CHAPTER NINE

The council chamber was rather sparse in comparison to the excessive luxury of everywhere else in the building. In fact, indirect lighting that made the room glow a warm sort of orange was the only thing standing between it being a full-fledged conference room in your typical downtown office. The space was large and situated in the corner, so two of the four walls were floor to ceiling windows that boasted a glittering view of the nighttime skyline. There was a large, wooden table in the center of the room constructed out of rich cherry wood, and black leather executive chairs surrounded it.

On the table was an extensive spread of food: trays of fresh cut fruit, deli meats, breads and spreads, pita and hummus, vegetables and dressing, muffins, bagels, bottled water, tea and coffee service. As soon as Viola laid eyes on it all, her stomach began to rumble insistently, reminding her that she hadn’t really consumed anything but booze in the last 24 hours. So focused was she on the food, in fact, that it took her a moment to drink in the faces around the table: Alec was standing at the head of the table, his fingers steepled in front of him as he leaned back in his chair, his left ankle resting atop his right knee. At his side, a beautifully elegant woman in her late 50s, who Viola assumed to be Rowan’s mother. Her hair was dyed a vibrant blond, and her eyes were almost just as yellow.

Then, situated around the table, were other couples, elegant in their dress and poised in their posture. There were eight people there, and Viola and Rowan brought them up to an even ten.

“Please, Miss St. James,” Alec said, gesturing toward the table, “help yourself.”

“You must be famished,” Rowan’s mother said, even as Rowan rounded the table to press a kiss to her cheek in greeting.

Alec leveled his eyes on his son. “So glad you could join us,” he said pointedly. “Where were you? I was calling.”

“Phone died,” he said lamely, coming back to slid into a chair at the far end of the room. Viola moved around the table to fill a small plate up with food. She could feel all of their eyes on her as she shifted, plucking up bits of fruit and meat and scooping up hummus and—oh, there were little brownies, too, she took four of them—until her plate could hold no more food. Then she slid into the chair beside Rowan and got down to the business of eating.

“Coffee?” Alec asked, and Viola glanced down the table at him.

“Yes, please,” she said, her mouth full of melon. Alec rose slowly to his feet to pour some coffee for Viola, even as Rowan moved to fill up his own plate with food, though his take was slightly more conservative than hers. Alec placed coffee in front of both Viola and Rowan and resumed his spot at the head of the table.

“I trust it you slept well?” He inquired, obviously very serious about proper etiquette and pleasantries.

“Yes, thank you,” Viola said, continuing to shovel food into her mouth.

“I’m glad to hear it,” Alec said. Viola glanced at Rowan, who was leaning back in his chair, munching silently on a carrot, his eyes fixed on his father. “We want you to feel at home here.”

Viola offered a stiff smile in response.

“Allow me to introduce you to the members of our council,” Alec continued. “This, of course, is Elizabeth Weaver, my wife and Rowan’s mother.” Elizabeth gave a barely perceptible nod. “And to her left, Amelia Grey, Doran Pierce and his mate, Rebecca. Then on my left, Micah and Shelby Lennox, and the inimitable Olivia Glass. The individuals in this room represent the strongest members of Clan Felidae, and all of them have been brought up to speed as to our current situation, such as it is.”

“We’ve started to discuss our options,” Elizabeth Weaver said, leaning forward and folding her hands in her lap. “We want to know where you think we stand, Miss St. James.”

Viola chewed her food, swallowed, and dabbed her mouth with the corner of a paper napkin. Funny, she thought, how the necessities of the body continued on, despite extraordinary circumstances. How things like exhaustion, hunger, need, how they had all colored her experience over the course of these strange and taxing days.

“I think,” she carefully began, “that now is the time to reach out to Ursus, to see if a peace can be brokered.”

The council shared a series of pointed glances amongst themselves, and Viola could hear Rowan groaning audibly beside her. She felt his hand on her knee as he gave it a squeeze, an obvious warning against her heading down the path she was currently on.

“You sent me to him,” she said, trying not to look at Rowan, not wanting to see the look on his face as she revealed more and more of what she knew. “You made the first move. But he knew who I was. He knew I would be coming for him.” She paused, blinking. “How could he have known that? Why would he have had tabs on me in the first place? And if he anticipated my coming, then why didn’t he simply kill me first?”

