Chapter Text
Anwen wiped the blood from her cheek and looked at her new neighbor in horrified shock. “You cut off his head.” “And you put him to sleep with a single look. I think we both have some explaining to do.” Mercy put out her hand and Anwen reached over the corpse to shake it. She only flinched a bit as the severed head rolled away.
Two Months Prior
Bran Cornick was the kind of man who changed a room just by walking into it. Anwen had prepared for the interview as best she could— researching all known sources on werewolf culture (not much to find there), scouring the internet for criminal records on Bran or Charles Cornick (to no avail), and reading every newspaper article she could find on notable alphas (mostly Adam Hauptman, but he was miles away in Washington state). None of this research prepared her for the reality of meeting the man in person. He’d seemed charming on the phone, non-threatening. But when he entered the office where Anwen had been deposited by his wife, Leah, she felt a noticeable increase in the atmospheric tension.
Anwen was more able than most to gauge that atmosphere. She was a descendent of one of the three sisters from Welsh myth: The Birds of Rhiannon. Her ability to not only sense emotion, but soothe it, was what led her to this point. She’d always thought her abilities were more suited to the magical world than the mundane. But nothing could convince her to work for the Fae. When she shared that she was considering counseling as her career, Anwen’s grandmother was ecstatic.
“That’s perfect, love,” she’d said when Anwen came home to visit one weekend freshman year of college. “Just be sure you take that fancy degree of yours and get well away from the Fae. You’ll save yourself a world of trouble that way.” Nain had just the slightest hint of a Welsh accent coloring her Californian one. Compliments of her own grandparents, who’d first brought the family to the new world.
“But Nain,” Anwen replied, “wouldn’t it be sort of… unethical? To use my powers on non-magical people? I wouldn’t be able to help it. When someone’s in pain I just naturally soothe. And considering they’d be seeking professional counseling, it’s a fair guess they’d be experiencing some kind of stress.”
“Don’t you worry about that, love. Your gifts are a part of you, just the same as there are some who are naturally vivacious and some who are naturally dumber than rocks.”
“Nain!” Anwen interjected, laughing. There was no one with a sharper tongue than her nain.
“Oh hush! I’m saying nothing more than the truth.” Anwen just laughed again and took a biscuit to dunk in her tea.
“Anwen, listen to me.” Nain leaned forward and placed her wrinkled hand on her granddaughter’s arm, stopping the biscuit halfway to her mouth. “There’s change coming. I can feel the tension growing. The Fae are unpredictable in the best of times, but I wouldn’t trust them within a hundred miles of you now. Get your counseling degree, move as far away from the reservation as you can go, and live your life apart from all of it. Our kind has avoided public scrutiny thus far, and as such the Grey Lords have let us be, but they could decide we belong in Walla Walla with them anytime. I don’t want that for you, love.”
“Alright, Nain,” Anwen reluctantly agreed, wiping up the drips of tea her biscuit left on the table. She knew Nain was right about the Fae, but even at 19 Anwen she was convinced that one day, she’d find a way to help the magical community. It was in her blood.
Cue the werewolves going public.
As soon as she heard about it, Anwen began to follow their story. She saw a group driven by instincts that could be dangerous, but organized better than most government institutions. They were clearly desperate to project an image of calm and collectedness. Why else would they pick a war hero like David Christianson as their front man when the news broke? And that was something Anwen could help them with.
She started to put out some quiet feelers in the small Rhiannon community. “Did anyone have connections with the wolves?” She thought it was going nowhere until the day she received a call from one Charles Cornick, asking for a quote on her counseling services. It was clear money was no object when he offered a number three times her normal rate if she would agree to come to Montana and set up a new practice there, working exclusively with the werewolves. Even with such an inducement, Anwen wasn’t sure she was ready for quite as big a change as that.
She’d imagined herself adding a few wolf clients into her already thriving practice, not uprooting her whole life and moving back west. In the ten years since she’d earned her degree, and followed Nain’s advice to head east, she’d established herself moderately well. She had a small but successful counseling practice in Atlanta with a nearly full list of clients who relied on her. She’d have to go to telehealth with most of them. It could take months to find every client a new counselor to work with.
On the other hand… she was definitely getting sick of the city. Atlanta’s traffic lived up to every terrible thing she’d ever heard about it. She’d already been rear-ended 3 times since settling there. And her commute was the stuff you wrote country music about: melodramatically depressing realities. That was one thing she did like about Atlanta, though. She’d developed a real love for country music. Color her little California heart surprised.
So she told Charles Cornick she’d think about it, and next thing she knew she was getting a call from his father, Bran. Bran’s friendly but decisive demeanor was much more convincing than his son’s cold and authoritative one had been. And 1,2,3 Anwen was sitting in an office in a beautiful house in Montana watching the ruler of the wolves try to shake the irritation he clearly felt towards the woman leaning on the door frame.
Before she could stop herself, Anwen lowered the tension between the two just slightly, and watched as Bran’s shoulders relaxed. His eyes snapped to hers fiercely, and then his mouth quirked up in a predatory grin.
“Well now Ms. Davies, it seems our information was correct. Between you and my daughter-in-law we may be civilized yet. Go, Leah.” He finished, lifting his eyes from Anwen to his wife, who huffed before slamming the door and stomping down the hall. Bran sighed and took a seat behind his desk. Folding his hands over his stomach, he leaned back and once again became the casual young man she’d spoken with over the phone.
“So tell me, Ms. Davies, why do you want to work with my wolves?”
Anwen’s brows rose. “I was under the impression, Mr. Cornick, that it was you who wanted to work with me?”
“I believe we do. But we never would have come across your name if you hadn’t been poking around for connections with my packs. So I ask again, why? You have a successful business already, Ms. Davies. I’m curious why a woman who clearly has gone to a lot of trouble to avoid the Fae, would seek out werewolves.”
“How do you know I’ve avoided the Fae?”
“Why else would you leave your entire life behind you in California and move to the opposite side of the country where you started a practice working with only non-magical humans?”
“Touché, Mr. Cornick. Well, the answer to your question is simple: my nain raised me to make smart choices and avoiding the Fae is one of the smartest things a person can do. Especially someone from a less powerful and lesser known subgroup of magical creatures. Does that answer your question?”
“Partially, yes. I admire your grandmother already. From one old Welshman to another, she has my respect. But that doesn’t explain your interest in the wolves.”
Anwen nodded and looked away to gather her thoughts. How to explain?
“I’m proud of the work I do in the human world, Mr. Cornick. I’m a good counselor, if I say so myself. And my natural power to soothe is useful. But I could do so much more. I keep a tight reign on my abilities. I’m always worried about crossing a line with my magic. It’s an ethical question that bothers me consistently, it always has. And I feel I have a place in the magical world I’ve been disconnected from for so long.
“From what I’ve seen of the werewolves, someone with my background could do a lot of good. And that’s what I want. To use what I have, my knowledge, skills, and magical abilities, for good.”
Bran stared at Anwen for several minutes, his piercing gaze holding her still as she waited for a verdict. For clearly that was what was happening. She was being weighed and measured. With one curt nod, it seemed she was found adequate.
“Good. How soon can you start, Ms. Davies?”