Chapter Text
Trigger Warning: Violence and Death
Battle at the grounds of Bridgerton Manor
A murderous expression was plastered on Anthony's Lycan face as he looked up at the deranged manic eyes of the enemy.
The Swica.
Blood sputtered from Anthony's lips as he looked down at the four deep gashes on his torso that the traitor inflicted on him. He was trying to regulate his body temperature and minimize the blood that was escaping his body.
He looked around the carnage on the grounds of Bridgerton Manor. Lycans and werewolves alike have fallen and were mutilated on the once vibrant grass that his mother and Kate took pains in beautifying.
His wife. Oh, Kate. Was this morning the last time he kissed and held her? Held their baby boy?
The battle was ongoing with throats and extremities being ripped. The Lycans who stood tall as hybrid man and wolf had the advantage of battle experience and being bigger, while the werewolves that resembled more wolf, who ran on all fours and were recently turned, had the advantage of being twice stronger and were on a path of bloodthirsty frenzy.
It was macabre.
Anthony looked at his right, which made him paler. It was Benedict who had fallen as well because of the Swica. He was breathing, but it was shallow. Thank God, Benedict was still alive. Their Lycan forms have given them the advantage to still fight against death. It seems like Benedict was doing the same thing as Anthony was doing—regulating his body to survive.
He knew what the traitor was trying to do—get rid of all the Bridgerton men, and he was starting with him and Benedict.
Anthony saw the Swica turn his head at Benedict and for a brief moment saw an expression of regret at seeing the Lycan at death's door. Then it was gone as the Swica put his attention back to him to give a sickly smile.
"Your death, Anthony, will be the catalyst of my plans truly beginning and moving forward. Plans that I wish you could've seen as the evolution of our species."
Anthony snarled and couldn't help for more blood to splutter out of his mouth. It was obvious that the Swica had mixed poison in his claws. He and his brother wouldn't have normally succumbed to such wounds, but it was different when poison was involved.
"You will never win, Swica," he said hoarsely. It hurt to speak.
"The monstrosity of your goal will never see the light of day as long as there's a Bridgerton as Alpha. It will not end with me or Benedict. You will lose. Every time. And the Lycan houses will never support your way of thinking. You are a disgrace to ours and all Lycan bloodlines."
Anthony spat on the Swica's foot.
"You." The Swica's eyes turned yellow in fury as he growled. A contrast to the blue eyes of Lycans. He has truly changed and could no longer be considered one of their own.
But as the Swica raised his claws for the final blow of death, he was pushed out of the way by an extreme force. He landed on the other side of the field. Anthony saw standing before him John Kilmartin, his general and head of security. Who looked bloody and injured himself. His hip already had a huge gash and a massive deep bite on his shoulder.
🐺"The second contingent is on its way back, Alpha. Do you have the strength to take Benedict with you to flee? Simon and the remaining Lycans will hold the werewolves off. I'll take care of the Swica."
John spoke to him in his mind.
🐺"Yes, I can. But John, you can't win against him. He's too strong. He seems to have injected himself with whatever serum or poison is in his blood to make him stronger, and his claws are dipped in poison."
🐺"I know. I already informed the second contingent of his poisonous claws. But your safety is of the utmost priority. We cannot lose you, Anthony."
Once the smoke cleared, they could see the Swica standing and ready to pounce. And he did. But John was ready.
"Go!"
He met the Swica halfway to give Anthony and Benedict leeway.
Anthony did not waste time in pumping the blood to his hind legs to get to Benedict and carry him to retreat to Bridgerton Manor. The manor itself is a fortress. If he could make it, the protection of the manor would shield him from any magical or physical attacks.
As he ran with Benedict on his back, he noticed that the werewolves were at his heels. But he also noticed his Lycan soldiers, although injured, followed to keep the werewolves off his back.
🐺"Run! Don't look back, Alpha!"
One of his soldiers screamed in his mind. And with a heavy heart, he did not.
---
The Swica raised his arms as he lifted the body of a struggling, injured, and bloodied John. He was squeezing the air out of his windpipe. Clearly enjoying the look of defiance and desperation on John's Lycan face.
The Swica sneered.
"You should have protected your Alpha better, John. Or maybe you should've joined me instead. Then maybe it wouldn't have come to this."
