to an unrecoverable rift. Yet, I am sick to my gut with news of these events.
A dead space opens inside my chest. I am broken and cannot be remade. My father is not a man who inspires love, but there was a time when he had my respect. As I think back over my life since my mother passed, I find it hard to pinpoint where this all began to unravel. Certainly, the illness a decade ago played a part, but he was warmongering even then. As a lad, the events were viewed differently. Disjointed scenes playback, all of them awash with brutality.
“Where is my father now?” Blood pounds through my veins. I need to cool off before speaking to him, but I find myself welcoming whatever will come.
“Your father has left,” Pete says, eyes wary like he senses my intentions. “He is planning something, maybe something as bold as the takeover of the Halket clan. He has sent Danon off to make mischief, I have no doubt. They did not leave together.”
My rage rises further, like ants under my skin. It needs an outlet.
“Who tried to take the lass?” I demand.
“Four warriors,” he says, listing their names.
Two are Alphas, and two are Betas. All four of them should know better.
“Are the idiots still here?” I ask.
“Two of them,” Pete says, his lips forming a wry smile. “Your father was concerned about retaliation, so there are still enough warriors to defend the clan. Want me to round them up?”
I nod.
My father has left, so too, Danon, which means the warriors responsible for starting a clan war will get the full brunt of my fury. Those that are here, anyway.
Pete brings the two warriors to the great hall. It is quiet, for there is no merriment to be had with the threats in the air. The few servants attending duties in the room soon scurry off. We have been teetering on the edge of anarchy for a long while, and the lesser Betas have a sense for trouble and make themselves scarce.
I think about asking the two men questions, but I happen they know why they have been called. I have the ringleader by the throat while his whelp companion cowers out the reach of my fist. I put a good beating on him, enjoying every blow. It is not only about this man nor his reckless deed. It is about the lost hope of clan peace that stands between a certain tiny Beta and me. My chances were slight before this happened, now they are none.
I don’t stop until his face looks like raw meat, and he has pissed himself with fear.
Then I repeat my punishment for his companion. This man is injured, but I don’t let his weakened state stop me.
As I lose myself in the savagery, I imagine Brandon telling Jessa about the low, despicable nature of the Lyon clan. If not now, then soon, the Ralston clan will learn of the dead envoy.
I had little hope to start with, but now the crushing of my desire is absolute.
Fists and booted feet are used to remind the warriors of their place. I don’t care that my father has led them astray. I’m sickened to be part of any plan to rape and claim a lass. I’m sickened that we would kill an envoy sent in good faith to ensure his clanswoman was not taken by force.
It feels good to let the dark side of me out. Rarely do I unleash it on the people of my clan. But of late, they do not feel like my people, not all of them, anyway.
Chest heaving, I finally stop realizing that neither man moves.
Dead.
I have killed them, and I do not even fucking care. Maybe my father will be displeased. I no longer care about that either.
When I look toward Pete, I see understanding in his face. Maybe my temper will have cooled some before my father returns, or maybe it won’t. Maybe my father will laugh when he learns what I did to the warriors who tried to take the lass.
Or maybe his fury will rise to meet and clash with mine.
“I will spread the word,” Pete says. “To those loyal to you.”
He accepts what is done and what is yet to unfold without question. Conflict comes for us from all directions. Our people and clan are rotten, and the sickness needs to be purged.
I nod.
He leaves, and as I look from the broken bodies to my raw knuckles, I