Chapter 17 Cormac's New Allies
POV: Cormac Brennan
Location: Mordaunt's Townhouse, Kensington
Time: Two Days After Pack Meeting
Mordaunt's townhouse is in the best part of Kensington. Five stories of Georgian architecture, perfectly maintained, the kind of property that costs millions. To humans passing by, it looks like old money. To supernaturals, it looks like exactly what it is. Power.
I ring the bell. A thrall answers the door. Male, maybe twenty-five, beautiful in that empty way thralls get after years of vampire venom addiction. His eyes are glassy and unfocused until he registers that I'm supernatural. Then something like awareness flickers in them.
"Alpha Brennan. Lord Mordaunt is expecting you." The thrall's voice is soft, musical. He's been trained to speak like this. Trained to be pleasant and decorative and completely subservient. "Please follow me."
I follow the thrall through the entrance hall. The wealth is overwhelming. Original artwork on the walls. Paintings that should be in museums. Sculptures from centuries past. Furniture that's genuinely antique, not reproduction. Everything in this house costs more than most people earn in a lifetime.
This is what six hundred years of vampire existence buys you. Time to accumulate wealth. Time to collect beautiful things. Time to perfect the art of appearing civilized while being a monster.
The thrall leads me through corridors lined with more art, more wealth, more evidence of Mordaunt's power. We pass other thralls. Three of them cleaning, two of them just standing in alcoves like living statues. All of them beautiful. All of them empty.
"Lord Mordaunt is in the conservatory," the thrall says, opening a set of glass doors.
The conservatory is enormous. Glass ceiling, exotic plants, fountains. It smells like jasmine and blood. The blood smell is faint but I can detect it with my enhanced senses. Someone's been fed on recently in this room.
Mordaunt's sitting in a chair near a fountain, reading a book that looks older than England. He glances up when I enter and smiles.
"Cormac. Right on time. I appreciate punctuality." Mordaunt sets down his book. "Please, sit. Can I offer you anything? Wine? Blood? Something stronger?"
"I'm fine."
"Suit yourself." Mordaunt pours himself a glass of something red. Not wine. "How did the pack meeting go?"
"They believed me. Most of them, anyway. A few elders are skeptical but they don't have proof of anything."
"Good. Pack stability is important. Can't have wolves questioning their Alpha's authority." Mordaunt sips his blood. "Your brother's trial is tomorrow. Sir Rupert will preside. The verdict is guaranteed. Six months in supernatural prison, then permanent exile from your pack. Packless status for life."
I should feel something hearing that. Guilt, remorse, horror. Instead, I mostly feel relief. Callum will be gone. The threat will be eliminated. I'll be secure.
"Thank you for your help," I say.
"You're welcome. Now we discuss payment." Mordaunt sets down his glass. "I've helped you eliminate your rival, corrupt the justice system, and secure your position as Alpha. That's worth quite a lot. Time to talk about what you owe me."
This is the moment. The moment I learn what I've actually sold myself for. Part of me wants to walk out. Tell Mordaunt I've changed my mind. That I'll find another way.
But I don't. I sit and I listen. Because I'm too far in to back out now.
"What do you want?"
"Cooperation. Simple, ongoing cooperation between your pack and the Crimson Parliament." Mordaunt stands and moves to the fountain. "The supernatural world runs on alliances. Vampires control politics and law. Werewolves control territory and enforcement. Dragons control economics. We all work together, everyone prospers."
"And if we don't cooperate?"
"Then we work against each other. Which tends to be messy and expensive for everyone involved." Mordaunt trails his fingers through the fountain water. "Your father cooperated with us for thirty years. It kept your pack safe. Kept Parliament from interfering with your territory. Kept everyone happy."
"My father paid you for protection. That's different from cooperation."
"Is it? He paid money, yes. But he also provided services. When Parliament needed werewolf expertise, your father lent wolves. When we needed pack territory for neutral ground negotiations, he allowed it. When we required testimony in supernatural court cases, he provided witnesses." Mordaunt turns to face me. "That's cooperation. Mutual benefit. You help us, we help you."
"What kind of services would you need from my pack?"
