He was in the main house, having not returned to the cabin since Simon’s confession. He couldn’t face it—the empty bed, the cold coffee mug, Fergal’s books that lay undisturbed. Instead, he’d spent the night in the security station, reviewing maps and satellite imagery of the property Emma had identified, running tactical scenarios until his vision blurred and the headache behind his eyes became a living thing with its own pulse.
The headache hadn’t stopped. Neither had the cold, which had settled into his marrow like permafrost, impervious to the mild morning. His hands trembled when he didn’t keep them occupied, a fine, persistent vibration that was getting harder to hide. Twice during the night, Zack had brought him tea he hadn’t asked for, setting it down without comment and leaving before Gregor could refuse it. The omega was perceptive in ways that reminded Gregor uncomfortably of Fergal.
Everything reminded him of Fergal. The reading glasses against his chest. The empty space at his side where a warm body should be. The silence in his head where a presence should hum.The mate bond he hadn’t even recognized before it was severed ached like a fishhook buried in his sternum, and every hour the need to be with Fergal grew stronger and the pain grew worse.
He’d asked Erwan about it during the night, a brief, clinical inquiry that fooled neither of them. Erwan had been gentle but honest. “It gets worse before it gets better. The only cure is proximity. When Rhene was gone, I could barely function by the end.” A pause. “How bad is it?”
“Manageable.”
Erwan’s expression had said he didn’t believe that for a second, but he’d let it go.
Now, Gregor sat at the main house table, the email pulled up on Rhene’s laptop, and waited for the others to assemble. Rhene arrived first, followed by Erwan and Jermon, then Sivney, Fallon, and Zack together, then Emma, who was moving slowly with her eggs in a sling against her body. They were due to hatch any day now, and she looked as exhausted as Gregor felt, though for considerably happier reasons.
“It’s from the Murphys,” Gregor said without preamble. “Ransom demands.”
He turned the laptop so everyone could read the screen. The room went quiet as they absorbed the four demands, one by one.
1. Erwan Doyle renounces his claim to the Doyle throne and cedes leadership to King Cladhaire.
2. All omegas who left the Murphy and O’Connor clans are returned to their original clans.
3. The blood oath between the Doyle clan and the wolf packs is dissolved.
4. Erwan surrenders himself to the Dragon Council to face charges of insurrection.
Erwan was the first to speak. “These are legally impossible. Every single one violates established provisions of the Code. I can’t renounce a claim ratified by the Council. The omegas leftunder voluntary transfer provisions. The blood oath can’t be dissolved by a third party. And the Council can’t try me for insurrection when they voted to recognize my legitimacy.”
“Emma?” Gregor asked.
“He’s right.” Emma’s voice was tired but certain. “Under the Code, none of these demands is enforceable. Whoever drafted them either doesn’t understand dragon law or doesn’t care about it.”
“Kerry’s smart enough to know these won’t hold up,” Fallon said, leaning forward with his elbows on the table. The omega’s face was hard, the face of a man who’d escaped the Murphys and knew exactly how they operated. “He’s not stupid. These aren’t real demands. He’s buying time.”
“The question is: buying time for what?” Sivney said.
The room went quiet again. Gregor watched the realization form on Rhene’s face—saw the exact moment it clicked, the wolf alpha’s eyes narrowing as the puzzle piece dropped into place.
“The Fitzgerald clan isn’t mentioned,” Rhene said slowly. “Not once. No demand for Fergal’s release terms. No mention of Fitzgerald sovereignty. Nothing about the Fitzgerald compound or its leadership. They kidnapped a Fitzgerald king and their ransom demands don’t reference the Fitzgeralds at all.”
“Because they don’t need to demand what they’re already taking,” Gregor said, and the words tasted like poison.
Every head in the room turned to him. “Duncan and Donovan have been Murphy operatives since before Fergal became king. We’ve known this, suspected it, built the case without being able to prove it. While we’re focused on Fergal, while the demands occupy our attention and our resources, Duncan and Donovan are executing the real objective—a takeover of the Fitzgerald clan from within.”
Silence. Then Zack said what everyone was thinking. “Can you reach anyone there?”
“I’ve been trying since last night.” Gregor pulled up his phone log and held it up, showing call after call, all unanswered. “No one is responding. The main line goes to voicemail. Ruben—head of the royal guards—nothing. Brennan gives a recorded message about communications being restricted for security purposes during the king’s absence.”
“They’ve locked it down,” Sivney said, his expression grim.
“Standard playbook for a coup—control communications first, isolate dissenters, establish authority before anyone can organize resistance,” Rhene said.
“How about the omegas?” Zack asked. “Have you tried any of them?”
Gregor blinked. “Why?”
“Because nine times out of ten, they’re invisible, which means leadership doesn’t focus on them. They’re not perceived as a threat.”
He was right, and much to his chagrin and shame, Gregor had to admit he hadn’t even considered that. “I have one omega I can try.”
