Corrigan Fire Bloodfire - Helen Harper Page 0,4

alphas? At least some of them must want to make a move in this direction.’

‘My Lord Corrigan, everyone believes you are Brady’s natural successor. You will bring both the Brethren and the packs into greater alignment and provide more enlightened leadership for the future.’ Somehow Staines managed to make the words sound sincere rather than sycophantic. He raised his eyebrows in my direction. ‘And, with all due respect, don’t be naïve. You must have had some idea this would happen when you faced off against Brady.’

I opened my mouth to answer but the muffled voices on the other side of the door caught my attention instead.

‘They said he beat off twelve shifters, including a wererhino.’

‘I’ve never even heard of a wererhino.’

‘I heard it was closer to fifteen.’

‘We’ve never had a Lord Alpha that strong before. Even Lord Brady couldn’t have managed that.’

I gazed at Staines in irritation. ‘Even our own Brethren members believe this tripe?’

He merely grinned. ‘You’re already becoming a legend in your own right.’

I balled up my fists. ‘Ridiculous,’ I muttered. I stalked over to the door and yanked it open. Three shifters with rapidly paling faces stood there, then, as if they’d planned it, each one bowed in obeisance. I rolled my eyes.

‘Don’t do that,’ I snapped, immediately regretting my tone when all three suddenly looked terrified. I took a deep breath and backtracked. ‘I apologise.’

‘My Lord Alpha,’ one of them began, ‘it’s not for you to apologise: the mistake is all ours.’

I straightened my shoulders. ‘Let’s get one thing very clear. I am not infallible. I will make mistakes. If I do, then it is your job to tell me so. I won’t have bowing and scraping. The Brethren may not be a democracy just yet but I’m not a mindless tyrant.’ I paused and turned back to Staines. ‘Actually, there’s an idea. How about a vote to decide the next Lord Alpha?’

He merely looked at me, completely devoid of expression. I sighed and rubbed my forehead. ‘We need to set about changing some of these goddamned stupid traditions.’

Staines nodded. ‘As is your prerogative, Lord Corrigan.’

I thought about it. Now there was an idea. If everyone around me was dead set on this ridiculous Lord Alpha notion, then I could use it to my advantage. Make the world a better place. I rubbed my thumb across my chin. I could even institute democratic action then step down and let the cards fall where they may. There was the pesky Voice aspect to overcome – traditionally the strongest and most able shifter in a pack automatically received the ability to use the Voice, thus deeming them automatically the alpha. I was fairly certain that there would be means to circumvent that, however. Who was to say that if a vote were taken, then the winner would not naturally receive the Voice? The Ministry of Mages often set their minions into investigating our hierarchical telepathic abilities. Perhaps I could get in touch with the Arch-Mage.

I frowned to myself, then abruptly realised they were all staring at me. I cleared my throat. ‘Is there something you need?’

‘The, uh, West Yorkshire alpha is waiting upstairs.’ The shifter's voice was high-pitched and squeaky.

I closed my eyes briefly as Camilia Waite’s corpse flashed into my mind. Just brilliant. ‘I’ll attend to him immediately.’

‘My Lord Corrigan?’ Staines said softly. I half-turned. ‘He is – or rather was – Ms. Waite’s father as well as alpha.’

I ignored the brief spasm that clutched at my heart and nodded. It wouldn't matter how long I searched for the right words before meeting him face to face, there was nothing I could say that would make him feel any better or assuage any of his pain and grief. Not only that, but I was as much responsible for her death as Brady was. I exhaled loudly. As much as even the worst demon-infested demesne would be preferable to the conversation I was about to have, I had to do it. With a heavy soul, I dragged myself up the stairs, ignoring the trio at the door who flattened themselves against the wall in a concerted bid to allow me to pass unimpeded.

When I walked into the drawing room, even though the figure at the far end had his back to me, it was obvious that he was under considerable strain. His hands were bunched and his spine was rigid.

‘Alpha Waite,’ I said in typical formal fashion.

He turned in my direction, bruised eyes raking over me. From the