A Wolf's Tear

forty: scapegoat

Nathaniel paced across the room and opened the door.

Francis nodded at him, a pointed scowl on his face.

“Where is Harrick?” Nathaniel asks.

“He is distracted. I’ve managed to deceive him. He’s in the woods now, probably shitting himself looking for me.” He enters the room and looks at Jacob, sighing deeply. “I’m sorry for your loss, Nathaniel.”

“Your cousin is fucked up.” He comments.

Francis raised a brow, glancing at him with an incredulous expression marring his features.

“Don’t worry, Harrick is only half of crazy than the other half.”

Nathaniel cocks his head to the side, waiting for the wolf to elaborate. The other half, did that mean his partner or wives?

“The other half, which means?”

The wolf groans. “His-”

“Brothers, Francis.” Harrick bellowed through the hall. “I know you’re in here. I smell your scents.”

“Fuck.” An exasperated groan left him. “I might have underestimated his mental capacity. He's smarter than I thought.”

Nathaniel glanced at Jacob. His brother was not in the capacity to fight. He needed to make a decision then and there. With Lilian currently busy with the pack’s safety, he found only one person he could entrust Jacob with.

“Look after my brother.” He says, looking at Francis.

He expected the wolf to say no but surprisingly, the wolf nods dutifully.

“Yes, Alpha Morris.”

“That’s it?” Nathaniel asks.

“Talon instructed me to stay behind and make sure you weren’t hiding Selena. Well, that includes doing what I’m told. Of course, I know she’s not here but my mate is here, that should be enough reason.”

The wolf seemed genuine enough. Nathaniel’s reservation towards Francis stems exclusively because of his lineage. But if Talon Highcliff would trust a wolf like him then he would resort to blind faith. Just anything to have not Jacob be alone and no one to watch him if he decides to do something stupid.

Nathaniel looked at him sternly and turned on his heels. He moves to the hallway, his hands opening and closing into fists as he followed where Harrick’s scent emanates. Down the hall, the wolf looked roughed up. He had lost his composure; his superior facade was no more.

Francis must have done a good number on him.

He draws his blade and faced him, glaring at the wolf. He remembered the wolf’s gun. Nathaniel’s rate of survival depended on how a good shot Harrick was. Though the hall was certainly wide enough to maneuver through his shots, Nathaniel couldn’t gauge anything until properly examining his enemy.

“Finally,” Harrick sighs. “Enough games, Nathaniel. Give me the child.”

He glowered at him.

“The child is not here, Harrick. Why are you so desperate to find him?”

Sebastian might have been a pup and he was of no use to them. Unless they too planned on corrupting him with their deformed morals.

“Desperate? Well, I can no doubt survive without him but my wolves are at unrest. They are demanding a legitimate heir in the seat.”

Heirs, Nathaniel huffed. They needed an heir to satiate their people.