Destined (Darkin World Book 2)

Chapter Eighteen

"It's so frustrating. The king won't hear our concerns." Gideon murmured on Brice's left as he worked at breaking Avci's wards. "We're reduced to using these underhanded tactics."

They were precariously perched on the woman's Juliette balcony outside of her room. Each was straddling the railing with one foot hanging in midair and the toes of the other boot firmly placed on the three inches of "floor" the faux veranda provided. A paved, inner courtyard was ready to embrace them four stories down if they fell. To the left, the original tower made up the north-eastern corner and rose another two stories above the roofline. It was the oldest structure in the fortress.

The council was in session once more, and Brice was uninvited from attending. He'd put on a show of being butt-hurt about it, but he'd seen the play coming for some time. Avci's cadre was trying to isolate Wolf. But whether their king knew it or not, he still had allies.

Brice kept an eye on all the windows facing them. Just because the council was in session didn't mean the First's people weren't in their rooms. A casual look out into the courtyard would show the two wolves were up to no good. Brice felt too exposed dangling outside of Zehra's apartment.

"The wards are down. We've got about twenty minutes before they reset." Michaels' voice was barely above a whisper, but Brice easily heard him.

With the new moon on the horizon, most shifter magic was all but null. They couldn't form new pack bonds, nor could they counteract other magics. One "gift" of the curse was that the ancients in their race could use witch magic, that of the elements and earth in the form of plants and living things. Brice had no idea if Michaels was old enough to have access to such. He didn't smell any herbs on the man. Whatever he used worked. It seemed Brice needed to trust the king's new Second more.

Now, it was his turn to shine. Brice took out the lockpick set he usually carried from the back pocket of his jeans. Many didn't see past his devil-may-care mask and underestimated him. It never ceased to amaze him that they didn't question how such a man as he portrayed rose to the position of First of North America. Not that he was complaining.

The snick of the lock sounded in Brice's ear. "We're in," he whispered as he replaced the set.

They paused to listen for movement within before Gideon turned the handle. Cautiously entering, both men inhaled deeply. Neither detected any fresh scents that would indicate guards who were left behind. At the negative shake of Micahaels' head, Brice walked over to the computer sitting on a desk in the living room. He was careful to keep his boots quiet on the parquet floor. The other man made his way to the bedroom.

Sitting in the chair, Brice fired up the computer. They both wore surgical gloves, and Michaels had a way to mask their scents. If all went well, they'd come away with irrefutable proof of Avci's duplicity, and none would be the wiser. A small grunt of annoyance escaped as a screen asking for a password met his eyes.

It was just past midnight at home. Fishing out his cell, Brice thumbed through his contacts and pressed, "call." He hoped she answered.

"'Lo?" a tired, yet sweet and feminine voice answered on the fourth ring.

"Hello, beautiful. I hope I didn't wake you and that you're alone."

"I'd love to say 'no' to both of those, but sadly the answer is 'yes.' To both."

Brice heard Keilynn sigh, then stifle a yawn. The "hurry up" motion from Gideon was unneeded.

"Sorry about that, hon. But I need your expertise. I'm in front of Zehra's laptop, and it's locked up tight. I'm not sure where to go from here."