"Various things. Sometimes Parliament needs wolves for security work. Bodyguards, enforcers, intimidation. Werewolves are excellent at that. Sometimes we need access to pack territory. Meetings, clubs, business operations. Sometimes we need information about supernatural activity in your areas." Mordaunt counts on his fingers. "All of it reasonable. All of it manageable. None of it compromising your pack's core interests."
It sounds reasonable. Too reasonable. There's a trap here I'm not seeing.
"And if I refuse certain requests?"
"Then you're not cooperating. And non-cooperative Alphas lose Parliament's protection." Mordaunt's smile doesn't reach his eyes. "Let me be clear. The Crimson Parliament could make your life very difficult. Territory disputes ruled against you. Legal challenges to pack assets. Economic sanctions. Targeted harassment. We have a lot of tools. We prefer not to use them on allies."
"So this is extortion."
"This is politics. We're offering you protection and support in exchange for cooperation. That's how supernatural London works. Your father understood this. So did every other Alpha in the city." Mordaunt moves closer. "You want to be the exception? The one Alpha who refuses to work with Parliament? See how that goes?"
I think about Father's journals. His debt to vampires. His compromises. His gradual corruption over thirty years. This is what destroyed him. This endless cycle of owing vampires, providing services, sinking deeper.
And I'm agreeing to the same thing.
But what choice do I have? Mordaunt's right. I can't stand against Parliament alone. Can't protect my pack from vampire politics without vampire allies. I'm trapped.
"What specifically do you want from me?"
"For now? Access to your pack territory. I'm opening a new blood club in South London. Needs to be in werewolf territory for legal reasons. Neutral ground, no pack interference." Mordaunt watches me carefully. "I'll pay rent. Market rates. Five thousand pounds monthly. Your pack gets income, I get territory. Everyone wins."
"A blood club on pack land. Where humans come to get bitten by vampires."
"Where willing humans engage in consensual activities with vampires, yes. All legal under supernatural law. All protected by the Veil. No exposure risk." Mordaunt's tone is patient, like he's explaining something simple to a child. "This is standard arrangement. Three other London packs already host blood clubs. It's safe, profitable, and mutually beneficial."
It's also disgusting. Blood clubs are where vampires create thralls. Where they addict humans to venom and turn them into slaves. Father always refused to allow them on pack land. Said it was immoral.
But Father's dead. And I need Mordaunt's support.
"Fine. You can have territory for your blood club."
"Excellent. I'll have the paperwork drawn up." Mordaunt looks pleased. "See? Cooperation is easy. Profitable for everyone."
"What else?"
"Nothing immediately. But in the future, I may need wolves for security work. Or information about supernatural activity in your territory. Or testimony in court cases. Standard alliance activities." Mordaunt sits back down. "I'll give you advance notice. You'll have the right to refuse specific requests if they compromise pack safety. But general cooperation is expected."
I'm trying to find the trap. The hidden cost. The thing I'm missing.
"This seems straightforward. Why did my father struggle with it?"
"Because your father had principles. Annoying, inflexible principles about what was and wasn't acceptable." Mordaunt picks up his blood glass again. "He cooperated when necessary but he fought me on details. Negotiated constantly. Made everything more difficult than it needed to be."
"And you want me to be easier?"
"I want you to be smart. Your brother would have refused all of this. Would have said no to blood clubs, no to security work, no to cooperation. He has principles too. Strong ones." Mordaunt's smile is cold now. "Principles get you killed in supernatural politics. Or worse, they get you isolated. Powerless. Your brother would have been a terrible Alpha because he wouldn't compromise."
"So you're saying I'm better because I'm willing to compromise my morals?"
"I'm saying you're practical. You understand that leadership requires difficult choices. That sometimes you do things that feel wrong because they're strategically right." Mordaunt raises his glass in mock toast. "Your brother's in a cell because he was too moral to see threats coming. You're sitting here as Alpha because you're willing to do what's necessary. That's the difference between success and failure."
I want to argue. Want to say that being willing to frame my innocent brother doesn't make me better, it makes me monstrous. Want to point out that everything Mordaunt's saying is manipulation designed to make me feel good about terrible choices.
But I don't. Because he's right. Callum's moral inflexibility would have made him vulnerable. My willingness to compromise, to do terrible things, has kept me in power.
