Another crash stopped him cold. With a firm hand, he guided her to the chair and sat her down as if she were a child. "Now let me go handle this one."

Chapter Thirty-six.

In the course of a life as long as Ian's, a man learned to be grateful for small mercies. Therefore, he was extremely grateful that the Queen eschewed living in Buckingham Palace. Breaking into the monarch's property was d.a.m.ning enough without having to worry about running into her person. Since she was not currently in residence, nor had been for some time, minimal security was in place. Two guards patrolled the insides, bored men who played of brag while pa.s.sing a flask of gin between them. They were currently sleeping off the effect of the laudanum Mary Chase had snuck into their gin. Even so, Ian's footsteps made not a sound as he walked down the dank, dark corridors in the upper hall. Must thickened the air, cobwebs and dust gathering in corners. A rather sad state for the magnificent structure.

He hadn't come empty-handed. Armed with two silver hunting knives and a loaded dart gun, Ian intended to put the were down in a humane fashion and walk out with his own head intact. It was one thing to attack the were while defending another, but he would not dishonor them both by doing so if the thing were caged.

A ways in front of him, Mary Chase's specter floated along, her form pearly white and translucent. She retained her shape and was able to give the appearance of walking when she was so inclined, but more often it was easier and faster for a GIM in spirit form to drift.

But the longer they roamed the ma.s.sive palace, the more agitated he grew. Not a soul stirred, nor was there any sign of a werewolf having inhabited the place. The hairs lifted along the back of his neck. Ian's pace quickened, his jaw growing so tight that it throbbed. When they'd come full circle yet again, he stalked toward Mary Chase's ghostly form.

"There is nothing here!" he hissed. "Not a b.l.o.o.d.y thing."

She frowned, the skirts of her diaphanous dress wavering in a phantom breeze. "We are too late."

Ian punched the wall, not giving a d.a.m.n that he'd torn through the damask. "There was never a were in this place." He punched the wall again, and the picture frames rattled.

"Sire..."

"Do not call me that!" Ian raked his hand through his hair and felt the sting of his claws. Why lure him out here? To get him away from Daisy? Ian went cold for one tense moment. But his heart eased. Talent would protect Daisy.

Even so, Ian itched to return home. "They've laid a trap and we've fallen right into it."

Hovering beside him, Mary's spectral form frowned just before her eyes went wide with fright. Her thin, ghostly voice whispered "No," and then she disappeared.

Ian's hand reached out in a reflexive attempt to pull her back when Conall's voice rang out from beyond the palace walls. "Ho-there, brother. I've got your little puppet by the neck. Come out and play nice, will you? Or shall I pull on her strings?"

Ian's blood went hot as he ground his teeth.

"Come along then," called Conall. "There's a good b.i.t.c.h."

Conall, Lyall, and six of their guard stood in a semicircle on the Queen's back lawn. Pale moonbeams highlighted his brother's face and made it appear narrower. Otherwise, it was like looking in a b.l.o.o.d.y mirror. Ian knew then that part of him would die along with Conall this night.

Mary Chase stood placid and unmoving, as though Conall's large hand was not curled around her neck and squeezing tightly.

"Let her go." Ian set down his weapons. "She's got nothing to do with what's between us."

"Your little spy?" Conall shook Mary hard. Her hair tumbled over her face but she did not move. "Making bargains with the devil's minions now, are we?" Sneering, he tossed her away from him, and she fell to the ground with a thud. "Go," he said to Mary, "before I change my mind and rip your clockwork heart out."

She sprinted away without a word.

"So then, brother," Conall said, "will you be challenging me now? Or were you planning to slink about all night?" He came out of the shadows, and Ian noticed that he was kitted out in formal attire, the Clan Ranulf kilt wrapped about him in a bright swath of crimson and blue, a lacy jabot frothing at his throat. He'd been expecting Ian's challenge then, as it was the custom for the king of Ranulf to wear court dress when confronting a bid for his throne. It made it a b.u.g.g.e.r to fight, but then an alpha didn't fear such trivial things.

"Now will be fine with me." Ian pulled off his coat and tossed it. The bones in his neck cracked as he rolled his shoulders.

The lycans around them circled close, watching now to see who would be alpha.

Lyall stepped forward. "Is it to be a formal challenge then, Ian Ranulf? I'll need to hear the words."

Ian hesitated for a mere second, for there was a light in Lyall's eyes that made Ian think the lycan was pleased. He hadn't expected that. Regardless, Ian stood straight and faced his kind. "I, Ian Alasdair Ranulf, hereby challenge Conall George Ranulf for the throne of Ranulf, as is my right, by blood, birth, and will."

