“We received the email and analyzed it,” Gregor continued. “The language was wrong. This strange mix of modern and archaic language that read like a performance rather than authentic communication. Using email was off since it’s traceable, so a covert organization wouldn’t use it. And the signature raised questions too—no real operative uses the most famous name in their organization’s history.”
“So you knew it was fake.”
“We suspected, but we couldn’t prove it, and publicly, we had to accept the narrative. Our own advisors—men we now believe are Murphy operatives planted in the Fitzgerald clan—were pushing the dragon-slayer explanation before the email even arrived.”
Duff closed his notebook slowly, as if the notes he’d been taking had become irrelevant. “They used my name to cover a murder.”
“Yes. But I do want to point out that if you’d been given the chance, you would’ve killed them yourself.”
Duff only hesitated for a moment. “Yes, most likely I would have. But…” He looked away, swallowing. When he spoke again,his voice was much softer. “But it’s still wrong that they used me.”
Gregor wasn’t sure if he would’ve used the wordwronghere, but in itself, Duff had a point. “Agreed.”
“They funded my organization while systematically destroying it.”
“It appears so.”
Duff stared at the table for a long moment. When he looked up, the confusion and uncertainty that had characterized his demeanor since arriving at the pack land had been replaced by something harder. “My dragon slayers didn’t attack the Doyles.”
It wasn’t what Gregor had expected him to say, yet it made perfect sense. Duff was giving him another piece of the puzzle, maybe as a quid pro quo for the information Gregor had shared with him. “We came to the same conclusion.”
“I’ll need to think about what this means.”
“I can imagine. Can I ask you one more question in return?”
Duff gave him a brief nod.
“When you held Rhene captive, you used magical wards to prevent him from escaping. Yet you’re human. Who set up those wards for you?”
Duff looked genuinely puzzled. “Magical wards? What do you mean?”
“Rhene was unable to leave the cabin, even when you were gone. Magic kept him inside.”
Duff’s frown deepened. “I didn’t use magic, just the protection prayers my father taught me, the same his father taught him.”
“Protection prayers?”
“Yes, the ones you say every morning and every night, asking the gods to protect your house, your body, and your mind. Everyone says those.”
He rattled off a few lines in Irish, and Gregor’s blood ran cold.
The man was either the greatest actor on the planet, or he genuinely had no idea. “No, Duff, no. Everyone doesn’t say those because they’re not prayers. They’re protective spells. It’s magic you’re using.”
Duff’s face grew pale as fresh snow. “M-magic? But I don’t have magic. I’m human.”
Gregor blew out a long breath. And the plot thickened once again.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Being parents to four dragon hatchlings was not for the weak of heart. Riordan had come to that conclusion on the day his four babies had hatched and had repeated that to himself multiple times a day since.
Zayden had stolen Xander’s breakfast again, and Olivia had expressed her opinion about the banana pieces she’d received as a snack by launching her food bowl across the kitchen with a precision that suggested she’d been practicing.
“That’s the third bowl this week,” Wilmer said, examining the dent in the baseboard. “We should invest in metal ones.”
“We have metal ones. She bent the last one.” Riordan scooped the scattered food off the floor while Zayden—the eldest by an hour and thus the self-appointed leader of every situation—postured over Xander’s portion with the territorial confidence of an alpha that belied the fact that he was only a few months old and twelve inches long. “Zayden, that’s your brother’s. Give it back.”
Zayden spread his tiny cream-colored wings and hissed, which would’ve been intimidating if he hadn’t also hiccupped mid-hiss and startled himself so badly he fell off the feeding mat.