She paused and found that all eyes of the council members were trained on her. “I think it’s because McCallum, as the alpha of Clan Ursus, doesn’t want a blood war. I think he wants peace. If he didn’t, I would have just been one more body to add to the count.”

She wanted to ask them all of her questions, she wanted to know how much they knew about her own bloodline, her parents, one panther and one bear, and what that made her and her sister. But when she finally looked down at Rowan, there was something that looked like fear written all over his aquiline features.

Elizabeth Weaver leaned in and murmured something to her husband, but Alec was simply shaking his head, closing his eyes—indeed, closing his mind—to the content of her words. “No, no, no,” he said, silencing his wife with a gesture, “now is not the time for diplomacy. That time has passed. Now is the time for further action.”

“Another agent?” Council Member Glass chimed in.

“No,” Alec countered, “they’ll be anticipating that. Something more like a direct strike.”

“You’re talking all-out war here, Alec,” Doran said, looking rather stunned in his fine Armani suit. “None of us want to see that.”

“You enjoy the lifestyles our business dealings afford you,” Alec said, making sure to make eye contact with everyone sitting around the table. “This is business.”

“We should vote,” said Rebecca.

“This isn’t a democracy,” Elizabeth countered.

Alec nodded. “Damn right it isn’t.”

“You’re blood thirsty in your old age,” Micah said, and Viola was surprised at how deep and resonant his voice was, like a baritone sax. “None of us want to follow you into battle. We’d rather lose some money, concede some ground, than do that.”

“You’ll do what I tell you, Micah,” Alec responded, somewhat wearily. Viola glanced around the room, and the dissention was palpable. It seemed as though Alec had only Elizabeth on his side. Everyone else was starkly opposed to his plan of attack which, it seemed, was a rather direct one. Perhaps an assault on Clan Ursus headquarters? Viola didn’t want to find out.

She reached out and curled her fingers around Rowan’s wrist, trying to catch his gaze. He looked up at her and found himself all but lost in her storm sky eyes. Yes, lost was precisely the look he bore. “Rowan,” she murmured, “say something.”

But all he could do was shake his head.

Fine, she thought, if he won’t stand up to his father, I will.

“I’ve spoken with Graham McCallum,” she said, rising to her feet. She figured if she was going to be denounced as a traitor for trying to save their lives, that she might as well be standing. “Last night, at my apartment, when I went to pick up my things. He was waiting there for me.”

There was a rustle of conversation between the council members. Only Alec didn’t look surprised. “He told me that he didn’t want a war, that he didn’t want any more bloodshed. He said he understood that how his father ran Clan Ursus contributed to the contention between Ursus and Felidae, but he wanted to change all that. He wants to work with us, not against us. His only condition is that Alec step down as Alpha.”

“‘Us’, she says,” Elizabeth hissed, “as though she were actually a part of the clan.”

“She is, mother,” Rowan finally chimed in, “as a Somnus Sacrae agent, she is part of the clan.” To this, Elizabeth simply gave a wave of her hand.

Viola scanned the room, and she could tell that the council members were all mulling the notion over in their minds. She could see that they saw the wisdom in removing Alec from his position. Alec, on the other hand, was not so terribly reasonable.

“I suppose McCallum didn’t explain to you that there is no ‘stepping down’, so to speak,” Alec said, rather coolly.

Viola shook her head. “I don’t think they do things the same way in their clan.”

“I see.” Alec rose slowly to his feet, moving with unparalleled grace around the periphery of the room. “But you are willing to make that sacrifice, are you, Miss St. James?” He glanced only momentarily back at Viola before turning his attention to the nighttime view out the picture windows. “You would have my head, in the name of peace.”

“I don’t want anyone else to die,” she said, lamely.

“A funny thing to hear, coming from an assassin.”

“I said I didn’t want anyone else to die,” Viola said, her voice calm, level, “not that I wasn’t prepared to make necessary sacrifices.”

“You’re quick to toy with other people’s lives, Miss St. James,” Alec said, “but what about your own? What good are you to me now that McCallum has gotten to you?”

“Why did you seek me out in the first place, Mr. Weaver?” She countered, canting her head gently to one side so that a few unruly strands of ink black hair fell into her line of vision. “It had something to do with my lineage, I do believe.”

Alec’s lips were set in a firm line when he turned to her then, his hands clasped behind him. Viola could see in the reflection in the windowpane that he had one of his hands balled into a tight fist, as though he were a gasket ready to blow. “I see McCallum told a few old tales to pass the time,” he said. “Something about a member of Clan Ursus and a member of Clan Felidae coming together, mating, and producing a progeny that could shift into any known creature on the planet.” He scoffed. “I assure you, that’s all an old wives’ tale.”

