As Silas continues talking, my mate's golden eyes skim the brief, reverse-chronological descriptions provided about each of the previous mini-tsunamis that have hit Demons Tangle and then the names of those lost. He reads much faster than I do—much faster actually than everyone at this table except Darby. It's a product of her innate ability to directly bestow any of the hundreds of languages— both modern and ancient— that she knows into the mind of another willing person. With his intense interest in acquiring knowledge—any sort of knowledge—Sean's been a natural repository.
His hand falls flat onto the page, noisily enough that it draws the attention of the rest of the table. Glancing over his arm, I focus on the words at the end of his index finger.
"Sean? You have something to add?" Ian prompts, his shrewd gaze falling on his Second with a pleased smile.
"The 1971 mini-tsunami." Sean gives everyone time to flip through their notebooks and find the page. "The first eyewitness testimony. Look at the name."
"'Matilda Linden'," Silas reads aloud, then he skims the rest of the faces at the table. "Clearly, this is a Candlewood pack thing," he notes. Which is true, as even Ivan, the Desert Second triumvir came from Candlewood in the exchange that put Sean there a few years ago. "Why does that name seem familiar?"
"You might remember her as 'Mattie', Silas," Ian explains. "Her coven has an alliance with Candlewood pack. She and her sisters help protect Candlewood and were part of the assault on Cordelion's compound in our territory."
"Vaguely familiar," he acknowledges. "I don't interact much with witches if I can avoid it." His golden eyes drop and he skims her eyewitness testimony. "This looks like most of the other stories collected after these events. What are you thinking?"
"It can't be coincidence," Sean explains, meeting his brother's eyes. "Mattie's the witch who gave our father the charm he passed on to us. To all his male offspring."
Everyone's eyes shift to the closed door, and I can tell we're all thinking the same thing about Dorian. Abruptly, Silas rounds on his brother. "You've cultivated it more than I have. Does he set your charm off?"
Sean gives an almost imperceptible nod. Without taking his eyes off his brother, he asks, "Darby? Do you pick up a charm on Dorian?"
Her fine dark brows draw together over her green-gold eyes before she closes them. I see the soft pulse of her inherent green magic and that of her Forest talisman around her as she expands her senses into the natural environment, searching for Dorian among the populace in the Desert packhouse. As I watch, her head tips to one side as if she's confused.
"Baby?" Ian rests a protective arm along the back of her chair, cupping her shoulder.
"I'm alright, Ian," she reassures, resting her delicate hand over his massive paw on her shoulder. "It's—yes. He's carrying a charm like yours—but it's muddled."
"'Muddled' how? As if someone attempted to remove or modify it?"
She shakes her dark head and the silver strands of hair at her temples glitter in the incandescent light. "No. As if he has more than one."
A surge of excitement channels through everyone gathered.
"Sounds like we need more intel about Muirgia McEttigan," Ivan says flatly, turning his bound notebook over and jotting himself a note on the back of it. He looks up at Ian. "Do you guys want to talk to Mattie? Or do you want me to?"
"I can give Mattie a call," Sean answers immediately, then glances down at the page again, rereading her testimony. "Find out what you can about her family though, and any witch covens or individuals they might have had ties to, either before or after this event."
"Yeah, that's good," Ian agrees, nodding. "Cross reference to any victims of previous events."
"Okay," Silas says, closing his notebook and flashing an amused and charming grin. "Apparently, I'm not in charge of this thing after all. What shall I do with Dorian then?"
The energy in the room turns remarkably subdued. I have no idea what possesses me, but I blurt out, "You can't blame him for any of this. He inherited the same charm from your father as you and Sean did. If he lived his whole life off Demons Tangle, it seems kind of natural to me that someone in his known family might have sought a protective charm for him too."
My comment earns begrudging nods from both Silas and Sean, though my mate peers at me closely. Beneath the table, his enormous paw closes uncomfortably tight around my thigh, a nonverbal reminder of his dominance display not an hour before this in the privacy of our room, the sticky remnants of it coating the space between my legs.
"Frankly, I don't think you need to 'do' anything with him," Ian states without looking up from the information that Ivan collected for us before this meeting. "Your brother already provided all the guidance he should need. Clearly. Politely. Unequivocally."
Despite the trouble he's already caused, I feel kind of dreadful for Dorian. I don't know how long he's been with Desert pack, but it can't be too terribly long. If he's lived his entire life with humans—grown up with them, made friends among them, went to school and held jobs with them—then a few months trying to learn not merely wolf, but werewolf, pack dynamics has to be frustrating and confusing as hell.
It was for me.
And it has to be especially hard when his presence is undesirable. Particularly to Sean, but I get the distinct impression that Silas is reluctant too.
"One last thing, Silas," I ask before he can end the meeting.
Again, all the gazes at the table shift to me and I feel distinctly uncomfortable.
"I'd like to go out to the disaster site."
"There's no—."
"There is a need," I insist.
Pushing his binder aside, Ian fixes me with his deep blue stare, the golden sunburst in his eyes pulsing. "I think you'd better explain." Beside me, Sean draws a breath to object and Ian simply lifts a hand to silence it. "Sandy?"
I draw a steadying breath. "If I'm right—about what this is—then as soon as I step foot in that affected area, I'll know. The Rényú and their hybrids have a distinct—."
"Scent?" Silas offers helpfully as I struggle to define what I know.
"They do stink," I acknowledge, "but for me, since I've encountered them directly, there's something— more." Inside, my talisman chimes in a way that I understand but lack the vocabulary to convey. My eyes flick up, skimming over the texture of the ceiling, seeking the right analogy. Finally, the one they'll most understand as wolves dawns on me.
"It's like an imprint. Granted, it's a negative one, but it's distinct. Unique. As soon as I set foot there, I'll know. Then we can make a more definitive plan."
A sticky, extended silence settles in the conference room, and I fight my instinct to bristle and grow defiant. Darby is meticulous and thorough in her considerations and I don't begrudge her that, so the least I can do is allow Ian and Silas the same courtesy.
At last, Ian says, "You're members of my pack, but you're in Desert territory. If Silas agrees, I'm agreeable to you going out there. With the condition that you're not going alone. I want a unit of wolves with you, and, if anything remotely out of the ordinary occurs, it's all off. You're out of there as fast as conceivably possible."
A dazzling smile blooms on my face until beside me, Sean objects.
"No, Ian—."
Again, Ian lifts his hand, curbing the outburst, then shifts his attention to Silas.
The Desert Alpha's split loyalties are readily apparent as soon as my eyes fall on him. On the one hand, he's the alpha here, and if Ian's terms can be met without issue and Silas himself has no objections, then his choice is clear.
On the other hand, the request is coming from the mate of his brother, and Sean's left no doubt that he doesn't agree even to Ian's terms. Which leaves Silas in a genuine quandary.
Either he's an alpha.
Or he's a brother.
"Two units of wolves—one will secure the area first, the second will provide physical escort. I'll lead one. Sean will lead the other."
To say I'm surprised at Silas' response is an understatement. He's done what he can to balance the alpha need for the most accurate information possible with respect of his brother's need to keep his mate safe.
With a heavy sigh of reluctant acceptance, Sean replies, "I'll lead the escort, if you don't mind."
"Not at all. There's still a few good hours until dark. I'll make arrangements and we'll head out before dinner."