Chapter 11
While Vivian Cates held court in her big house up on the Hill, Tyler Creed tended to the only chore his small heart cared about anymore. He was going to keep an eye on his mate. No matter what anyone said.
Tyler had lost Dee twice now, and narrowly got her back. Once from a grave thought long cold, and once from the very jaws of death. So fuck anyone who tried to keep him from her now. That's why he made the painful shift, not into wolf form, but into one with wings.
He'd been sitting in a tree limb outside Deirdre's window since Vivian had kicked him out of the house. And Tyler was beginning to see the appeal of existence as a bird. He could see everything for miles. No one noticed him up in the tree. The wolves, ground creatures that they were, rarely had instincts to look up.
Tyler could get used to this.
He flapped his wings, shaking off the urge to take to the sky that always fluttered in his chest while in eagle form.
There was no time for such nonsense. His mate was injured. And Tyler sure as hell didn't trust any of the lame brains sitting bedside to watch over her properly. Especially that ex-soldier. The other who sought to lay claim to his mate. The father of her child. He could pose a problem to Tyler; to Tyler's claim of his mate. That human, more than any other would have to be dealt with eventually. That could wait until his mate was awake. For now the vigil.
A sound pricked at Tyler's raptor senses. A change in wind.
Tyler spun his head without moving his body. There was a faint smell of industrial rubber, but Tyler could see nothing from his current perch. He debated, looking back in the window to his mate's prone form.
She was secure for now.
Tyler spread his wings and dove from the branch. Circling upwards, he lit on the top of the tall old oak at the back of the Cates house. He was still getting used to the bird senses. So different to those of the wolf. His enormous pupils dilated to let in more light.
With more speed than he was prepared for, Tyler zeroed in on the source of his distress. A cavalcade of dark SUVs were coming down the I-9. At least half a dozen vehicles. More than a mile away. Tyler watched the cars spread out before they hit the Wolf Lake town limits. They looked like a troupe of ants, breaking off from their procession, and filing off to positions for a day's food gathering.
No one in Wolf Lake drove cars like that. Vee had a Benz. Buddy Hicks drove an F150. Tyler himself drove a brand new Jeep Wrangler. And certainly no one in the pack or in the town had filed notice of contractors that would operate in such a manner.
That meant only one thing. Trouble.
Trouble for his Pack. Trouble for his mate.
That simply would not do.
Weighing his options. Tyler decided that following his mate's instructions would be his best course of action. She'd asked him to be her eyes in the sky. He would do so. Abandon his vigil to gather intel. That was how she would want it.
A group of the vehicles were taking a back way into a clearing behind the lake. Plenty of trees around from which to spy. Tyler spread his wings again and took to the sky.
The eagle that was Tyler Creed completed approximately two thirds of it's journey before suddenly tumbling out of the sky. A tiny, almost imperceptible projectile caught Tyler in the left wing, throwing him head first into a nearby tree. The impact caused a sharp pain in his little bird brain that seized up Tyler's entire nervous system. He fell like a rock to the forest floor.
Tyler passed out on the way down.
When he woke again, his acute vision was swimming. He could make out a form approaching him. A familiar long haired figure in leather. The man tossed a handful of acorns to the ground.
"Impressive form, whelp." Javier Vachon purred, kneeling beside Tyler. "But I don't appreciate being out in the sun for anyone, even on a day as overcast as this."
Vachon pulled a folded piece of leather out of his pocket. Fear seized Tyler's heart and he flapped his wings frantically.
"There's nothing for it, m'boy." Vachon said. "LaCroix requires your presence at court. And when the Prince calls, we all must answer."
Tyler screeched in vain.
Vachon slipped the leather falconer's hood over Tyler's head, blinding the bird. Tyler flapped even more desperately, but it was no use. There was a sharp prick of pain under his right wing, then nothingness.
With Tyler disabled, the news of the intruders into the Wolf Lake territory arrived too late. Presley Grable was out for a run, half a mile from where Tyler was abducted, trying to clear her head. Her light tawny fur caught the dew on surrounding plants as she ran through the forest.
The dew was part of the problem.
It rained briefly that morning and the forest floor was still damp. The parade of military boots was cushioned and silenced as they exited their vehicles. It was just dumb luck that Presley came out of the underbrush upwind of the armed thugs in their tactical gear.
