Part 14 (2/2)
Daisy's mouth fell open before she quickly shut it. ”They were supposed to beat their father?”
He nodded. ”Mayhap kill him, if it is a true fight for the crown. It is our way.”
Daisy watched Northrup walk down a long corridor lined with exquisite white marble adorned with gold paint on the lintels. His shoulders were straight and proud, with not a sign of hesitation or fear showing. She felt a new appreciation for the man he was. ”Perhaps Northrup was civilized and caring enough not to want to hurt his own father.”
Lyall snorted at that. ”It was no' a hostile coup. Alasdair was willing to step down. Damage sustained in such a fight is temporary, more a show of strength than a true beating. In truth, Alasdair was more hurt that the man to face him wasn't his firstborn and beloved son.”
”You're very loyal to your king,” she said. ”Were you loyal to Alasdair as well?”
He made a sound of annoyance. ”I am loyal to the Clan Ranulf, whoever may lead it.”
”So then, were Northrup to become king?”
Lyall's mouth twisted. ”I don't hold with cowards, la.s.s. Were he a true alpha, he would have taken the throne.”
Northrup's hand clenched, and Daisy knew he had heard. She turned her eyes back to Lyall. ”Northrup may be many things, but he is not a coward. That much I know.”
Chapter Twenty-one.
An alpha, my boy, is not the beast with the greatest strength but with the greatest will. Know your mind, boy. Know it without hesitation or reservation and ye shall lead them.
Ian strode into the Great Hall of Clan Ranulf, and his father's long-ago words rang through his bones. Here, in this hallowed court, he felt the power and will of his ancestors. Designed to impress, the walls and floor were lined with onyx marble, creating a void of black in which only the golden throne at the end of the hall shone bright.
His father had sat there for clan business. His father had expected Ian to sit there one day too. Conall sat there now, his black eyes watchful as Ian drew near. Conall, the younger brother who used to dog his steps, pleading for a bit of Ian's attention. Ian had taught him to fight, tried to teach him the concept of justice. But he had failed at some point, for the reports Ian had heard from the refugee lycans that Lena sent to his home told a dark story of dominance, greed, and mismanagement.
Worse, if those tales were to be believed, Conall had also formed an alliance with the human gangs around inner-city London and now preyed on the weak and the poor.
Ian bit back a sneer of disgust as he stopped before the dais. Conall lounged upon the throne as if it were a bed, one long leg thrown over the armrest, his booted foot swinging an idle rhythm. Aye, his brother was strong, no doubt about it. Muscles dominated his frame, barely hidden beneath the modish clothes he wore. And he was without hesitation. But did he have the will? Ian would soon find out.
Do what is right. Take control of your clan.
His clan. The thought was smoke and seduction, whispering in his veins, creeping along his skin. He had lost everything because of his lycan heritage. And now his world had turned full circle.
Conall gave him a thin smile, his eyes calculating. ”And so the prodigal son returns.” His black gaze narrowed. ”After running amok in Highgate, it seems.”
Ian almost snorted. Is that what Conall would call it? And what of the were he'd captured? Ian wanted answers, but he had to be careful. Behind him came the scent of Daisy. He ignored it. It was too easy to lose control where she was concerned. d.a.m.n it all, he hated having his weakness so close at hand. Considering his options, he realized he'd have to taunt Conall just enough to show he did not care, but not enough to challenge him. Wonderful.
”Conall,” he said by way of greeting.
His brother snarled. In an instant, he was before Ian, his hand wrapped about Ian's throat. ”Pardon?”
Claws sank into Ian's neck. The faint sound of Daisy's m.u.f.fled distress stayed his tongue. Easy, la.s.s. Ian met his brother's eyes. ”Ranulf,” he corrected with false ease.
Sharp teeth flashed as Conall smiled. ”Better.” He let Ian go with a shake.
Ian stood steady.
Conall strolled about him, circling. ”What are you doing mucking about in my territory, brother?”
Ian cut him a glance. Did Conall think he'd make excuses? ”Looking for the mad werewolf, brother.”
”Ah, yes, this mythical werewolf that none of my men have seen hide nor hair of.”
Ian gave a humorless snort. ”So then what was it you captured last night?”
Conall stopped. His dark brows lifted in an expression much like Ian's. ”I captured nothing. Though I did hear that my brother has now been connected with two *wild dog' attacks.”
For a cold second, Ian couldn't answer. He hadn't expected Conall to deny having the were. It did not make sense. Worse, there was something in his brother's tone that gave him pause. They'd grown so far apart that Ian could no longer be sure if Conall was lying or not. And that concerned him greatly.
”Are you trying to tell me that I imagined fighting that were last night? Or the fact that your men took it down with Ranulf darts just moments before they tagged me?”
Conall laughed shortly. ”I've no idea what you've imagined.”
Ian reached into his trouser pocket. ”Tell me then, did I imagine this?” He tossed the silver dart he'd kept onto the floor where it clattered against the black marble and then spun about in indolent fas.h.i.+on.
From the grumbling that erupted around the room, Ian knew the lycans all recognized the dart.
Conall stopped and turned on his heel. He glanced at it before looking back at Ian. Not a shade of emotion on his brother's face. Ian had to commend him for that.
”What is it I am supposed to be seeing?” Conall said, still not bothering to look at the dart.
Ian smiled thinly. ”Right. I'll play. That there, dear brother mine, is a Ranulf hunting dart. One of four that found its way into my chest last night,” Ian snapped. ”After the were that was attacking me received his fair share of darts.”
”And yet, no clan members of mine were out hunting weres last night.” Conall turned to Lyall. ”Or am I mistaken?”
Amus.e.m.e.nt lit Lyall's expression. ”No, Sire.” His cold amber gaze settled on Ian for a moment. ”Nor would a member of my guard take down MacRanulf without just cause.”
Anger turned Ian's blood hot. Lyall, the b.a.s.t.a.r.d, would say anything Conall asked him too. Being a lycan, Lyall's age did not show, but he was older than all of them and had been beta to Ian's father. Back then, Lyall had been like an uncle to Ian, caring for him and his family in all ways. Until Ian had refused the throne. Then Lyall turned from him and swore loyalty only to Conall.
Conall strolled away from the dart. ”D'ye care to call Lyall a liar then?”
Yes. ”I've no wish to call him anything.” Other than a canny little lickspittle.
If Conall and Lyall insisted on lying, there was nothing Ian could do about it. He yearned to shove the stickpin he'd found in Bethnal Green under Conall's nose and demand an explanation, but it would be tantamount to a challenge. So he glanced at the crowd of lycan a.s.sembled in court instead. Some were familiar; some were new. All were richly dressed. Yet none of them had been seen among Ian's human familiars. What had gone on here? Had Conall isolated them so much from human society? It was a dangerous thing, for lycans needed human contact to stay sane. ”Have ye all missed the stench of werewolf trailing all over our city?” Ian asked.
”My city,” Conall said, a fair amount of warning coloring his words.
”Our city,” Ian retorted. ”Or is Ranulf no longer a clan?”
A s.h.i.+ft went through the crowd, uneasiness tightening the air and tingeing it sour. These lycan were too used to subservience. Ian could see it in their stance, the way they looked to Conall not with respect but hesitation and fear.
”The question should be why ye care, brother.” Conall came toe to toe with him, and Ian smelled blood on his breath. ”You left the clan long ago. You're in no position to ask questions. That I gave you leave to even live in this city should have you bowing in grat.i.tude.”
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