The truth would set him free.
Free from the terror. Free from living—at least after Tristan applied what was in the clear plastic bottle. Free from his soul if Tristan willed it, but even he never went that far. Not yet. He hadn’t had the cause to.
“Now,” he said in a rough voice, “I want you to tell me everything you know about Momar and his plans for this territory, and then I want you to tell me every last detail you know about Elliot Graves and his Captain.”
SEVENTEEN
AUSTIN
“DID YOU GET SOME SLEEP?” Austin asked as he stopped beside Tristan.
Tristan would be the only gargoyle in this morning’s pack defense meeting. It was limited to leaders, essential personnel, and those of Jess’s people who’d ignored their commands yesterday and needed a talking to.
“I got enough,” Tristan replied. “Indigo said she’d make me feel better.” He quirked an eyebrow with a little smirk. “She didn’t say how, exactly…”
Austin barely stopped himself from chuckling. He needed to keep with shifter norms right now, and alphas didn’t show emotion.
“How about you?” Tristan asked as Jess turned Phil away from the lineup. Of the basajaunak, only Dave would be in attendance. “Did you go back to sleep after I woke you?”
Austin looked out over the parking lot as Kingsley and his people arrived, right on time. His brother was always punctual when it came to official business.
“No. It’s okay, though. This morning I let Jess make me feel better.” He couldn’t help it—he quirked an eyebrow. The big gargoyle laughed.
Tristan had awoken Austin shortly after three in the morning to tell him the prisoner’s breathing was dangerously shallow. Austin had witnessed the man’s death—his deathly pale skin, his glassed-over eyes, his muttered words. Where he should be in the morning, why, people he would talk to, things he had witnessed.
Austin had scrambled for something to write on, only to have Tristan stop him, saying, “I’ve got it all.” He’d hesitated, like he hadn’t wanted to divulge anything else, before saying, “I tell you this out of respect for our working relationship and my pledge of loyalty to Jess and your convocation with her. Being this transparent doesn’t come easily to me.” He took a deep breath. “I orchestrated this moment. They had spells on him, I think, to hamper the types of things he could share, but my magic broke those barriers. I have all the information he had to offer.”
He’d explained his worry that Kingsley wouldn’t agree to the means necessary to extract information from the mage. A worry Austin had shared. Given they sorely needed the information, Tristan had known something needed to be done.
That something had presented itself in the midnight hours, it seemed, when the mage had awoken in a sort of fever dream. Since his pulse had beaten strongly, and he hadn’t seemed in any danger of
dying, Tristan had leaned on him with his nightmare magic. All the information about Momar had come tumbling out, including the reports he’d sent in to his boss. Mutterings, mostly, but coherent enough to be incredibly useful.
In the end, however, Tristan’s magic had proven too powerful—he’d pushed too hard, and it had pulled the mage under.
This was all told to Austin with infallible confidence. Tristan’s body language corroborated his story perfectly, relaying the facts and omitting nothing.
Kingsley would have believed it easily.
Austin wasn’t Kingsley.
Austin had lived a rougher life than his brother. He’d learned not to take things at face value, an education he’d paid for dearly many times over.
Tristan’s story had been wrapped up just a little too perfectly. Taking the blame was the nice bow on top. Jess would be absolved of any guilt, Nessa and Sebastian wouldn’t have to take matters into their own hands to protect Sebastian’s slip-up, and Austin didn’t have to go against Kingsley’s wishes or admit he’d lost control of his people. All while they gained incredibly necessary information and rid themselves of the source. A perfect end to a flawlessly executed subterfuge.
He hadn’t pushed, because the result had been necessary, but he wouldn’t forget the little inconsistencies. Like the mage’s voice, raw and rough at the end, an effect that usually resulted from intense and consistent screaming. Or the strange smell, like some sort of chemical, that had hovered around the mage’s face. Or the fact that Tristan had seemed a little too knowledgeable about how Momar would react to learning Elliot Graves was working with Jess.
Austin also couldn’t shake the feeling that something had been omitted regarding Tristan’s magic.
He struggled to believe so much information had been extracted with nothing but his swirling nightmare power, especially if the mage had been screaming (and, if so, why had no one heard that?).
There had to be more to the story.
That gargoyle had secrets, and he wasn’t keen on sharing.
Austin wasn’t the type of leader to turn a blind eye.
For now, though, they had the information they needed about that mage’s dealings with Momar.
Austin trusted Tristan enough to believe in that. Anything else was peripheral at the moment. When the time came, he felt sure Niamh would love to help sort it all out.
“A reminder,” he told Tristan, “to keep your expression neutral through this meeting. It’s what they expect. Otherwise they might think you’re taunting them. We don’t need any more tension.”
“Yes, sir.”
“When the unexpected happens—not if, when—roll with it. There’s no telling how Kingsley’s people are going to react to Jess’s people, but I assume it won’t be rationally.”
“No problem, sir,” Tristan said, watching Kingsley’s people walk toward them in two orderly rows with Kingsley at the pinnacle. “Having been on the other end of that, it’ll be nice to watch the fireworks this time.”
“Funny. That’s what Niamh always says.” Austin walked down his line of people, all shifters, with Brochan at their head.
His beta stood the way he always did, spine straight and shoulders back, head high, gaze just a fraction lower than straight on. His posturing was just shy of alpha. Dangerously shy, it seemed, judging by how Kingsley bristled and his people coiled with tension.
Brochan’s status had never bothered Austin. They knew where each other stood, and the beta was appropriately respectful. If Kingsley and his enforcers were worried about their inability to challenge
Brochan and win, that was their problem. Austin would not cut the legs out from under his people to ensure others stood taller, not even for his brother.
It was a wonder, though, why they hadn’t had the same reaction to Tristan, who was just as mighty in battle as Brochan—maybe even more so, depending on those secrets he was hiding. Too different, maybe. Unable to properly size him up. Or maybe it came down to the fact that he always looked like he was wearing a cape.
“Austin.” Kingsley stopped in front of him.