"I will never join the likes of you."
John tried to dig his claws deep in the Swica's elbow.
He laughed at John's poor attempt to injure him.
"Is this the best you could do, John? Mangle my arm? It's a bit disappointing coming from the great general of Kilmartin House."
"No."
John was losing consciousness. He knew he was going to die. There was no other way around it. This was his final act in trying to maim the Swica.
"But he can."
They heard a roar, and before they knew it, the Swica's forearm was cut from the elbow and detached from his body. The Swica shouted in agony at his severed arm. Blood gushed from his limb. John lay on the ground barely conscious; the arm's hand was now loosely gripping his throat.
He looked back at the Lycan who dared and had the strength to cut him. He saw it was none other than Colin. He snarled. Of course. If anyone had the physical strength to match him, it would be Colin.
The Swica looked around and saw that his werewolves were being pushed back and annihilated by Colin's forces and contingent. He saw Philip and Michael as well, freshly transformed and battling more than their fair share of werewolves. They were helping Simon as well, who looked battle-worn.
"That was clever of you to split our forces, Swica. It's obvious that even with the number of frenzied werewolves at your disposal, you knew you couldn't take on the full force of a unified Bridgerton army."
"Pitiful."
The Swica snarled and smiled at the bait.
"Say that to your brothers, who, as we speak, might already be dead, as my werewolves are hunting them running away like the cowards that they are."
Colin's eyes shone bright blue as he growled.
"You're the coward, the one who's dying tonight. Traitor."
Colin spat the last word and advanced so quickly, the Swica had little time to react.
John watched, relieved that Colin was here. He watched as he avoided the Swica's poisoned claws by using stealth. It didn't help the Swica that his other arm was cut and useless. He was being completely overwhelmed by Colin's attacks. Colin was landing blows and deep gashes on him.
And for the first time, John saw the fear on the traitor's face. Colin was faster and stronger. Because being a Bridgerton means you are above a normal Lycan in physicality, intelligence, and strength.
The fear was even magnified as he was being pushed back by Colin's unbridled anger and hate manifested in his attacks.
He didn't hold back on them as he mutilated the Swica's body beyond recognition.
Colin could not hold his rage at the idea that his older brothers were in danger or worse—dead. And it's all because of him. Colin let this happen.
If only he had pushed back at Anthony's orders.
If only his contingent hadn't left.
But he couldn't disobey his Alpha's orders.
His brother's orders.
He wanted so much for things to be the way they used to be, but no. There was no redemption for this Lycan in front of him. No redemption at all. No turning back.
He finished the attack with his large claw embedding itself in the Swica's stomach.
"Try this one out for size, traitor."
He hissed and pulled back as the Swica fell and kneeled in front of Colin.
The Swica chuckled. "This is not the end, Colin. You continue to be foolish to think that this will stop me," he said as blood dripped from his mouth.
"Then I should kill you now."
"Can you really? Truly, Colin? My blood on your hands?"
John sat up and could see the madness in his eyes.
"Colin, finish him. Let's be rid of the traitor."
John heaved as he struggled to sit up. The poison was seeping through his system even if he tried to control and regulate the blood in his veins to fight off the poison. It was no use.
"Not today, I'm afraid, Kilmartin."
It was Fife, and he put the final blow by stabbing John in the back with claws.
"John!"
Colin cried out. He immediately ran to his fallen comrade. Fife took Colin's momentary distraction to go to the Swica's aide and escape with him. And as they escaped, so did the remaining werewolves.
Colin held John. "Fuck!"
He saw them escape. He turned back to his friend.
"John, try to hold on. Regulate your breathing and blood flow. I know you've been exposed to the poison. You're losing a lot of blood as well. Let me summon Philip."
"No." He held onto Colin with a vise-like grip. "No, it's too late, my friend." He tried to smile to assure him. "No matter what I do or what Philip can do." He shook his head.
"It's too late. The poison is too strong. Please send Philip to Bridgerton Manor. We could make use of his talent to help Anthony and Benedict, who have also been exposed to the poison but not as bad as me, so they would have a much better chance than...than me."
It was getting harder to speak.
🐺"Philip!" Colin summoned him in his mind.
