A Shifter Disaster Thanksgiving (Holiday Shifters of Frost Mountain #6)

Chapter Fourteen

A Shifter Disaster Thanksgiving

“What did you just say?” Sylvester wanted more than anything on Frost Mountain to believe that his friend was lying, distracting him to keep him from attacking his brother.

“I did it,” Jon said slowly and carefully. “I murdered the village chief. Not Gregory. Me.”

Gregory looked like he was at a complete loss for words. He glanced at his brother, then back at Jon, as though expecting one of them to burst out laughing. But whatever confusion Gregory was experiencing was nothing compared to what Sylvester felt. He rose from his seat, keeping his eyes on both men.

“I don’t believe you,” he told Jon. “You didn’t do it. Gregory must have put you up to this.”

“No,” Gregory and Jon said at the same time.

“Jon?” It was Quinta. She had a slightly alarmed expression on her face. Around them, everyone else looked bewildered. Diane sat, unmoving. What had been an almost jolly Thanksgiving dinner had transformed into a nightmare. “What’s going on?” she asked her husband.

Jon swallowed. “I wish you didn’t have to find out this way, Quinta. I wish you never had to find out at all. But I did it for our son. Someone had to pay for what happened to him.”

“Your son ?” Sylvester stared at his friend, struggling to comprehend what he was saying. As confusion gripped him, he began to tremble with anger.

Jon had murdered his father. This whole time, it had been his friend, a man he’d trusted.

“Yes,” Jon said. “He was murdered thirteen years ago in a war between the villages. He was just fifteen, and your people slaughtered him.”

It took Sylvester a moment to process what Jon had just said. He knew Jon and his wife were from Glenstra, but Sylvester hadn’t given much that much thought. But hearing him say, “your people,” made his chest tighten. This man, even now, didn’t see himself as a member of this village.

No one spoke until Gregory broke the silence. “Your son was slaughtered in a war,” he said. Sylvester detected a dangerous undertone in his voice. “And so, you decided to take revenge over a decade later.”

Jon had the effrontery to crack a grin. “Like I said, someone had to pay. And who better than the chief of this village?

“When my wife and I moved here, I hated this place. I wanted nothing to do with the village that was responsible for taking my son’s life. For months, I struggled to fit into this new community, and then I came to the forge. Imagine my surprise when I discovered the man I would be working with was the son of the man I wanted dead.”

Quinta gasped. “Jon!”

He ignored his wife. “I could have attacked Sylvester instead, of course—a son for a son—but I decided not to. He was not involved in the war. He just wanted to work in the forge and mind his own business. I liked that. As for his father…”

Sylvester felt his gut clench.

“Killing him was easy. When I drove my blade into his chest, he didn’t even struggle. I didn’t try to cover my tracks, and when you began blaming your brother for your father’s death, Sylvester, I knew I didn’t need to.”

Gregory’s jaw clenched. “This whole time… it was you. My brother thought—”

Sylvester never got to hear what his brother was about to say. He was seeing red. With a guttural roar, he launched himself across the living room at Jon, knocking the man to the floor. No sooner had they hit the floorboards than Sylvester began punching him for all he was worth.

“Sylvester!” yelled a voice.

The living room had descended into chaos, the guests getting to their feet, everyone talking at once. And at the center of it all, pummeling Jon’s face with his fist, was Sylvester.

“You… murdered… my… father!” he spat; each word followed by a punch to Jon’s skull.

He pulled back his fist again, but before he could swing it, arms grabbed him, separating him from Jon. It was Gregory.

“Enough, brother,” he said. His expression was dark, but he made no move to attack Jon or Sylvester. “You’ve done enough.”

On the floor, Jon tried to sit up. One side of his face was bloody. Sylvester’s chest heaved, but he managed to keep himself in check. For a second, he thought everyone must think he was some sort of monster, but the only person getting dirty looks was Jon. Sylvester turned to face Diane. She stared back at him, sympathy in her eyes.

Gregory stood over Jon, a disgusted look on his face. “You should have stayed in Glenstra. Coming here to murder the chief, my father? That was a mistake. Guards!”

Two armed men that Sylvester hadn’t even seen come in suddenly rushed forward and grabbed Jon by the arms, forcing him to his feet.

“Take him away,” Gregory ordered. “I’ll make an example of him later. An as for you,” he added, jabbing a finger at Quinta, whose eyes had gone moist, “You won’t be seeing your husband ever again. I’ll give you some time to get your things in order before you leave this town.”

With that, he turned and left the cabin, and the guards followed suit, dragging Jon with them.

The Thanksgiving dinner was officially over.

***

The brothers stood facing each other in front of the fireplace.

Night had fallen. Despite all that had happened that day, being in the chief’s quarters still made Sylvester uncomfortable. But this was a visit he’d had to make.

“That wasn’t the worst Thanksgiving dinner I’ve been to,” he muttered.

“Believe me, I’ve witnessed worse,” Gregory replied, and both men chuckled softly.

“What’s going to happen to Jon?”

The chief was silent for a moment. “Nothing good.”

Diane was back in his cabin now, awaiting Sylvester’s return. Quinta had left the village that afternoon. No one had seen her leave, but when Diane went to check on the woman, she was nowhere to be found. Diane was taking today’s events in stride. That was all that mattered to Sylvester right now.

That, and the conversation he was about to have.

“I am sorry I accused you,” he told his brother. “I wanted to believe you were responsible for our father’s death. I was so certain of myself.”

“You were foolish,” was Gregory’s response. The village chief didn’t look the least bit annoyed. “But you were not entirely wrong. I did want a war. For a long time, it was all I could dream of, especially after what happened to our mother. I wanted to crush our enemies wherever they were.”

“You are a warrior after all.”

“I am also a chief, Sylvester, and that means I understand the need for the peace and security of this village. Of our people. And after what happened to our father, I started to see his point. I saw the need for peace. I wanted to prevent a war by any means possible, but I was prepared to go to war with Glenstra if all else failed.”

“Fortunately, it didn’t,” Sylvester said.

Gregory nodded. “With our father gone, I had to take his place quickly. And with the tensions rising between the villages, I could hardly take the time to figure out who murdered him. Still, I should not have dismissed your concerns.”

Sylvester felt a warm tug in his gut. He smiled. “It’s alright, brother.” They stood in silence for what seemed like a full minute before he added, “For the record, you make a great chief. Our father would be proud.”

The look his brother shot him was worthy of ten suns.