Presley's heart fluttered in her furry ribcage. She was half a mile from the Big House.
Training her ears backwards, Presley backed away from the onslaught of feet. When she judged herself to be sufficiently clear of the commandos, Presley broke into an all out run. She sprinted as fast as her four paws could take her, tongue lolling out of her mouth.
Presley debated sending out a warning on the Pack's telepathic network. But she would have to stop moving to gather her thoughts first. She opted instead to get to her Alpha. By the time Presley reached the Cates residence, a long silver Bentley was rolling up the driveway. Presley switched directions mid stride and headed to the back of the house.
Once there, Presley availed herself of the doggie door that Will Cates had installed, for wolves who needed to drop in during emergencies. Without thinking, Presley shifted back into human form on her way through the kitchen.
When she found the Alpha, Vivian was deep in conversation in the parlor with a whole room full of strange people.
It occurred to Presley that she should shield her body. A naked girl arriving unannounced would be hard to explain. But Luke was talking to her.
"Press, what's wrong?" Luke asked, ignoring the shocked looks in the room.
He was ignoring them.
Her alpha wouldn't ignore a threat. Ergo, he didn't view the strangers as threats. That was good enough for her. Presley swallowed, trying to speak. It was hard, she was shivering uncontrollably.
"Presley," Vivian barked, in a gentle but direct tone. Vivian put her hands on Presley's shoulders. "What is it?"
Vivian looked deep into Presley's eyes, and Presley could feel the comforting pull of Pack magic sooth her nerves.
"Soldiers," Presley's voice came out in a rasp. "In the forest. They're armed."
Vivian cursed under her breath. "I thought we had more time. You've done well Presley. Thank you. You can dress and call your grandmother from the kitchen. I'm sure she'll be worried."
Presley shook her head. "There's more. A car."
Vivian's head snapped up. "I hear it. Matthew!"
The sheriff came down the stairs, armed. "I hear it."
The strangers in the room rose to attention. One of the men drew a gun out from a shoulder holster under his jacket.
Vivian turned to her son. "Luke, take Presley and Sophia upstairs. Get Presley some clothes. She can call her grandmother from the phone in my room. Then go to your sister's room and ask Dr. Corrigan to stay with you. I need everyone as quiet as possible, but be ready to head to the panic room, if need be. Mr. MacLeod, if you'd be so kind as to accompany the children?"
A handsome, dark haired man, that sent flutters through Presley's belly, stood from his seat. He had kind eyes which comforted Presley more than she expected. He spoke with just the slightest Scottish accent. "It would be my pleasure."
Presley's feet barely just hit the last step of the upstairs landing, when there was a knock on the front door.
Vivian checked that the children were out of sight before proceeding to the front door. She took no small amount of comfort in the fact that her back was flanked closely on the right by Matthew Donner. Adam Pierson held up her left side. And odder still, the fact that Nick Boyle, her daughter's lover, was holding up the rear of the group, brought its own kind of peace.
Vee composed her face and opened the door. Three men stood on her front stoop. The first was a stalky man in his late fifties with a cropped salt and pepper beard and wire rimmed glasses. Behind him stood a lanky figure in his early forties with cool blue eyes and curly brown hair. Both of these men were strangers to Vivian.
It was the sight of the third man that turned Vivian's blood to ice.
"In what way did I not make it clear to you, fifteen years ago, Mr. Travers that you and your associates are not welcome in my home? Or in my town, for that matter?"
Short and stodgy in a three piece suit, Quentin Travers swept past his companions to step closer. "I believe it was your husband, Mrs. Cates, that invited me back to Wolf Lake. What was the phrase he used again? Oh yes! 'Over his cold dead body.' My sincere condolences for your loss."
The first man grumbled at Travers. "A little decorum, Quentin. Mrs. Cates, I am…"
Vee crossed her arms across her chest planting her feet in the doorway. "I know who you are Mr. Stanton. What makes you think I am any more inclined to let you into my home than Mr. Windbag, here?"
Travers glared at Vivian and Vivian glared right back. Stanton took on a conciliatory stance.
