“Bad day?” Ciarán stood and waggled his fingers to change our surroundings again, this time taking his creation to the extreme as he morphed it into a bright, shiny shop filled with a variety of candy. He popped over to a shelf and pulled the metallic lid off a glass jar, shoving his hand in and pulling out an enormous fistful of gummy worms. Tossing one up in the air, he caught it effortlessly in his mouth before looking back at me with half the thing dangling from his lips.
I shook my head and blinked a few times as I tried to process that seeing Ciarán was as close, and as normal, as I could get to my previous life. And then I nearly laughed at the words ‘normal’ and ‘Ciarán’ in the same sentence. Pulling myself back to our conversation, I decided to answer his question. If I didn’t, I had a feeling he’d be standing there staring at me all night just... waiting.
“Yeah, you could say that.” I paused, casting a hesitant glance at Ciar to make sure he’d warded this conversation. I didn’t understand how he did it or how it worked, but all I cared about was that it did.
“You wound me, brother. You can’t possibly think I’d leave you hanging by not warding your dream, do you?” He threw his hand—the one still clutching candy worms—over his heart like I’d stabbed him, clawing at his chest as though he was actually in pain.
I pinched the bridge of my nose as the candy clattered to the floor and instantly disappeared in a puff of illusion, reminding me this wasn’t actually happening.
“There’s no such thing as being too careful—a lesson I’m sure you’ve learned in spades by now,” Ciar murmured in a rare moment of sincerity.
“That’s the truth. They have eyes, ears, and spies everywhere. Being in the Lodge with them is making me exceedingly paranoid.” I scratched distractedly at the nape of my neck and huffed out a breath. “Every day in the trenches like this is difficult. It’s getting increasingly harder to sit in the same room with them. Today alone, they killed no less than five people who they claimed had ‘tendencies toward rebellious thoughts,’ just to have another reason to exercise their power.”
“If they think ruling by fear is going to benefit them in the end, they’re sorely mistaken.” Ciarán rubbed his hands together, the threat of death glimmering in his eyes. The look was a mixture of menace and merriment, which was completely unsettling for a moment, before he returned to his usual, cheerful self. It was easy to forget how powerful Ciarán truly was given his playful attitude, but I’d figured out that he used gaiety and humor as a diversion to mask his strengths. Many a shifter would underestimate him, but anyone who could see past the ward of happiness he shielded himself with would know what a grave mistake that would be.
“You don’t even know the half of it,” I muttered, taking a step toward one of the shelves and running my hand lightly over the tops of the metal lids.
The first few weeks in the Lodge had been full of panic and fury as the Council members still alive after my mate’s impressive—and deadly—show had attempted to conceal the true events of that bloody day. It was soon evident they’d had little success. Then word had reached the Council’s ears about the defection of shifters to the rebellion, and all hell had broken loose. Although the Council had been aware of a movement, they had assumed it was a small group of malcontents, which would be easily squashed.
When we approached an entire village that was now a ghost town, Stepanov and Maldonado had been... fuck, furious wasn’t even a good enough word. The power that had rolled off of them had nearly floored me. There was a reason they were on the Council. I’d rarely come across power so strong. In fact, Nix was the only shifter I’d ever met with power to rival their own.
When word of their perceived weakness was whispered between the few remaining staff members at the Lodge, Maldonado had flown into an utter rage, tearing several shifters apart before anyone was able to stop him. It was only my father’s cold remark, which reminded him if he continued to kill the servants then, with so few shifters left in the area, we’d have no one left to perform necessary duties, that had finally stopped the bloodbath.
My hands still clenched just thinking about the blood spilled and lives lost. Shame coated me in a thick, inky layer. My guilt built with every heinous act they performed, but my need to gather intel and get back to my mate in one piece had kept me silent, each instance solidifying my loyalty and role within the Council’s ranks. I knew war brought death, but here, before the battles had begun, it was hard to stomach.
Despite the frequent meetings Stepanov insisted on as they attempted to regain their shaky control over the remaining population, I had spent very little time with my father, each of us worried that something would slip if we attempted to lower the barricade between us.
It was only thoughts of Nix and our family—of everything I was fighting for—that kept my mask in place through times of death and destruction.
I quickly passed over what information I had and tried to ignore Ciar’s wince, not wanting to interpret his facial expression as his opinion on what the rebellion would do with the data—block the impending attack, or let the Council have another tiny win to avoid suspicion, a loss of life for a greater cause.
Which pieces of intel the leaders chose to use or ignore was a hard choice, one I was grateful for as it kept my position among the Council’s ranks a secret. If I was honest with myself, I was also grateful this choice fell on someone else—I had seen too many lives sacrificed, even for the greater good.
If the Council ever found out I was acting as a mole, my life would be as forfeit as that of Councilman LaCroix’s, a bloody, horrific display used to strike fear in the populace while they made an example of me.
“You get an A plus.” One side of Ciarán’s mouth pulled up in a lopsided grin. “Here.” He reached into another jar, pulling out a large lollipop that clearly would have never fit inside. “Take your prize.”
I held onto the sweet he thrust into my hand, arching a brow as I looked at the treat then back to Ciar. “Thank you?” I chuckled, and it felt good to laugh. “Though I think I prefer our previous reward system.” I glanced at the Celt, awaiting any news he had for me about Nix. Information rewarded with information.
“More and more shifters are showing up at the checkpoints,” Ciarán offered, skirting around the topic I wanted to hear about while still giving me a little piece of life outside these godforsaken walls.
Ciarán shoved a fistful of candy into his pockets before moving on to the next jar and repeating the gesture.
“Does that convert back into your own dreams? Or the rebellion?” I asked, as I watched him upend a jar of jellybeans into his pockets with a clink of glass. I couldn’t figure out any other reason he’d be stuffing his pants with candy.
Ciarán chuckled, but he didn’t answer, leaving the question to percolate.
“What are the leaders doing with everyone?” I inquired, following his conversation and trusting Ciar enough not to pop out of my dreams without giving me an update on my mate. He had no reason to be cruel. “Isn’t the rebellion afraid they’re going to let a spy past their gates?” I mused, truly worried.