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Bertram did not catch him, and in the months that followed, Sorin learned that Hugh had found his mate in Finch. It was a relief. The guilt over having potentially doomed an omega to a lifetime of suffering had sat with Sorin heavily, but as Hugh’s mate, Finch would not be taken from any clutch he might lay.
But there was still a problem.
The council hadn’t heard Sorin’s message.
As far as he knew, from what little independent snooping he’d been able to do, they hadn’t even been made aware of what had transpired the night of the ball. Either Bertram had managed to keep Hugh and Finch quiet about it, or Grimbold was hiding the fact that there was an enemy targeting his family.
But whatever the reason, Sorin was resolute. He would not be silenced. All his failure meant was that next time, he needed to be louder—loud enough so the council had no choice but to hear what he had to say.
But how?
Sorin frowned in thought, sitting cross-legged on his musky motel bed, as he flipped through images of the Drake brothers on his computer screen. Alistair, Everard, Geoffrey… none of them were inflammatory enough. Like Hugh, Bertram could manipulate them into staying silent following one of Sorin’s attacks, and while Sorin was willing to cross lines he never would have now that he was no longer leading the Vanguard, he was not willing to harm anyone—dragon or omega—to the extent it would take to get one of Bertram’s softer brothers to take on the council on his behalf.
No.
What he needed was someone who would fly off the handle if even mildly provoked.
Someone neither Bertram nor Grimbold would be able to cow into silence.
Sorin continued flipping through the pictures. Reynard, Hugh…
He clicked one more time, and came to a sudden stop.
Of course. Why hadn’t he thought of it before?
There was one Drake brother who would not be silenced by anyone. One who, if wronged, would stop at nothing to exact vengeance, even if it took years.
At that moment, Sorin made his decision.
He knew what he needed to do.
Sebastian was a Drake of few words, but he would make the perfect mouthpiece… and what better way was there to get him to talk than to take from him the one thing he loved the most—Peregrine, his perfect mate.
13
Bertram
“Have you discovered anything?” Bertram asked as Piers made himself comfortable on the divan, a glass of single malt scotch resting atop the knee of his crossed leg. They were in Piers’s luxury hotel suite in the heart of downtown Aurora, the city asparkle beyond the room’s floor-to-ceiling windows, its vista of high-rises lit up in defense against the night.
“Nothing pertaining to Father’s whereabouts, I’m afraid,” Piers admitted with a sigh, tilting his glass one way, then the other, watching the scotch shift inside. He paused, seemingly in contemplation, then added, “But I have heard through the grapevine that Grandfather intends to send you out on a mission with Uncle Sebastian.”
That was news to Bertram. He had been on assignment in Aurora for years now, fabricating stories about foiling the mysterious Raven’s evil plans by day, while doing everything in his power to find Sorin by night. The truth was, Sorin had disappeared. Bertram hadn’t seen him since Hugh’s disaster of a ball. He had left no clues as to his whereabouts—not even a paper trail—and without a lead, it was unlikely he’d ever find his mate.
But he had not given up hope.
When he wasn’t busy lying to his father about being so close to apprehending the new threat to dragonkind, he was searching the city street by street, hoping he might feel a tug on his soul that would lead him to his lost lover.
But so far, he had been unlucky.
Sorin was nowhere to be found.
Intrigued—and slightly alarmed—by what Piers had revealed, Bertram poured himself a drink and came to sit across from his son. “A mission? Whatever for?”
“Honestly? I think it’s busywork. Ever since that night when Uncle Reynard’s scales were found in Uncle Sebastian’s lair, Uncle Sebastian has been making an awful racket, and the rest of the family has begun to get up in arms about it. Uncle Reynard’s mate in particular has been incendiary, convincing Uncle Sebastian and Uncle Peregrine both that they are not safe… and while that may not be entirely untrue, it is my opinion that he has vastly exaggerated the amount of danger they are in, to say the least.”
“After what happened to his eggs, I don’t blame him. Misha has been through quite a lot, and he has every reason to assume the worst.”
