Chapter 4 Eligible Connections

Chapter 4 Eligible Connections


POV: Cormac Brennan

Location: Various London Locations

Time: Week One After Death

Father's address book is leather-bound, old enough that some entries are in handwriting I don't recognize. Previous Alphas, maybe. Connections spanning decades.

I'm looking for the vampire entries specifically. Father's journals mentioned deals with the Crimson Parliament, arrangements that kept the pack safe and solvent. I need those arrangements to continue. Need those allies on my side.

The first name under V is Lord Silvain Mordaunt. Address in Kensington, phone number, and a note in Father's handwriting: Primary contact. Handles Parliament relations. Expensive but reliable.

I call the number. A voice answers on the second ring. Male, cultured, bored-sounding.

"Mordaunt residence."

"This is Cormac Brennan. Alpha Ronan's son. I'd like to speak with Lord Mordaunt about my father's arrangements."

A pause. "Lord Mordaunt is aware of Alpha Ronan's passing. He's been expecting your call. Can you meet tonight? Ten o'clock, The Crimson Room in Soho."

"The Crimson Room?"

"Lord Mordaunt will explain. Come alone." The line goes dead.

I stare at the phone. The Crimson Room. I've heard of it. Blood club, vampires only, the kind of place Father would have known about but never taken us to. Going there alone is probably stupid.

I'm going anyway.

The Crimson Room is beneath a noodle shop in Soho. The human customers eating upstairs have no idea what's in the basement. The Veil keeps them oblivious.

The entrance is through a kitchen door marked "Staff Only." I push through, expecting staff to stop me. No one does. They're all marked humans, eyes tracking me but not interfering. They know I'm supernatural. They know I'm expected.

Stairs lead down. Red lighting, too dim for human eyes but perfect for supernatural ones. The temperature drops. The smell hits me halfway down. Blood. Fresh and old, copper-sweet, underlying everything.

The basement's bigger than it should be. Magic warping space, making room for what looks like a Victorian gentleman's club. Velvet furniture, mahogany paneling, oil paintings of landscapes I don't recognize. Thirty, maybe forty vampires scattered throughout. Some feeding from humans who sit glassy-eyed and willing. Some talking in clusters. Some watching me descend with the casual curiosity of predators assessing prey.

A vampire approaches. Female, looks mid-twenties but her eyes are older. Ancient. She's wearing an evening gown like she just came from the opera.

"Cormac Brennan?"

"Yes."

"This way. Lord Mordaunt's expecting you."

She leads me through the club. We pass a feeding corner where a vampire's got his fangs in a young man's throat. The human's moaning, pleasure not pain. Vampire venom. Addictive as heroin, feels better than anything natural. That's how they create thralls. Three drinks and you're hooked forever.

We reach a private alcove in the back. Heavy curtains, plush seating, a table set for two. A man sits in the shadows, watching me approach.

Lord Silvain Mordaunt looks forty. Dark hair graying at the temples, pale skin, expensive suit. He could pass for human if you didn't look at his eyes. Six hundred years of existence in those eyes. Boredom and cruelty and intelligence all mixing together.

"Cormac Brennan," Mordaunt says. His voice is smooth, educated, British aristocracy from when that actually meant blood nobility. "You look remarkably like your father at that age. Please, sit."

I sit. The female vampire disappears.

"Drink?" Mordaunt gestures to a decanter of something red. Not wine.

"I'm fine."

"Wise. Blood's an acquired taste." Mordaunt pours himself a glass anyway. "Your father and I had an arrangement spanning three decades. I assume you're here to discuss continuation."

"I am."

"Good. Your father was a practical man. Understood that pack autonomy requires supernatural support. Werewolves control territory, but vampires control politics. We work together, everyone prospers."

"What exactly was Father's arrangement with you?"

Mordaunt sips his blood. "Protection. The Crimson Parliament could make life very difficult for werewolf packs. Territory disputes, legal challenges, economic sanctions. Your father paid me to ensure those difficulties never materialized."

"Paid you how?"

"Money, primarily. Also favors. Information occasionally. When Parliament needed werewolf cooperation on sensitive matters, your father provided it. Discreetly."

I'm processing this. Father bought protection from vampires. Paid them to leave us alone. It's extortion dressed up as alliance.

"I want that arrangement to continue," I say.

"Do you?" Mordaunt leans forward. "Your father's been paying me for thirty years. You've been Alpha for, what, six days? You haven't even held your first pack council. Why do you need vampire protection already?"

"Transition's vulnerable time. I need to establish authority without external threats."

"External threats." Mordaunt's smiling. Not friendly. Amused. "What about internal ones?"

"I don't know what you mean."

"Don't you? I heard about the succession debate. Your twin brother, considerable pack support, questions about your legitimacy. That's internal threat, not external."

How does Mordaunt know about that already? The pack meeting was three days ago. Vampires have intelligence networks, obviously, but this is fast.

"Callum's not a threat. He supports me."

