“There’s the problem. The bonds are a mess. Since John died, feels like everyone is angry at me. Some more than others, but rage is there in every tie. I can’t sort out who’s generally upset, who’s angry at me, and who’s so furious that they’d go to these lengths.”

That made this a whole lot more complicated. “Okay. So, we take it person by person. I’ll start hanging around the pack and going through your files. We’ll find the killer.”

“I hope so. I’ve no stomach for another scene like that one. A bloody teenager.” He tightened his hands on the steering wheel and it creaked under the pressure. “If someone wants me gone that badly, might be best if I leave.”

What? Was he joking with that? He couldn’t just leave his pack. “No. Whoever is doing this isn’t a good person. You can’t hand your pack over to them.”

Donovan stayed quiet, and I shivered.

That so wasn’t happening. I wouldn’t let him give up like that. We’d figure something out. The queen would give us a hint, we’d eliminate the fey threat, and then find the traitor. I wasn’t giving up before the hunt even started.

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Thirteen

The receiving room was fitted much like the rest of the castle, but here, handwoven wool rugs covered the stone floor in rich colors. Three red velvet brocade couches surrounded a small fireplace. Off to the side, a beautiful illuminated manuscript was open on a stand, with a floor lamp to light it. A couple of chairs sat along the walls next to a small table. The walls held portraits—some more modern than others—but what stood out to me were the different fashions in the portraits. It was a nice collection. I recognized Donovan in a few paintings, but I couldn’t place any of the other people in the frames. Bookshelves filled in the spaces between portraits.

Ian had taken down the big painting over the fireplace that depicted a Were hunt bringing down a lion in Africa. That frame now rested against the back wall, and the fey mirror had taken its spot above the mantel. It was a long oval with an ornate golden frame, its edges carved swirls and curlicues. The scent gave away that it was actually made of gold, rather than painted gold. I didn’t even want to think about how much it was worth.

“You ready?” Donovan asked.

I took a breath. “I guess so.”

He walked to the mantel and grabbed something from his pocket. I didn’t realize it was a knife until I smelled the coppery scent of blood.

“What’re you doing?”