"Mrs. Cates, my colleagues and I simply would like to speak with you. We have reason to believe that you are, wittingly or unwittingly, harboring a fugitive. The young lady in question is highly dangerous…"
Vivian cut him off again with the wave of a hand. "The young lady in question is my daughter. Which you are well aware of, otherwise you wouldn't be standing on my doorstep. So here we are again at our impasse."
"Dear lady," Stanton started again. "I consider myself to be a civilized man. And as such, I abhor unnecessary violence. Your daughter is accused of the murders of at least half a dozen individuals. That we know of. My colleagues and I are tasked with the investigation of those crimes. Determining Miss Pierson's guilt or innocence and so forth. To that end, we would like initially just to speak with her. Get her side of the story."
"And then to detain her, should we determine her to be guilty," Travers interjected. "By force if necessary."
Stanton shot Travers a dirty look. Then, he turned back to Vivian. "However, we would like to avoid bloodshed if at all possible. So please, madam, will you let us in? Just to talk?"
Vivian stared at the enemies on her doorstep for a long moment. They weren't lying about the use of force. That she was sure of. They would call in their commandos at the slightest provocation. And the Pack was already operating at a deficit after the battle with Dugare. They wouldn't be able to defend her family, and even more important for Vivian as their Alpha, she would not be able to defend her wolves.
It seemed diplomacy was Vivian's only option. But she was damned sure going to use every tool at her disposal to evict this cabal from her territory.
Vivian stepped out of the doorway, ushering the men inside.
Stanton gave a sigh of relief. This only lasted until he saw the assembly in her parlor. "Derek Rayne, fancy meeting you here. Funny you didn't inform the Ruling House of your field trip to Washington."
"Oh, you know." Derek gave a toothy grin. "Wanderlust. Sometimes it's hard to avoid."
"Mr. Boyle." Stanton continued. "I believe I gave specific orders for you and Mr. Pierson to remain at the San Francisco House and await my further instructions."
Nick crossed his arms. "I'm not going to let you railroad her. Deirdre is not a murderer and I intend to prove that."
"Do you?" Stanton replied. "I see. So it's mutiny then, is it?"
Adam raised a hand. "Technically speaking, I don't work for you. Or anyone else. So I'm incapable of mutiny."
"You're a Watcher." Travers ground out, stepping into the parlor with the younger man at his back. "You operate under the auspacies of the Watcher's Council-"
"I was a Watcher of Immortals." Adam corrected. "I'm retired."
"You're a liar and a degenerate. Old Man." Travers put emphasis on the last syllables.
Alex clapped her hands together, drawing everyone's attention. "Look. As I see it, bickering is just going to waste everyone's time. What we really need to do is get to the bottom of what happened to the Bucharest House. We need to determine Deirdre's involvement, if any. And to do that, we'll need to work together. Yes?"
Travers remained silent. Stanton took off his glasses and rubbed them with his handkerchief.
"I agree with Miss Moreau. So why don't we simply talk with the girl?"
"You can't." Vivian stated blandly.
"Now see here madam-" Stanton began again, only to be cut off.
"No, she means you literally can't," Nick interjected. "Deirdre is in a coma."
The man behind Travers scoffed audibly. "A likely story."
"Who are you?" Vivian seethed.
"Ah yes,introductions," Travers interjected. "This is my assistant Harold Johnson. His parents were members of the Legacy Ruling House in London, but Harold here forged a new road and joined the Watcher's Council out of Oxford."
"Fascinating," Vivian bit out sarcastically. "I'll thank you to keep your tongue Mr. Johnson. My daughter is indeed in a coma. Practically on her deathbed. Our town was attacked by vampires, and Deirdre was instrumental in saving many lives. Not exactly the actions of a rogue Slayer?"
"No indeed." Stanton agreed. "But we would like to verify this for ourselves. Upstairs is she?"
Vivian betrayed only the slightest hint of shock, but Stanton caught it.
"My dear lady, there are currently three Slayers active in the world right now." Travers advised. "This is a rarity. So far in history, there has only ever been one Slayer called at a time. But the wonders of modern medicine and CPR have left us with three, and only three. We checked. One is stationed at the Hellmouth in California. One is currently in maximum security prison. The third is your daughter, who we were forced to track down using a tracking spell. Courtesy of a mage employed by the Council. We know full well that Deirdre is in this house."