"Does he? Or does he say that while wolves whisper about alternatives?" Mordaunt sets down his glass. "I can help with internal threats too, Cormac. I can ensure pack loyalty. Make certain no one questions your authority."

"How?"

"Leverage. Incentive. Fear. The tools of influence are varied." Mordaunt waves a hand. "Details don't matter. Results do. I can guarantee your pack follows you without question. No challenges, no debates, no twins causing complications."

It's tempting. Exactly what I need. Pack unity, unquestioned authority, Callum not an option anymore.

"What's the price?"

"The same as your father paid. Money and favors. When Parliament needs werewolf cooperation, you provide it. When I need information or access, you deliver. Standard alliance terms."

"Define cooperation."

"Nothing that compromises your pack's core interests. Occasionally we need werewolves for security work. Sometimes we need pack territory for neutral ground negotiations. Sometimes we need information about supernatural activity in your areas. Your father handled all this smoothly."

It sounds reasonable. Too reasonable. Vampires don't give anything without taking more.

"And if I refuse?"

Mordaunt's smile doesn't change. "Then you face your pack challenges alone. I won't interfere, but I won't protect you either. And there are vampires who'd love to exploit werewolf instability. Weak Alphas are opportunities."

"That sounds like a threat."

"That's reality. You want protection, you pay for it. Same as your father did. Same as every Alpha in London does."

Every Alpha. So this isn't unique to us. Mordaunt's got his hooks in multiple packs. Building a network of dependent Alphas who owe him favors.

I should walk away. This is obviously a trap.

But I need this. Need the security, the guarantee that my position won't be challenged. Need Callum to not be an option.

"I agree to your terms," I say.

"Excellent." Mordaunt extends his hand. I shake it. His skin's cold, corpse-cold, and his grip's strong enough to crush bone. "We'll formalize the paperwork later. For now, consider yourself under my protection. Anyone who challenges you challenges me."

"How will the pack know that?"

"They'll know. Word spreads quickly in supernatural London." Mordaunt releases my hand. "Was there anything else?"

"Actually, yes. My father's journals mentioned a judge. Vampire, handles supernatural legal matters. I might need legal support during transition."

"Sir Rupert Harborough. Very talented, very corrupt, very useful." Mordaunt writes an address on a card. "Tell him I sent you. He'll accommodate whatever you need."

I take the card. "Thank you."

"Don't thank me yet. You just sold yourself cheaply, Cormac. Your father at least negotiated. You accepted my first offer." Mordaunt's amusement is obvious now. "But you're young. You'll learn."

My face heats. "I'm not stupid."

"I didn't say you were. I said you were cheap. There's a difference." Mordaunt stands. "Welcome to real leadership. It's all compromise and debt from here on out. Your father understood that. Now you do too."

The female vampire reappears to escort me out. I follow her through the club, past feeding vampires and willing victims, up the stairs to the noodle shop's kitchen. The staff still don't look at me.

Outside, Soho's alive with New Year's week crowds. Humans laughing, drunk, celebrating. None of them know what's beneath their feet. What arrangements get made in the darkness.

I just sold myself to a vampire. Gave Lord Mordaunt leverage over my pack for the vague promise of protection.

But it's protection I need. Callum's not going to stop being a threat just because I want him to. Marcus and Elena aren't going to stop questioning me. I need allies strong enough to make challenges impossible.

Even if those allies are monsters.

Two days later, I visit Sir Rupert Harborough. His office is in the City, near the Old Bailey. Appropriate. The supernatural legal system runs parallel to human law, handling crimes and disputes the Veil keeps hidden.

Sir Rupert's secretary is a thrall. Male, early twenties, beautiful in that empty way thralls get. Addicted to vampire venom, psychologically bonded to whoever owns him. He shows me into Sir Rupert's office without speaking.

Sir Rupert Harborough is older than Mordaunt. Seven, maybe eight hundred years. He looks sixty, silver-haired, distinguished. The kind of vampire who'd be a high court judge in human society. In supernatural London, he is one.

"Cormac Brennan." Sir Rupert doesn't stand. "Lord Mordaunt said you might visit. New Alpha, recently bereaved, seeking legal counsel. Sit."

I sit in the chair across from his mahogany desk. The office is all dark wood and leather, law books lining the walls. Some of those books predate the printing press.

"I'm establishing my position," I say. "I might need legal support if challenges arise."

"Challenges to your Alpha status?"

"Possibly."

"From your twin brother?"

Everyone knows about Callum. Everyone's treating this like an actual succession dispute instead of a non-issue I'm trying to prevent from becoming an issue.

"From anyone who questions my authority."

"Smart." Sir Rupert steeples his fingers. "Anticipating challenges is better than reacting to them. What specifically do you need?"

"Insurance. If someone challenges me formally, I need the legal system to support my legitimacy."

"You want me to rule in your favor regardless of merit."

"I want you to ensure the law recognizes my birthright."

"Those are the same thing." Sir Rupert smiles. Not pleasantly. "I can do that. Mordaunt's associates receive favorable treatment in my courtroom. But understand, there's a cost. Every ruling I make for you is leverage I have over you. You'll owe me."

