The Wars of Ivory White (Book I: The Protector)

Chapter 67

CHAPTER 67

3 days ago...

Gideon's private plane landed smoothly in Maine at an airport that was near werewolf council headquarters. Cade had decided not to go with them to the meeting.  Instead, he wanted to take Lady Anna back to the small house on pack lands that he and Isiah shared. Tracy had agreed to his decision and purchased plane tickets for their trip, later making arrangements with Jackson to pick them up in Lythberg.

When they arrived at council headquarters, the warehouse looking building was in the middle of nowhere.  Completely hidden by thick forest, it was a perfect setting for the private meeting. 

Since leaving Rogue Ranch, Tracy hadn't felt well.  Now tired and irritable from the trip, she was at her rope's end with Gideon's constant hovering. If she yawned he would ask what was wrong. If she stood up he would stand too. The last straw came when he called a doctor after she sneezed. 

Finally alone in her room, she thought of her mate and sighed. The meeting was the next day, and as of yet, Jonathan hadn't arrived. Anxiously reaching for her phone she dialed his number. A message said that his inbox was full. When she tried calling Carla, it went straight to voicemail.  Thinking this was odd, she dialed again just as the phone died. With no other choice but to wait until it charged, she laid across her bed and fell asleep.

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Somewhere in London...

The filthy human scratched at his balls as he eyed the woman before him. "I weren't expecting such a lovely vision as yerself." He said slovenly. The woman wrinkled her nose in disgust as she looked around the filthy hovel. A dusty old television hung crookedly on a dilapidating wall.  Although never into sports, she acknowledged the fervor of the soccer tournament that played. But now was definitely not the time for games. It was a good thing she came, not putting it past her brother to stand in the funk of this nasty heap of trash and cheer for whatever team he was rooting for.

Shivering from the cold damp draft that had leaked in under her heavy wool coat, she asked. "Where is the box?"

"Well now. What will I be getting for such a historic item that's been in my family for generations?"

"That box and it's contents has never belonged to your family. It was only entrusted to your great great grandfather for safekeeping until reclaimed by the bearer of this timepiece." Extending the splotchy red palm of her right hand she displayed a small golden hourglass that was layered with heavy patina. When the sudden noise from another room drew their attention, a young boy around the age of 14 stepped from the shadows holding a long, ornately decorated box. His pale skin contrasted sharply with the jet black hair that complimented the troubled gleam of his darkened eyes. Obviously malnourished, he was dressed in ragged, oversize clothes that hung from his thin frame like a window drape.

"Ere' now!" The man said, charging over to where he stood. "Wot's this? Put that back ya little shite. I'll be beatin ya black and blue for this!"

"Is it money you want?" The young woman asked, as she drew on the man's greedy gaze. Holding up a small bag she pulled out a handful of gold coins. Dropping each one back in, she threw the laden purse down on the dirty table and stepped back. "This in exchange for the boy.  Nothing for the box since it doesn't belong to you."

The lust in his eyes was bright with greed as he focused on the heavy bag. Licking his lips he released the boy's arm and snatched up the purse.

"Deal!" He said quickly, stuffing the gold into the front of his pants before shoving the boy towards her. "Take the little blighter. I'm glad to be rid of him. Tried before his mum birthed him. Damn little focker survived a tumble down the stairs."