He gave Conall an a.s.sessing look. "Or will you concede defeat and step down?" It had to be said. The rules demanded it. And Ian wanted there to be no contention when he took his throne. The very thought made his body hum with impatience, his wolf alert and clamoring for blood.

Conall laughed as he undid the jabot and took off his coat. "I'll give you this," he said. "You've kept your humor."

Lyall spoke up. "Challenge has been issued." He bowed his head toward Conall. "Will you accept, Ranulf?"

"Aye," Conall's tone was almost bored, but Ian saw the gleam of antic.i.p.ation in his brother's eyes.

"Well, then," Ian unsheathed his claws and his fangs extended, "let's be at it."

They came together in a fury of fist and claws. Snapping fangs missed Ian's neck by a hair. Ian swept a leg under Conall's feet and took him down with a thud. His claws sank into Conall's wrists, pinning him.

"Is that the best ye got, brother?" Conall spit at him.

Ian didn't flinch. "You are the one on the ground. Yield, Conall, and end this madness."

Conall bared his teeth. "Death first."

Death. Ian knew it would come to this, and yet seeing his brother beneath him, his heart recoiled and his soul screamed in protest. "Da wouldn't have wanted us to come to this."

"Da was a mad dog who deserved to be put down. And you were nothing more than his b.i.t.c.h." Conall lurched forward, his teeth snapping. "You want my throne, then try to take it like a true alpha."

Ian squeezed Conall's wrists until he felt the bones bend. "True alpha," he spit out. "You rule by fear, no' respect." A red haze blinded his world for a second. He snarled, his teeth aching to rip into Conall's neck.

His brother merely laughed, not bothering to get free. "Respect? You've let the GIMs and the SOS goad you into trying to take my throne, you b.l.o.o.d.y f.u.c.king puppet."

"Little s.h.i.te." Ian smashed his forehead into Conall's nose and felt the satisfying crush of bone. "You know nothing of my motives."

Blood seeped over Conall's lips, coloring his fangs red. "Nor you mine. You're barely a lycan now. Told what to do and how to do it by a society that would destroy our kind if they knew."

"Which is why we keep the knowledge from them," Ian ground out. "Or have you forgotten?"

"I forget nothing." Conall bared his teeth. "And if you thought I'd just roll over and let you take what's rightfully mine, then you're a b.l.o.o.d.y fool, too."

With a burst of strength, Conall lunged and threw Ian off balance. Claws sliced at Ian's chest. A blow to his head had him reeling.

"When I finish with you," Conall said, panting, "I'm going to take your woman and give her a taste of true alpha c.o.c.k."

Ian roared. Ignoring the pain, he slammed into his brother, punching and slicing, until hot slick blood covered his hand and hit his face. Pinning his brother, Conall jerked and swung out at Ian. But Ian wouldn't let go. His hand curled around Conall's neck, and his claws dug in until they hit his brother's spine. A fraction more and Conall would be dead.

Conall froze. Blood ran in rivulets down his face and over Ian's fingers as he stared back at him.

"You are done," Ian said through his teeth. "Your life is in my hands, to end or to spare. You know it." Ian squeezed just a bit harder and Conall gagged, blood bubbling from his lips, "But more important, they know it."

Conall's gaze darted to the group of lycans who stood tall and silent, watching and waiting. Even without looking, Ian could feel the change in them, the shifting of their loyalty to him. They knew Conall had been vanquished; it was just a matter of what sentence Ian would mete out.

"I am Ranulf, by right and by will." The rightness of it rushed like the tide through Ian, and his wolf howled within him.

Beneath Ian's hand, Conall's throat moved on a swallow, but his eyes flashed defiant. "Finish it then."

The sight cut into Ian. Christ, this was his brother. He knew Conall's scent as well as his own. He'd held him when their mother had pa.s.sed on. His wolf did not need more blood, nor did Ian. With a sneer, he lifted his brother high and then tossed him. Conall landed on the gra.s.s with a thud.

"No," Ian said, looming over him. "I'll not make it so easy for you." He leaned over and hauled Conall up. "You get to live, knowing that I bested you, that I gave you mercy." Ian stood tall and looked at his clan. "Conall Ranulf is hereby banished from Clan Ranulf."

"b.a.s.t.a.r.d." Conall's arm hung at an odd angle as he staggered to his feet.

"Aye, that an' more, brother." Ian advanced on him. "Now tell me where the werewolf is before I chain you and have your b.a.l.l.s cut off." Ian didn't want to kill him. But he could make him hurt.

"For the last time," Conall shouted in a ravaged voice, "there is no were!"

Ian took another step, but the fight was draining out of him. Instead, he felt a sharp tug of dread. Facing his brother, he ripped the stickpin from his pocket and tossed it at Conall. "Explain this then."

With his good hand, Conall caught it. He glanced down at the pin and his brows furrowed. "Where did you get it?"

