really had now was the certainty that this was where the disappearance happened and someone or something had something to do with it.

But the priest intercepted us the second we turned for the door. There was this desperate plea in his eyes.

"You cannot just leave," He insisted. "My means of income is on the ground dead because of you too. I deserve some compensation."

We didn't have time for this. I didn't have time for this. The more time we wasted on things that did not matter, the more whatever trace that remained of Satake vanished.

I didn't have to do anything though. Jason, like me, was done with the man's bullshit. His eyes darkened and he charged at the man with his claws unsheathed.

The claws dug deep into the priest's shoulder, drawing blood.

"Would you prefer cash or your worthless life?" Jason's voice was low, a dangerous growl.

The priest's face paled and his eyes wide with terror.

The man's voice quivered, laden with fear. "Life... My life... You should go," he stammered, his words rushed and shaky. "I can always get another one from the depths of the black market. A Delicate like her is not worth making enemies with you guys."

Jason's lip curled in a derisive smile. "Maybe you should give the Crow pack a ring when you do," he jeered.

With a final, potent glare, Jason released his grip, and we made our exit from the cathedral, leaving the quaking priest in our wake.

The evening air brushed cool against my hair, a stark contrast to the turmoil churning within me.

"What now?" I ventured, turning to Jason, seeking direction.

He considered for a moment before suggesting, "Perhaps a visit to the Blossom family house."

I nodded, the name stirring recollections of ancient pacts and fading bloodlines. I knew what he was talking about. The Delicate before her passing had mentioned a Faefolk was at the funeral. With what we knew about the Blossom family, it was probably the protector of the house Jason was referring to.

"Most Fae find release from their binding contracts when the party they've contracted with passes," I revealed. "David Blossom was the last of the Blossom witches and If, by some miracle, that Faefolk still resides in the Blossom house, it would be suicide to approach her. We both know what we did to Candice Blossom, the would-be matriarch of the Blossom lineage."

Jason's nod held a weight of understanding, a recognition of the dire straits we found ourselves in. "True. Perhaps our best bet is to seek help elsewhere. Ginger Maplewood might be able to assist us. Her magic has always been potent."

A chuckle bubbled up within me. Jason was a peculiar enigma, shifting his stance on witches within mere hours. Barely a short while ago, he had harboured a deep-seated resentment for them, and Ginger was no exception to that narrative. Now, he was willing to extend an olive branch in pursuit of Satake.

"You're quite the odd one, aren't you?" I mused, a wry smile touching my lips.

Jason's gaze flickered with a glint of amusement. "You say that like you're any different, Devin."

I nodded in reluctant agreement, acknowledging our shared eccentricities. "True enough."

I thought hard about it. Ginger Maplewood would be a wise option, indeed. Being part werewolf herself although dormant and owing our pack greatly for her mother's transgressions.

However, the primrose coven guarded their own with fierce devotion, especially in these precarious times. Ginger herself would likely view us with suspicion, given recent events.

"The challenge lies in this," I mused aloud, my voice carrying a note of frustration. "Most witches won't readily extend their aid to Crow werewolves. It's a matter of self-preservation, and who can blame them? Especially with the rash of vigilante activity among some of our pack members, targeting witches on the streets like goddamn animals."

Jason's expression darkened, a shared understanding of the harsh reality settling between us. The road ahead was treacherous, fraught with distrust and perhaps danger.

Yet, it was a path we had to tread if we were to uncover the truth behind Satake's disappearance. But for now, we had to return to pack grounds.