🐺"Go to Bridgerton Manor and help my mother treat my brothers. They've been poisoned."
He could hear Philip's ascent. Colin could see him run at full speed towards the manor.
"The Alpha takes priority."
"John, please conserve your energy."
Colin spoke gently to his friend. Simon and Michael finally materialized in front of them.
"John!" Michael kneeled in front of his cousin.
"Oh, John." Simon surveyed the damage on his friend's body.
"Don't look at me like that, my friend. You don't look better yourself." Simon also looked worse for wear. "We both swore our allegiance, protection, and life to our Alpha. This is what is to be expected."
Simon's face was grim, and he fisted his large, bloodied Lycan hands on his side.
"Cousin! Pull yourself together!"
Michael was trying to use his large paws as a stopper to the claw holes on his cousin's torso. To keep the blood from seeping through.
"Think about your wife. Francesca would be devastated. If you don't pull through, she'll kill you herself!"
Michael cried, using his cousin's wife as his last resort to keep him with them.
John chuckled. "I think the poison will get to me first, cousin."
"Where the bloody hell is Philip?!"
Michael shouted frantically. As he tried to hold onto invisible strings of hope. Hope that his cousin will pull through.
"He's with the Alpha, saving his life." At that point, Michael exhaled a hopeless breath. "I can't lose you, John. You're the only family I have left..." He turned pleading young eyes to his older cousin.
"Not the last, cousin. You have our brothers. You know what this means."
Michael will be taking over Kilmartin House when he dies.
"I don't want it," he said in defiance.
"Take care of my treasure, Michael. Take care of my Francesca. You're the only one I can count on. Please." His ragged voice cut through the cold night.
"Take care of our Alpha in my place."
He looked back at Colin. Mind linking with Colin to tell him what the latter refused to hear.
🐺"There must always be an Alpha in Bridgerton House."
"I know what you're thinking, my friend." He addressed Simon. "It's not your fault. I was just not strong enough."
Simon shook his head. "Wrangling with a Swica would do that to you." He grimaced at the bad joke at a time like this. But his good friend and brother chuckled. "I can agree with you on that."
He smiled one last time at his Lycan brothers. "I'm very fortunate to have you all here. I could not think of a better way to go. It has been an honor, brothers."
John finally succumbed to his injuries. But before he did, he sent his wife a lasting farewell and 'I love you' through their mind meld.
A tear escaped his eye as he breathed the last few words that meant more to him than anything.
"Fran."
"My love."
"My Fran."
They could all hear the last beat of his heart.
---
Featherington House
"Can I have her, please? Only for today. It's been a rough day, Portia."
Archie pleaded to his wife as he stood outside the front porch of Featherington House. The same house that he gave up when they separated a few years back. He would rather leave the house to his girls for them to always be protected rather than see them without a home and unprotected by forces known and unknown.
They never divorced. Only separated. His wife wanted the divorce, but he didn't want one. It would mean that the kids will be taken from him. So as a compromise, he moved out, got his own apartment, and left Portia alone. It was a good move since his wife could finally have her own peace of mind, and he can still see his girls, especially Penelope.
"Please? Can I spend the rest of the day with my Penelope? I know it's not my turn with the girls, but I just need this," he asked desperately.
Portia rolled her eyes at her husband.
"That is out of the question, Archie. Penelope has her finals in the next coming days, and I won't have her distracted!"
"You need to wait your turn during your time with them. Be thankful we didn't get divorced, or you'd have a much harder time seeing the kids." She huffed in annoyance.
"I didn't say I wasn't," Archie said. Annoyed at Portia's retort. "I'm just asking to spend the rest of the day with my little girl. It's just a day—half a day, actually! It's not like I always ask this from you. Is that too much to ask?"
His wife crossed her arms. "I would say it is."
"Ugh! You're really impossible, you know that?!"
Then he turned to leave. Portia slammed the door shut as she went back inside. She didn't notice Archie opening the door and slipping a note on the desk cabinet by the threshold. Then he closed it gently.
He hoped that his smart little girl would figure it out.
---
"Ma, I'm home! Whew, the cold is really biting out there!"
14-year-old Penelope shimmied out of her coat to hang it on the rack when she caught the note at the corner of her eye. She took it and was surprised to see her father's handwriting.
