Chapter 112 You Knew He was Rot
While Leela and Elder Thorpe were having their quiet revolution by the training grounds, the mood on the front porch was heavier, weighed down by the waiting game.
Fennigan leaned against the railing, his arms crossed over his chest, watching the sun bleed out over the mountains. Jax, his younger brother and Beta, sat on the top step, sharpening a long, silver dagger with a rhythmic shing, shing, shing.
They looked enough alike to be twins—same dark hair, same sharp jawline, same build—but they weren't, not quite. They were Irish twins, born ten months apart in the same calendar year. They had shared a nursery, shared a childhood, and now they shared the burden of the pack. Jax had been following Fennigan’s lead since he was in diapers, and today, as his Beta, he was ready to follow him into hell.
"You know what happens if we pull this off, right?" Jax asked, not looking up from the blade, testing the edge against his thumb. "If Leela actually breaks him?"
Fennigan didn't move his eyes from the horizon. "He dies. That’s all I care about."
"It’s more than that, Fenn," Jax said, stopping the knife. He looked up, his eyes serious. "Vane is the architect of the Purity Laws. He’s the reason the Council has been cracking down on anyone who isn't a 'pure' wolf for the last fifty years."
Jax gestured toward the window where Ginny was sleeping inside.
"He hates us, Fenn. He hates the crossbreeds. Ginny being human our baby is a crossbreed. He hates the Elementals. He hates anything he can't control or categorize."
Jax stood up, sliding the dagger into the sheath at his belt.
"This is the turning point, brother. For wolves. For Elementals. And for the crossbreeds like Ginny and me who have had to live with a target on our backs because we don't fit his mold."
Fennigan looked at his little brother. He saw the fierce loyalty there—the same loyalty that had made Jax the perfect Beta. He wasn't just fighting for his Alpha; he was fighting for the right to exist without apology.
"We aren't just fighting for Leela’s past," Jax said quietly, clapping a hand on Fennigan’s shoulder. "We’re fighting for the future of this whole damn species. If we nail him... if we expose that his 'Purity' is built on the bones of murdered children... the whole system crashes."
Fennigan covered Jax’s hand with his own, the bond between the brothers humming in the air.
"Then we don't just win, Jax," Fennigan vowed. "We make sure there's nothing left of him to bury."
Inside the study, the atmosphere was suffocating in a different way.
Damon sat behind the massive oak desk—the seat of power he had occupied for decades before passing it to his eldest son—while Elder Horne paced in front of the fireplace, muttering to himself as he flipped through the Lex Terrae.
"We must be precise," Horne hissed, his finger trembling on the page. "Vane is not some rogue pup who made a mistake. He is ancient, Damon. He is nearly as old as I am."
Damon watched the Elder with hard, unforgiving eyes. "And that is why you let him get away with it for so long, isn't it?"
Horne froze. He slowly lowered the book.
"We didn't know about the bones," Horne whispered, the defense weak in his voice. "We didn't know about the torture."
"But you knew he was rot," Damon countered, his voice low and dangerous. "You knew he was twisting the laws. You knew he was making people disappear. And you turned a blind eye because he was powerful. Because he was 'one of the old guard.' You protected him with your silence because you were afraid to pin him to the wall."
Horne slumped into one of the wingback chairs, the weight of centuries of cowardice pressing him down.
"We thought..." Horne started, then stopped. He took a shaky breath. "We thought he was necessary. We thought his methods, however brutal, kept our world secret from the humans. We thought he was the monster we needed to keep the gates closed."
"Well, now the monster is inside the gates," Damon growled. "And he's wearing our children as jewelry."
Damon stood up, leaning over the desk, casting a long shadow over the Elder.
"This ends the moment he crosses that threshold, Horne. Whether it’s in an hour or in a week. No more blind eyes. No more 'professional courtesy' for an old colleague. We are going to use every comma, every clause, and every loop of that law to hang him."
Horne looked up, his eyes wet with regret and fear. "He knows the law as well as we do, Damon. If there is a crack in this case, he will slip through it."
"Then we seal the cracks," Damon said, slamming his hand down on the open book. "We use the Recall Ritual. We use the Vitae Wards. And we use the one thing Vane doesn't have."
"What is that?" Horne asked.
"A brotherhood," Damon said, looking toward the door where his sons were standing guard. "He has followers. He has employees. But he doesn't have family. And whenever he decides to show his face, he's going to find out why that makes him weak."