Ian held his gaze. "Pinned to the bodice of a dead woman in Bethnal Green. A woman who wore the same perfume as every d.a.m.n woman who has been killed by the were."

Conall studied him for a long moment in which not a soul stirred. Then, with rough movements, he limped over to the bundle of clothes lying on the ground and ripped something free from his jabot.

The bit of gold sailed through the night before Ian plucked it from the air. Even as his hand closed around the metal, Ian could feel the blood rushing from his face and his heart stuttering within his chest.

"That's my pin," Conall said.

A buzzing sound filled Ian's ears as he looked back at his brother. "You truly thought I'd made up the werewolf as an excuse to take your throne?"

"Aye." Conall took a hobbled step closer. "It's not my pin, Ian," he said watching him with wary intent, because Conall knew, just as Ian did, where the other pin had ended up. "It's Maccon's."

A block of ice formed in Ian's stomach, and his blood congealed. "No." He couldn't say anything more. Sweat trickled down his back. No!

Pity filled Conall's eyes. "Lyall told me there wasn't a were"- Ian heard the hiss of the sword a second before it sliced through Conall's neck. Conall's mouth hung open in surprise, even as his head hit the ground with a heavy clunk. It wobbled there, as his body fell beside it. Lyall stood on the other side, sword in hand and his own mouth open in shock.

Chapter Thirty-seven.

Ian could not move or speak as he stared at the beta who had just killed his brother. For a thick moment, they said nothing, and then Lyall looked at the sword in his hand as if he couldn't understand how it got there. "I told Conall that ye crafted the tale of the were to make him look incompetent."

"You..." Ian's voice failed him, for his body was still numb and his brain still trying to make him believe that his brother was dead.

"Aye." Lyall let the sword fall. "And the fool believed me. Just as you believed that Conall was controlling the were." His gaze went to Conall's body for a second before shooting up to Ian. "The clan needed a true leader. The clan needed you."

Acid rose in Ian's throat, and he swallowed. "This was all to get me to be ruler?"

"Got you out of that b.l.o.o.d.y pathetic state of self-pity, did it not?" Lyall's face went red. "You should have taken the throne when it was offered. Instead, you let your brother nearly run us into ruin!"

Low in Ian's gut, a tremble started, working its way up his back. "Where did you get this pin, Lyall?"

"Maccon gave the pin to that girl. The were is Maccon."

"Lies." It was all Ian could say. Not Maccon. His son was dead. He had buried him. Grieved over his grave for a full night and day. Grieved in his heart every day thereafter.

"He'd already made the change. You buried him, damaged but alive. Poor lad clawed his way out and ran straight to Ranulf Hall. Only you were gone, and I was there."

It wasn't true. Every cell in Ian's body screamed in denial. "His head was split open, his neck broken. He was dead."

Slowly, Lyall shook his head, and Ian saw the truth in his eyes. "He just needed time to heal."

"Why would he-" Ian's breath hitched. The were was sick with syphilis.

Lyall nodded as if seeing the understanding come over Ian's face. "He had the pox. Said he didn't want you or Una to see him that way. h.e.l.l, it's why he tried to kill himself."

Blood thundered in Ian's ears as he finally looked at the man who had turned his life upside down. "Have you no sense? No notion of what was in store for him?"

Lyall's chin lifted. "Gave him a nurse, didn't I? Made him as comfortable as I could. Didn't expect him to turn when the nurse died. But when he did, I saw the opportunity for what it was."

It was all Ian could do not to be ill. Bile surged up strong and burning. Sweet Jesus. Ian wanted to sob, beat Lyall's face to a pulp, only he was frozen. Rage pulsed through his temples and set his teeth grinding. "Why?" He bit back a growl, his limbs quivering with rage held in tight rein. "Why did you keep him from me?" Ian's body came to vivid life. "Why, you twisted, mad f.u.c.k-"

"He asked." Lyall took a shuddering breath. "Jesus, he begged. I could not deny him. I loved him like a son."

"He was my son! No' yours!"

The belligerent look in Lyall's eyes flashed to fury. "He should have been mine!"

Ian's heart lurched. "You never even looked at Una."

"I could give a s.h.i.te about Una!" Lyall flung his arms wide. "I never found a woman who could give me offspring. You did! You, the favored son, who didn't even want the throne, who let an incompetent rule. You, who would have killed Maccon had you known."

"I would have tried to help him! I would not have let him suffer."

"You would have b.l.o.o.d.y put him down."

"Where is he?" Ian roared.

Lyall palmed the sword as though it could keep him safe. "You were supposed to think Conall was to blame for everything. After you killed him, that's what you would think, aye?" He shook his head. "After all, I couldn't have you distracted by another human. So I let Maccon out to play."