Her heart skipped a beat. Is her dad here?! He doesn't usually come this day of the week since her and her sister's time with him was set on different days. An agreement between her 'separated' parents.
She hates that he's so far away.
"Mom, was Dad here? He left me a note."
Penelope slipped into the kitchen.
Portia sighed. That man was getting on her nerves. He managed to let Penelope know he was here. Now her daughter won't stop until she gets to the bottom of things.
"He was just passing through, hon, and just asked about you and your sisters, which I told him that you were very busy with the finals coming and all."
She said nonchalantly and chose to speak with her back turned so her daughter would not see the expression on her face.
But Penelope could see and hear bullshit a mile away. "Stop with the bullshit, Ma' and tell me why Dad was here."
"Penelope, that was uncalled for!"
Her daughter really has a potty mouth. Where she got it from, she will never know, as her sisters didn't talk like this.
But she squirmed at the level stare her daughter gave her, and she relented. There was no use in lying further.
"Your dad wanted to take you and spend time with you even if it wasn't his turn. I told him to wait his turn for your time with him since you have your finals coming up!"
"Mom! You know I can ace that final even with both eyes closed!"
It was true, Portia thought. Out of all her girls, Penelope was the smartest and cleverest in the family. She knew she got that from her father. It was one of the things, she supposes, that made Penelope their father's favorite and apple of his eye, though he loves all of his girls.
She heard Penelope huff. "I'm going to see him."
"What? That is out of the question, young lady!" Portia's eyes bugged out. She watched as Penelope put on her boots and warm coat. "You don't even know how to get there!"
Penelope waved the note her dad left behind. "He gave me directions, Ma'. It seems like he already knew you wouldn't say yes." She rolled her eyes at her mother. This was so like Portia to always try and one-up her father in everything.
"But, but...you don't have anything packed!"
"My sisters and I already have clothes left in his apartment, Mom. It makes it easier to stay for a couple of days. I'll see you soon. Bye!"
She quickly left before her mother could physically restrain her and keep her in the house.
"Penelope Anne Featherington, you come back here this instant!" Her mother yelled by the door.
"I will, Ma!" She chuckled as she walked casually outside.
"Just not this instant! I'll be back soon!"
---
Dread filled Penelope's chest as she stared at the slightly open front door of her father's apartment. The dread spread further to the rest of her body and settled in the pit of her stomach.
She was frozen in place outside as she could spy flickering lights of the lamps that were haphazardly thrown and laid broken on the carpeted floor.
Penelope only snapped out of her trance when she heard painful groaning inside. She bolted right in and saw her father lying sprawled on the floor. He was bloodied. His face was bruised and cut. His white shirt was now soaked with blood from the two bullet holes on his body. One on the shoulder and the other in his abdomen.
She immediately kneeled next to him, crying.
"Dad! Dad, what happened?! Who did this to you?!"
She tried to touch him, but it just earned her a painful grimace from her father. Her father's handsome face was no longer recognizable from the obvious torture and pounding he received.
She already knew who did this. Sharks. Loan sharks. Oh, Dad. He still couldn't shake off his gambling addiction. But she did not love him any less because of this.
"Hey, pumpkin." Her father tried to smile amidst the pain. "Can you lie next to me? Your old man's a bit cold." He chuckled to try for levity.
Penelope was openly crying now. "Dad, I can fix this. You know I can. Just let me..." She put her trembling hands on top of his torso. But her father's voice cut through.
"I know you can, but I can't let you do that, pumpkin. You'll feel my pain and hurt too. We both know that. If I couldn't protect you then, I can protect you now. No one must know these things about you. The men who did this would know, and I can't live or leave this life knowing you'll be in danger...so please...just stay with me, kiddo."
Penelope was conflicted. Help her father or help herself. What should she do? She was scared too. She was scared of what's happening.
"Dad, what should I do? I...I don't know what to do. Should...should I call 911 instead? Get the ambulance here. There's still time." She tried to get up to get to the phone.
She was pulled back as her dad tugged on her sleeve for her to lie next to him. "No. I don't want to, Dad," her lips quivering. If she does what he says, it's like admitting that he's really dying.
Archie felt bad for his daughter. She was trying to be brave, but at the end of the day she was just a kid.