That has to count for something.
"I accept your terms. Pack cooperation in exchange for Parliament protection."
"Smart choice." Mordaunt stands and extends his hand. "Welcome to real supernatural politics, Cormac. Your father played this game for thirty years. Let's see if you last as long."
I shake his hand. His grip is cold, corpse-cold, and strong enough to crush bone. This is what I'm allied with now. Ancient vampire power that's perfected exploitation over centuries.
"One more thing," Mordaunt says. "The blood club opens next month. I'll need list of pack members who are absolutely not to be turned away or harmed. Family, close allies, anyone you care about. Standard protection list."
"Why would pack members go to a blood club?"
"Curiosity. Rebellion. Some wolves like vampire venom. It affects werewolves differently than humans, but it's still addictive." Mordaunt pulls out a notepad. "Who do you want protected?"
I think about it. Who do I actually care about protecting? Declan, obviously. Sarah, maybe. A few pack members I've known since childhood.
The list is shorter than it should be.
I provide names. Mordaunt writes them down. "Good. Anyone not on this list is fair game if they visit the club voluntarily. Your pack members are adults. They make their own choices."
"Fair game meaning what?"
"Meaning if they consent to being bitten, my staff won't hesitate. If they become thralls, that's their choice." Mordaunt tucks the notepad away. "Don't worry. Most pack wolves are too smart to risk vampire addiction. It's usually the desperate or stupid ones who end up thralled."
The casual cruelty of it makes me sick. Mordaunt's talking about turning pack members into slaves like it's a business transaction. Which to him, it is.
This is what I've allied myself with. This is the price of security.
"Are we done?"
"For now. I'll be in touch about the blood club location." Mordaunt gestures toward the door. "My thrall will show you out."
The same thrall from earlier escorts me back through the mansion. We're passing through a sitting room when I see another thrall. Female, maybe thirty, with auburn hair and green eyes.
She looks exactly like Rebecca. One of my childhood friends. Someone I haven't seen in years.
I stop walking. "What's your name?"
The female thrall looks at me with empty eyes. "I'm called Rose, Alpha Brennan."
"Were you ever called Rebecca?"
Something flickers in her expression. Recognition, maybe, buried under years of venom addiction and conditioning. "I. I don't remember. I've been Rose for a long time."
It is her. Rebecca from primary school. The girl who used to play with Callum and me in the park. The one who went to university and I never heard from again.
Mordaunt collected her. Turned her into a thrall. And she doesn't even remember who she used to be.
"Are you happy here?" I ask, even though I know the answer is meaningless.
"I'm very happy serving Lord Mordaunt." Rose's voice is flat, rehearsed. "Is there anything you need, Alpha Brennan?"
"No. Thank you."
Rose walks away. I watch her go, this ghost of someone I used to know, reduced to a decorative slave in a vampire's mansion.
The thrall who's escorting me clears his throat softly. "This way, Alpha Brennan."
I follow him to the front door. He opens it and I step out into Kensington's wealthy streets. Away from Mordaunt's mansion of horrors.
I walk to my car in a daze. That was Rebecca. Someone I knew, someone who had a future, someone with dreams and plans. And Mordaunt collected her. Added her to his household of beautiful, broken things.
Does Mordaunt do that often? Collect people he knows will be missed? People who'll serve as reminders of his power?
And if Mordaunt collects people, what does that make me? I just agreed to cooperation. To providing services. To allowing blood clubs on pack territory where more wolves might end up like Rebecca.
Have I just sold myself the same way Father did? Thirty years of gradual corruption, paying vampires in compromises until there's nothing left?
I get in my car and sit there, hands on the steering wheel, staring at nothing.
I wanted to be Alpha. Wanted power and security and authority. And I've gotten all of that by allying with monsters and becoming one myself.
Callum would have refused. Callum would have said no to blood clubs, no to corruption, no to everything Mordaunt represents.
And Callum's in a cell, about to be convicted by a rigged system, because principles don't survive in the real world.
I start the car and drive away from Mordaunt's mansion. Away from Rebecca's hollow eyes and Mordaunt's cold smile and the weight of what I've just agreed to.
I'm Alpha. That's what matters.
The cost is acceptable.
It has to be.