Page 83 of Alpha's Rejected Warrior
Akila knocks on the large door.
“Enter.” Branson’s voice cuts through the wood.
As we walk in, I take a second to look around.
Branson’s quarters are sparse, to say the least. There’s a bed in one corner and a single window that faces the training yard. He’s got a desk and a trunk for his clothes, but there are very few artifacts of him in the room aside from some of his gear and some old weapons lying around.
He’s lying on his bed when we walk in. The second he sees us, he sits up expectantly. His eyes acknowledge us carefully before he speaks.
“I didn’t expect to see you three again tonight.”
“We didn’t expect to be here,” Conan says, “but we were just wondering . . .well, what are you doing here?”
He smirks, and it softens his stone face. “I was resting. Considering sleeping, actually.”
Akila scoffs and crosses her arms. “You know that’s not what he means. Why are you on house arrest?”
The smirk vanishes. Branson looks away. “That’s not really for me to discuss. That’s for the Commander to explain, if she chooses to.”
“So, Rhiannon ordered this?” I ask him. “Is there a reason you won’t tell us why?”
“If the Commander saw fit not to inform you, I should probably not be the one to do it.”
“Branson, we’re brothers-in-arms,” Conan says. “If you’re in trouble— If you did something, then you can tell us. We can’t help you if you don’t talk.”
“You can’t help me anyway. Not with this.”
Guilt.It’s as plain as day. I didn’t see it before, but why should I have? Branson’s never been anything but forthright. This can only mean one thing.
“You know what’s going on with Jayme, don’t you?” I ask. He just stares, so I continue, “And so does Rhiannon. Something that only you could know, and Rhiannon figured it out. That’s why you’re on house arrest.”
“Shethinksshe figured it out, but it’s not that,” Branson says. “I’m sure of it.”
“So what is this ‘it,’ then?” Conan asked. “Tell us, so we can defend you both.”
Branson hesitates, his jaw working like he’s chewing through barbed wire. Finally, he exhales hard through his nose.
“Jayme is a Scarlet Wolf.”
Conan and Akila both gasp. Akila’s hand flies to her mouth, the color draining from her face. Conan just stares, mouth slightly open like someone punched the air from his lungs. The air is thick enough to choke us all.
I glance between them, trying to read the horror etched into their faces. Whatever being a Scarlet Wolf means, it’s clearly worse than I understand.
“How is that possible?” I ask, my analytical mind breaking through the shock in the room. “I asked Dr. Olcan if Jayme could be a Scarlet Wolf, and he told me it would be physically obvious if Jayme was.”
Conan recovers enough to speak, though his voice sounds hollow. “That’s true. His hair and fur aren’t red. How could he be a Scarlet?”
Branson stands, pacing toward the window. His reflection in the glass shows deep grooves carved around his mouth.
“Because he’s been hiding it.” Branson’s hands curl into fists at his sides. “For years now.”
“Hiding it how?” I ask.
Moving to his desk, Branson retrieves a tea set from the hutch. He runs his fingers over the delicate porcelain, tracing patterns worn smooth by years of use. His voice drops, quieter and more vulnerable than I’ve ever heard from him.
“Our mother used to drink Blackroot tea every morning. This was her set.” He sets it on the desk with careful reverence. “We were young when she passed, just seven and nine. Not long after, Jayme and I found her stash hidden in the back of a cupboard.”
Blackroot?
