A Fate Foretold (formerly: A World Gone Mad)

A Fate Foretold 2

        Cornelius observed Alianora sitting calmly, waiting to see George Sullivan. Ally, he corrected to himself. He had dealt with such matters for long enough to know that the only way to keep a secret truly safe, you had to live it, breathe it like it were reality, even in the confines of your own mind.

       He was committed to helping the girl. And if his ties to her dead mother were not enough reason, he was observing the greater reason right now. Ally sat calmly, with her small, slim hands folded in her lap. Her dark hair was smoothly brushed down, and although the dark brown would take some getting used to, it suited her. It made her wide blue eyes stand out all the more against her pale skin. She had taken off the cloak once they had been shown into the Sullivan library, exposing fine grey trousers and a black shirt. Despite her lack of wardrobe, considering she had only been able to take so much with her when she fled Geneva, she had put on the perfect outfit. It gave nothing away as to her real status and wealth, but suggested discretion and sense, while being flattering enough to encourage the idea of being an alpha’s mistress. She looked the picture of composure and quiet confidence, while anyone else would be pacing frantically in a cold sweat, about to face their best opportunity for survival. It went beyond control or having nerves of steel. Some are born with the talent to lead, others are trained for the responsibility, but Ally was both, and that rare combination had to be protected.

      No, he would never betray her; he wanted to help her to safety. But they both knew that she had to move on, and quickly. Nor would she be able to keep in contact with Cornelius. This was the only way he could help her, secure her a place to stay far, far away from anyone she might know.

      The connecting door of the library to George Sullivan’s office opened, and the man himself stepped through, welcoming them in. After the men shook hands, Cornelius stepped aside, saying, “Alpha Sullivan, may I present Ally, the girl I was telling you about.”

      “Pleasure to meet you,” Ally murmured. Ally shook his hand demurely, not in the least intimidated by his status or power over the largest pack in the Americas. She dealt with his kind every day.

      “Likewise,” the alpha answered, unaware who he had just met. Her disguise had held up. Not that it was much of a disguise; anyone who knew her would recognize her immediately. But werewolf news and politics did not deal in photographs, merely descriptions, and usually of a famous figure’s wolf form, instead of human form. It was a lucky break. “What is your surname, Ally?”

      “Nat amatras do not have a past, sir. That includes a last name,” Ally answered. Which was perfect for her, she didn’t even have to make up a surname.

      George Sullivan gestured for them to sit down. “Cornelius has told you of my proposition, then?”

      “Yes, sir, he has. It sounds promising.”

      “You do realize the implications of becoming a nat amatra?” Sullivan checked. Cornelius hid a smile. Ally had probably turned every possible implication over in her head ten times last night. She had given this more thought than George Sullivan had.

      Without waiting for a real response beyond a slight nod, the alpha continued. “You will live together with the future alpha and the contingent of the Sullivan pack that he has assembled in northern Alaska. A nat amatra is an honorable position; although you will answer only to my son, Christian, you will be subservient to his wife, Kate. You will bear Christian’s children, but they will be Kate and Christian’s children from the moment of their birth. You understand this?”

      Ally nodded again. Nat amatra had to be seen as an honorable position, how else would they convince any woman to agree to be one? In the olden days the position had been accorded a great deal of respect; whether it would now in practice remained to be seen.

      “It is important that you understand all aspects. You already know that nat amatras leave their past behind them: they have no connection to their previous lives and no identity beyond that in the pack. You understand that you will not be able to ever again change into your wolf?” Here he waited for verbal confirmation: it was an enormous sacrifice for any werewolf and the most difficult part of being a nat amatra.

      A werewolf could only recognize their true mate while in wolf form and a nat amatra was not allowed to find their true mate. The realization that one’s true mate was the mistress of an alpha was so painful that a nat amatra’s transformation had been banned altogether. A poor solution to a heartbreaking problem.

      Ally knew all this. It was the clinching argument why she was going to accept the position, outweighing the problem of bearing children that were genetically hers, but raised by others. Her wolf form had clear markings that any werewolf would be able to recognize and immediately identify her with. She wouldn’t shift before she was back in Geneva anyway. It was a sacrifice, one that no one would understand unless she could say she was legally not allowed to shift. As for the future, she could only hope that she would be long gone before any potential children shifted for the first time and revealed those same markings. She had to survive this in the short-term in order to tackle those problems in the long-term.

      “I understand all of this, Alpha Sullivan, and I accept it,” she said gravely.

      “Very well, why don’t you tell me about yourself. Why are you willing to accept the position of nat amatra?” It was a logical question: anyone willing to do this must have something wrong with them.

      “I left the Rafit pack in rather a hurry,” Ally explained vaguely. “The position of nat amatra will protect me and afford me a respectable position in good werewolf society.”

      A complete lie. The Rafit pack was a notoriously violent pack in South Africa; there had been several cases of abuse of females from the reprobates of the pack. Perhaps not the ideal person to be nominated as a nat amatra, but the lie had the dual advantage that it discouraged any further questions in a competition with no other applicants. It would be difficult, if not impossible for George Sullivan to check up on the claim.

      Ally had left Geneva telling everyone she was going to Nepal on a pilgrimage to Mount Everest. Even the werewolves living in the Swiss Alps went to Nepal to pay homage to the moon on Everest, the closest point on Earth to the moon. She had travelled first to England, the land of her mother, as was her tradition. Then she had spontaneously flown to Brazil, and then South Africa, in an effort to shake off anyone following her. Only then had she dared come to New York to see Cornelius.

      George Sullivan seemed to accept the fabrication. “I travel back home to California tomorrow,” he began, and Ally assumed she had the job. “You will come with me. Christian is in the Californian mountains at the moment. You two will have a week together to be acquainted, before continuing north to Alaska. There the pack unit will meet you. My son will be married in two months’ time. When I come up for the wedding, I expect to see you will have settled down in accordance with your position. There will be no announcement that my son has taken a nat amatra, as we wish to keep the news quiet. However, it is bound to travel by word of mouth. We will keep you protected with as little exposure as possible. Even werewolf alphas have to deal with PR,” he joked. “Is that all clear?”

      “Yes, sir,” Ally said. She didn’t let her profound relief show. She couldn’t rest easy (she would never rest easy), but she had her hiding place all lined up. It was enough for now. Once she got there, all she had to do was lie low and wait. Wait for Lydia to die. That is if her stepmother didn’t manage to have her killed first.