"It's ok...come here..." he said hoarsely as he cried himself. He nodded his head. "Just...come here..." He was waving her over with the arm that he could still move. "Just come here, pumpkin...please?"
She lay next to him and hugged him as she cried. She wrapped her arms around him as they spoke to each other.
She wailed her anger and sorrow when he was no longer responding to her. It was a gut-wrenching cry as she tried to hold on to him, thinking if she hugged him tighter, it would breathe life into him again. She whimpered like a wounded animal left alone and abandoned by her father.
Her father. Her only source of comfort and fierce defender. No one can hold a candle to her father. And even as a husband, he was the best one, the way that he treated her mother. Like a queen. Her father was not a perfect man, with her mother opting to be separated because of his gambling addiction. But remove that ugly part of him, and he was a green flag. Even more so as their dad. Her dad.
Penelope knew her father was dead, but she clung to him even more and lay there next to him.
The police arrived sometime later; someone must've heard her screams. They found her in the exact same place where her dad lay. In his arms.
---
Present Day Strangers
Colin and Penelope screamed and woke with a start on their respective beds from the nightmare they suffered at the same time.
Colin's Place—
Colin rubbed his face with both hands to combat the lingering images of the massacre a year ago in the fields of his family home.
He took the mantle as the new Alpha of Bridgerton House, as currently his older brothers were in a comatose state due to the extensive injuries and poison they received from the Swica. Philip, with all his genius talent in herbs and poison, was able to neutralize it, but not without a cost.
And in less than a year, Colin made a decision to move his remaining family from the UK to their New York residence, Aubrey Hall—to hunt the Swica—with his new and battle-ready lycan contingent at his beck and call.
But today, he was currently in his penthouse, having a much-needed time away from his chaotic family. He finally pulled the sheets off him and got up from the bed completely nude and headed to the bathroom.
Colin looked at his reflection and could barely recognize the face that stared back at him. He has come a long way from past Colin before all of this mess started.
Green eyes stared right back. He wore his unbound curly/wavy black locks loose. His hair has grown—gotten longer as he preferred it—almost reaching his shoulders. He also maintained a well-groomed beard and mustache that framed his face, adding to his rugged appearance.
The rest were the same. Colin was still one of the tallest and biggest out of his siblings. He surveyed the scars, old and new, on his body. He traced a particularly deep gash on his right side, from his ribs to his hip—courtesy of the Swica.
He sighed and got ready. They were heading out for another hunt tonight, hoping that tonight will be the night they could end this war.
Penelope's Place—
Penelope, on the other hand, laid back down on her bed and looked at the time. The sun was setting and cast a beautiful light that shone through the window. With her waist-length, red/auburn hair unbound, she wore a coord of a strappy, soft, beige silk chemise with shorts of the same color and fabric. She only slept for two hours. She really can't get more than four hours of sleep in a day. The nightmares would come.
She heaved a sigh as she called for customer service in the hotel she's staying at. The nightmare was more vivid tonight, since today was her father's death anniversary. The conference in Canada was a godsend, as she had no wish to spend it with family. She was sure they were at home cooking up a storm to commemorate her dad's day.
She should be getting ready soon. Penelope put on a silky deep red robe. Her clothes and everything that she needed were already hanging in her closet, with the makeup team arriving soon. All preparation was courtesy of her ever-efficient EAs and brothers-in-law—Harry and Albion—who opted to accompany her, leaving their children and wives, Prudence and Philippa, behind at home.
As Colin and Penelope walked over to their desks to start their day, their phones started to buzz.
Penelope's phone: Harry calling
"Hey, Harry."
"Hey there, boss lady. I spoke to your glam team; they're about to come up. Albion and I were just having coffee in the lounge. We're about to go up and join you for dinner. I was also told you phoned customer service for food to be brought to your room. I had them add mimosas to your order."
Thank God for Harry. She could hear Albion muttering excitedly in the background for them to bring up ham and cheese croissants as well when they get to her room.
"That sounds great, Harry. Thank you for thinking ahead; I appreciate it. I'll see you soon." She ended the call and looked out at the setting sun again.
Colin's phone: Michael calling.
"Report."
"We have a problem. Gregory ran away from home."