What scent? The one my imaginary guardian angel possessed? I wondered what Nyla meant.
Gideon must have sensed the way the oxygen seemed to be flowing only between Jarek and me because he slammed his hand over mine, lacing our fingers together.
Jarek's gaze flickered down to our joined hands and smirked as though he found the entire display hilarious. He looked back at me, gave a slow incline of his head, and finally turned his attention to the room at large.
"Lupin Pack, your Alpha's death is a tragedy. Or a convenience. Depending on who you ask."
WHAT?!
"Watch your tongue, Rogue," Gideon hissed. "You are in the heart of a Great Pack. You shouldn't even be breathing our air, let alone speaking of our Alpha."
Jarek didn't even blink at the insult. He moved to the side, signaling his men to bring forward a heavy, matte-black suitcase. He looked like he was about to sell us a vacuum cleaner, except he looked like he'd kill us all if we didn't buy it.
"I'm not here for politics, Mr. Vexwood. I'm here for progress. I'm here to advertise my most ambitious project yet. The crowning jewel of the Ashthorne labs." He announced and I shifted in my seat, mouth scrunched in mild awe and curiosity.
"We don't buy from the black market," Gideon spat, looking around the room for support. "A prestigious pack like ours, a line as pure as the Goldbanes, doesn't soil its hands with the filth of the underworld. Elders, tell him! Tell this gutter-wolf to leave!"
A few of the older warriors nodded. "We have our own healers. Our own armory. We need nothing from a King of Thieves."
Jarek chuckled humorlessly. He leaned both hands on the table, looming over Gideon. "Filth? That's a bold word for a man whose pack is currently three months behind on its silver-trade quotas. But fine. Decline. I've already presented this to the three other Great Packs. The vampires have seen it. The Fae Council is currently debating how many thousands of units they want. Even the humans—the ones you think are so beneath you—are reaching for their checkbooks."
He straightened up, smoothing his jacket. "If the Lupin Pack wants to be the only supernatural force in the country left in the stone age while your rivals arm themselves with the future... by all means. Decline. I'll be gone before the tea gets cold."
The room went silent. The Elders looked at each other. The fear of being left behind was, apparently, stronger than the fear of rogues.
"Wait," the Beta hesitantly called. "Show us. Show us what you have."
Gideon looked like he was going to have a stroke, but Jarek was already nodding to his men. The suitcase was laid on the table and flicked open with a metallic snick.
Inside, nestled in custom-cut foam, were two glass vials glowing with a velvet light.
"Engineered poison," Jarek announced, spreading his hands. "Created in the 'filthy' underworld to solve a specific problem: the supernatural healing factor. This doesn't just hurt the target, it stops the cells from regenerating. It mutes the wolf and turns a god into a corpse."
My heart stopped at that. This was sounding too familiar. I leaned forward, suddenly feeling my throat running dry.
"There are two variants. The first is the 'Falcon.' It acts instantly. One drop in a wound and the heart stops in ten seconds. But the second... the 'Spider'... that's the masterpiece. It's tasteless. Odorless. It kills slowly. Over weeks. It mimics a natural heart ailment. It makes a strong wolf feel like he's just... tired. Until he falls and never gets up."
My world instantly went white.
It mimics a heart ailment.He fell in his study.He hit his head.
Gideon's voice from the hospital echoed in my mind: "His wolf was sick, Elowen. His heart finally gave out."
Suddenly, the "hallucination" from the crash didn't matter. The "bergamot man" didn't matter. All I could see was the glowing violet liquid and the man who stood there, proudly admitting to creating the very weapon that had stolen my father's life.
Could Jarek Ashthorne, if not the culprit himself, be the merchant of death who had sold the blade that killed my family? He knew my father was too diligent to trade with him, so he must have cleared the one obstacle that could have jeopardized his 'most ambitious project yet'.
A roar of white-hot rage erupted from my gut, so loud and so violent that it drowned out the beeping of my heart. I was off my chair before Gideon could even notice the movement.
"You," I hissed, heaving with a vibrating finger pointed his way.
Jarek turned to me, his brow arching in curiosity. "Found a use for it, love?"
'Love'?
I didn't answer with words. I drew back my hand and threw my entire weight—all my grief, all my loss, and all my Goldbane fury—into a swing.
SLAP.
Jarek's head snapped to the side. The silence that followed was absolute. Gideon froze, the Rogues reached for their holsters, and the Elders gasped.
I stood there with my hand stinging, my chest heaving, staring at the man who dared to walk into my father's funeral and sell the poison that killed him.
"Get out! Take your filth, take your 'Spider,' and get off my land before I start a war and rip your throat out myself!"
Jarek slowly turned his head back to face me. He didn't look angry. He didn't even look surprised. His thumb simply brushed the reddening skin of his cheek, and he looked at me with a gaze so hot it felt like it could melt the silver in the room.
"Feisty," he murmured, making my skin crawl.
He snapped the suitcase shut and looked at Gideon, who was still paralyzed with shock. "You might want to keep your wife on a shorter leash, Vexwood. Or don't. I personally prefer her like this."
He bent toward me one last time, his scent overwhelming me as he whispered only for my ears: "I didn't kill your father, Elowen. But I can help you find who did. And when you're tired of playing house with a snake, come find me in the dark. I'll be waiting."