But Viola’s mouth was hanging slightly agape. “Actually, he wasn’t that specific,” she said. “Is that what I am? Is that what I can do?”

“We had hoped so,” Elizabeth chimed in, and Viola could see a hint of real melancholy in her emerald eyes, “but so far, neither you nor your sister have manifested any extraordinary capabilities.”

“We had hoped something good would have come out of that entire fiasco. Unfortunately, we were simply saddled with one sickly girl, and one traitorous assassin.”

“Traitor?” Viola echoed, staring at Alec. “I haven’t betrayed anyone. Graham came to me, and he just told me—”

“Yes,” Alec interjected, making his way to an intercom by the door, “and you should have killed him. If you had, you’d have saved us all a world of trouble.” He pressed a button at the intercom and spoke directly into it. “Katherine, please have security come up, please.”

“Security?” Rowan said, rising to his feet. “Is this really necessary?”

“I’m afraid so,” Alec confirmed, standing between Viola and the door. “It seems, young man, that you put your faith in the wrong girl.” There was a sadness to Alec’s expression as well, and Viola somehow felt as though she’d let everyone down: Rowan, Graham, the Clan, everyone. “But then, so did we.”

A few well-dressed security guards in suits came in, towering over every other occupant of the room. Alec canted his chin toward Viola. “Please escort her down to a holding cell.”

“Rowan,” Viola said desperately, but he couldn’t even make eye contact with her. “Rowan, do something.”

“He may rip my throat out one day,” Alec said, “but today is not that day, is it, son?”

One of the security guards approached Viola and curled his large, sausage-like fingers around her arm, and hauled her bodily toward the door. She had to consider her options: if she fought back, she was likely to face a room full of pissed off panthers, and two men with guns. She was one girl in an unfamiliar building, unarmed. She didn’t do well in cages, but at least she knew she’d be alive for a while longer. Though how much longer, she couldn’t say.

She jerked her arm free of the security guard but followed obediently after him. “I’m coming with you, there’s no need to be all pushy.” She didn’t spare a glance for Rowan: he loved her? He had a funny way of showing it. The part that stung the most was she could still feel where he’d been between her legs, and she blushed anew with the shame of it all.

She paused at the door and glanced back at the council, most of whom bore tortured, indecisive expressions. “I really did just want to help you,” she said, before turning on her heel and exiting with her coterie of security guards.

~ * ~

The guards deposited her into a plain room, maybe ten square feet of space all told, and she took a seat on the cot that would be her bed. On the same wall as the bed was a chair, and opposite the chair was a toilet and sink. There was a light overhead, and a grey door that had a window in it, but otherwise, that’s all the room had going on. After a few minutes, she stood on tip toes to peer out the window and was met with a view only of fluorescent lights and linoleum flooring. Then she sat in the chair and counted the seconds until she lost track. And she bounced that way, from bed, to window, to chair, for a countless number of minutes. She was trying to keep herself from screaming in frustration.

Stupid Viola, she thought to herself, sitting on the cot with her elbows on her knees and her face in her hands, should have listened to Rowan. Rowan did warn you about this, after all. It’s like he saw the bloody future. She just needed to get a message to Graham, maybe he could help. But unless a carrier pigeon flew in through the ventilation system, she had no way of getting any type of message to him at all.

No, she was well and truly stuck, in a cell of her own making. If she had only killed Graham when she had the chance. But…no. No, when she thought of him, she felt a warmth rising in her. She didn’t want him to die; she found she might actually go to great lengths to keep that from happening. But that was ridiculous, she barely knew him. Not like Rowan, for whom she had a long-standing sense of affection. Rowan, who had most recently betrayed the trust she’d placed in him. She wished she’d had the good sense to ask him to look out for Verity before they’d taken her away, but she had been rather caught up in the drama of it all.

Verity. Poor, fragile Verity. Viola sat upright, eyes wide with realization: What if Verity’s health problems, this mysterious blood borne illness she’d been managing since she was a young teen, what if it had something to do with the mixing of clan blood? What if she could cure her sister, now that she knew who and what had made them?

She had to get out of that cell. She just had to get out. She had to have her questions answered, she had to find Graham, she had to make him save her sister.