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The omega—Walter—stopped in his tracks and gave Grimbold his attention as the senior Drake spoke. His eyes were glassy with fear, but as Grimbold approached, he calmed.
“I apologize, sweet,” Grimbold said softly as he nudged the door out of the way to stand at Walter’s side. “I didn’t mean to startle you. You are not in trouble, and I am not angry with you. You are safe, and all is well.”
Walter nodded mutely, and when Grimbold laid a reassuring hand on his arm, he tucked himself against Grimbold’s chest and stayed there, trembling, prompting Grimbold to wrap him up in a loose embrace and kiss the top of his head. It seemed to Bertram he was whispering something into Walter’s hair, but Bertram couldn’t make out the words.
All things considered, it was probably for the best. He had no desire to know what intimacies his father used to dote upon his mate.
A while passed, but Walter was still not doing any better. Finally, Grimbold looked at Bertram and in a stern but not unkind voice said, “Wait here. I’ll be back soon.”
Bertram nodded, not wanting to spook Walter any more than he already had, and watched as Grimbold scooped Walter up into his arms and carried him down the hall. By the time he returned, it had grown quite late, and Bertram was crouched in front of the fireplace for lack of anything better to do. With a few new logs and a thoughtful prod or two of the poker, he’d brought the fire back to life and was staring into the flames when Grimbold came up behind him.
“Is he well?” Bertram asked without turning, speaking of Walter.
“He is. Thank you for asking.”
Silence followed, letting the crackling of the fire say its piece. It wasn’t until Bertram went to turn one of the logs that Grimbold spoke again.
“The babe could have died,” he said gently. “Peregrine could have died, and if that had happened, he very well could have taken your brother with him.”
“I’m sorry, Father.”
“I know you are, but in situations like this, apologies are not enough.” Grimbold sighed. “Peregrine and Sebastian are planning to leave the country out of an abundance of caution due to what has happened, and with Finch due so soon and Alistair and Ignatius on the hunt for a larger lair, presumably looking to grow their family again, now is not the time to make mistakes like this. Tell me you will do better, child. Not only for the sake of our clan, but for our family. Your brothers are vulnerable, and they are counting on you.”
“I promise,” Bertram said, watching as the flames consumed the log.
He left Grimbold’s home not long after that and returned to where he belonged—into the arms of the enemy.
* * *
“What news on the crazed omega?” Grimbold asked in a hushed tone quite some time after that, during a family gathering to celebrate the birth of Hugh’s son. “I imagine by now you’ve a decent lead?”
“I’m afraid not,” Bertram admitted apologetically. “He is an elusive one, and I’ve found neither hide nor hair of him. It seems every lead I pick up comes to an abrupt end. I would usually be discouraged by such a thing, but in this case, I take it to be a good sign—in my opinion, being injured and apprehended has rattled him, and I don’t think he’ll be so eager to target our family again.”
The logic had seemed solid to Bertram, but Grimbold visibly bristled. “An agent doesn’t depend on probability,” he growled under his breath. “He performs the task asked of him, and he does not ask questions or try to skirt his way around his responsibilities. What has gotten into you, Bertram? Where is the agent I know? Where is my son?”
“Right before your very eyes, Father,” Bertram nearly growled back. “I am doing the best I can.”
“Are you?”
Bertram set his teeth. “Yes. I am.”
Grimbold seemed ready to fire back with an argument, but at that moment, Everard entered the room, and Grimbold lost steam. Everard, the nosiest of the Drakes, afforded them a quick look, one eyebrow raised, but thankfully did not come over—he offered Finch and Hugh a few words of congratulations, then crossed the room to join his mate, who had taken it upon himself to educate Walter about science while Grimbold was away. There was enough distance between them that Bertram wouldn’t typically worry about eavesdropping, but this was Everard—Bertram could practically hear the muscles in his ears straining to hear what was being said.
It seemed Grimbold had come to a similar conclusion, for when he picked the conversation back up, he did so under his breath. “I have tried to be gentle with you,” he said, voice whip-sharp and contemptuous, “but my patience is growing thin. Find the mad omega and bring him to me before the year’s end, or I will relieve you of your position and have Merewin train your replacement.”
“All right,” Bertram replied, but all was not right—not in any sense of the word.
The truth was, he would love to retire. He had outgrown his position many years ago, and the Amethyst clan would be better served by an agent who was able to do as asked without his emotions getting in the way.
But there was a problem.
Were Bertram to step down, a new agent would be tasked with capturing Sorin and delivering him to the council, and it meant that Sorin would never be safe. Without Bertram’s protection, he would be hunted down, cornered, and killed.
And it was not a matter of if Sorin would be caught—it was a matter of when.
Spirits crushed, but outwardly as unaffected as ever, Bertram distanced himself from his father and went to say goodbye to Hugh and Finch. All the while, he envisioned one possibility after the other, moving the pieces in play across the board in every conceivable way, but no matter what he did, the results never changed.
There would be no getting out of this one.