"Owe you what?"

"Favors. Information. Occasionally, testimony in cases where I need werewolf perspective. Your father provided such services regularly." Sir Rupert pulls a file from his desk drawer. "In fact, your father testified in several cases that secured convictions I needed. Innocent wolves, mostly, but politically inconvenient. Your father understood that justice is negotiable."

My stomach turns. "Father helped you convict innocent people?"

"He helped me maintain order. Sometimes order requires sacrifice. Your father knew that." Sir Rupert slides the file across the desk. "Read it. See what real leadership looks like. Then decide if you're willing to make the same compromises."

I open the file. It's full of case notes, testimonies, Father's signature on witness statements. Wolves Father swore were guilty when Sir Rupert needed convictions. Wolves who were actually innocent but politically problematic.

Father lied under oath. Repeatedly. Sent wolves to prison or exile to keep vampires happy.

"This is corruption," I say.

"This is governance. The supernatural world operates on influence and reciprocity. Your father influenced me, I influenced him, we both benefited." Sir Rupert takes the file back. "If you want my services, you'll do the same. I'll protect your legal position. You'll assist my cases when needed. Standard arrangement."

"And if I refuse?"

"Then you face pack challenges in a system that doesn't care about your birthright. Werewolf disputes get tried before me regardless. I could rule fairly, or I could rule against you. Your choice which I do."

More extortion. Everyone wants leverage over the new Alpha. Everyone's circling like sharks smelling blood.

But I need this. Need the legal system supporting me if Callum or anyone else challenges me formally. Need every advantage I can get.

"I agree," I say.

"Good." Sir Rupert makes a note in some ledger. "Lord Mordaunt was right about you. Ambitious and tractable. Excellent combination."

"Mordaunt said that?"

"He says it about all young Alphas. Usually he's wrong. You're proving him right." Sir Rupert stands, indicating the meeting's over. "Welcome to the real game, Cormac. Your father played it for thirty years. Let's see if you last as long."

I leave the office feeling sick. Two meetings, two vampires, two corrupt arrangements. I came here seeking allies. I'm leaving with masters.

But I need this. Need their protection, their influence, their guarantee that I stay Alpha.

Even if it means becoming what Father was. A puppet dancing for vampires.

That night, I'm back at the Brennan townhouse. Callum's in the library with Sarah, reading through sympathy letters. They look comfortable together. Easy. Like Callum's not carrying the weight I'm carrying.

Because he's not. He refused the burden. Made me look paranoid for wanting to protect what's mine.

Declan finds me in Father's study.

"You've been meeting with vampires," Declan says.

"Maintaining Father's alliances."

"Father's alliances were chains. You're adding more chains."

"I'm securing the pack's future."

"Are you? Or are you securing your position by mortgaging the pack to vampires?" Declan closes the door. "I know about Mordaunt. About Harborough. Your father told me about those arrangements before he died. Told me he regretted them. Warned me not to let you fall into the same trap."

"Father paid them for thirty years. It worked."

"It worked until it didn't. You know what Father paid in the end? His integrity. His honor. His peace of mind." Declan's voice is hard. "Those vampires owned him, Cormac. Owned his choices, his testimony, his loyalty. Is that what you want?"

"I want to be Alpha without challenges."

"Then be Alpha. Lead well enough that no one wants to challenge you. You don't need vampires for that. You need competence and fairness."

"Easy for you to say. You're not the one being questioned."

"I was Beta for thirty years. I was questioned constantly. Every decision, every order, every choice. That's leadership. That's the job."

"And Father had vampire backing the whole time."

"Yes. And it destroyed him." Declan moves to the door. "You're making the same mistakes he made. Seeking security in corruption. It won't end well."

Declan leaves. I sit in Father's chair, surrounded by his things, trying to believe I made the right choice.

I need allies. Callum's got the pack's affection. I need something stronger. Mordaunt and Harborough are stronger. They'll keep me in power.

That's all that matters. Staying in power. Being Alpha. Proving I deserve this.

Whatever it takes.

Elsewhere, later that night

Lord Silvain Mordaunt sits in his Kensington study with Lady Violette, his most useful thrall. Violette's forty, been with Mordaunt for twenty years, runs his blood clubs and manages his werewolf affairs.

"So?" Violette asks. "The new Alpha?"

"Ambitious and stupid," Mordaunt says. "My favorite combination. He accepted my first offer without negotiation. Agreed to everything without reading the contract."

"Will he be useful?"

"Extremely. His father was cautious, calculated, hard to manipulate. The son's desperate and paranoid. He'll do whatever we ask because he thinks it's his idea." Mordaunt smiles. "The twin brother's the interesting one, actually. Genuinely refused power. That's rare."

"Should we be concerned about him?"

"No. He's not ambitious. But his existence makes the paranoid twin more useful. As long as Cormac thinks his brother's a threat, he'll keep coming to us for protection."

"And if he stops being useful?"

"Then we discard him and install the brother. Either way, we control a pack." Mordaunt pours more blood. "Let's see how we can use him."