"So cut the shit," Harold added.
Stanton nodded. "I assume if what you say is true, Miss Pierson is upstairs? Then let's just pop up there and have a look. Shall we?"
"There's no need," Derek advised. "Alex, Nick and I have all seen her. Rachel is with her now."
"I'm sorry Dr. Rayne, but that's not good enough." Stanton countered.
That started the beginnings of a screaming match in the packed room. The cacophony stung Vivian's ears until she couldn't take it any more.
"Enough!"
Vivian infused her voice with all the power her position as Alpha could bring. It brought dead silence.
"Deirdre is in bed upstairs. I and I alone will escort Mr. Stanton to her room. He can verify Deirdre's condition to his satisfaction, and we will come back downstairs immediately. No one else will leave this room. Do I make myself clear?" Vivian scanned the room.
No one argued.
Vivian nodded and motioned for Stanton to follow her. It wasn't the first time she had escorted a known enemy to the sickbed of a loved one. It was just the first time that loved one was her baby girl. Vee approached Deirdre's door, knocked twice, and opened it.
Her heart lightened a bit when she found only Dr. Corrigan attending to Deirdre. Duncan MacLeod had the good sense to adjourn Presley, Luke, and Sophia to another hiding place. Vivian sent a quick mental update to Matthew, so he wouldn't worry.
They're safe. She caught a wave of relief sent back over their shared mental connection.
Rachel Corrigan rose to her feet, when Vivian and Stanton entered the room. "Mr. Stanton, we weren't expecting you so soon."
The amount of barely veiled contempt in Rachel's voice and baring endeared her to Vivian. She'd have to get the good doctor's story later. For now, she was confident that Rachel remained on Deirdre's side.
"Dr. Corrigan," Stanton replied, with no less veiled contempt. "I don't suppose you did. What with your Prefect determined to undermine this investigation at every turn. The child is under your care now, I take it?"
Rachel nodded. "I am her official physician of record."
"And your diagnosis?"
Rachel pointedly avoided Vivian's eyes, instead checking Deirdre's wrist for a pulse before answering. Vivian held her breath.
Rachel set the wrist back down. "Transient ischaemic attack and coma brought on by extreme physical trauma and severe blood loss."
"Blood loss?" Stanton repeated.
Vivian let out her breath. "She was impaled. We verified she wasn't bitten in the attack. But it took too long for us to get her to the hospital."
Stanton nodded, motioning toward Rachel's hand in which she held a pen flashlight. Rachel traded a look with Vivian, who nodded. Then she handed over the light. Stanton gently lifted each of Deirdre's eyelids in turn and shone the flashlight into them. Whatever he saw there seemed to satisfy him.
He handed the flashlight back to Rachel.
"Satisfied?" Vivian asked. It was taking everything in her not to eviscerate this man. She hid it well.
Stanton nodded. "My condolences. Please understand that I have the highest regard for your daughter Mrs. Cates. I honestly hope that our investigation will exhonerate her. But six of my people are dead. An entire Legacy household burnt to the ground. And the remains of werewolves found on the premises. So, I must be thorough."
"And fair." Rachel interjected. "You have an obligation to be fair. Legacy Inquests have had a problem historically with that part."
"Duly noted." Stanton nodded again. "So now that our chief witness is incapacitated, we must explore other avenues of inquiry. If I am honest, madam, I would advise you to keep this room under your own guard. Our friends at the Watcher's Council are inclined to detain first, and ask questions later."
Vivian turned that statement over in her mind for a moment. Stanton was trying to convince her, in a roundabout way that he was less of a threat than Travers. Perhaps that the commandos in her territory were under Travers' employ? Historically speaking that would stand to reason. Still, better to keep the lot of them where she could see them.
Vee nodded back. "Noted as well. Now if you don't mind, my daughter needs her rest. May I offer you a drink in the parlor?"
Staton smiled gently. "That would be much appreciated."
"Dr. Corrigan?" Vivian offered.
"In a moment." Rachel gave Vivian a genuine smile. "I'd like to continue my observations. Perhaps another half hour, if that's alright."
Vivian returned the smile, ushering Stanton out. "I'll send Adam up to relieve you. And Rachel? ...Thank you."