Vice and Void (The Savage Wolves Brotherhood #1)

1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

Dakota

Present Day

“ J ulia Sinconi. Twenty-seven-year-old woman. Vehicle collision near downtown,” the driver said as he assisted in hoisting the woman from the gurney onto the stretcher in the bay. “Open fracture to her ankle. We splinted that on the way in. Complaining of rib and shoulder pain.”

Dakota donned blue nitrile gloves as she pushed through the crowd of menders, following the lead alchemist to the head of the stretcher.

“What’s first, Dakota?” the lead alchemist, James, asked as he bent over the woman to assess the purple bruise already blooming against her shoulder. Black tendrils of smoke wisped around the patient, curling with the air stream from the vent above them.

“Pain and Euphoric as sedative agents for discomfort,” Dakota answered dutifully, pulling the meticulously labeled vials from her pocket. She ignored the black fog spilling from the woman’s ankle—something she had always seen around the injured and dying but learned not to voice. Not after her father reamed her for it as a child. Not after the dreams of cloaked figures haunted her nightmares. “Followed by Blood Replenishing and Bone Repair to repair the fracture. Then I'll apply Healing topically to mend the laceration on the ankle.”

“Perfect,” James replied with a clap of his hands. He turned toward the woman, her eyes wide with shock, and leaned toward her. “Julia, I’m Alchemist James. This is my associate-in-training, Dakota. We’re going to administer our distills. Those will get to work patching you up in no time.”

Julia nodded, and her wide eyes suddenly squinted as one of the menders flicked on the bright overhead light, made even brighter by the pale walls and metal equipment surrounding the bed. Dakota swept her blonde hair into a low bun before drawing up the beige distill with a syringe.

“This one is for pain. I’m going to slide this under your tongue,” Dakota said, gesturing for the woman to open her mouth. “You should be feeling numb in a few moments.”

Julia’s swallow bobbed her throat, but she opened her mouth nonetheless. Dakota inserted the dropper, careful not to get too close to the bloody split in her bottom lip, and dripped the distill into the back of her mouth. A few seconds later, the woman relaxed enough that the mender to her right could tug a blood pressure cuff around her upper arm.

“Next is Euphoric,” Dakota went on after depositing the first distill into her pocket. She drew up the viscous, milky liquid and dripped it into the back of the woman’s throat. “You should feel a lightness. Think of a happy place and let it take you away.”

After a few blinks, the woman’s eyelids drooped to a close, and James nodded his approval.

“Nicely done, Dakota. Your brews have been immaculate in the short time you’ve been here.”

“Thank you, sir,” Dakota replied with a small smile, casting him a glance over her shoulder.

James pushed the rolling table out of his way to lower the stretcher’s side rail. With his shift, a calming, sterile scent of antibacterial wipes and overly bleached scrubs washed over Dakota. The beep of the heart monitor eclipsed Julia's soft snores—the patches and wires now attached to her chest.

“I’ve seen your work in the distillery. You’ll do a fine job as an alchemist when you’ve finished your training. It’s only been two weeks since your transfer from Blackdon, and they tend to do things differently there. Don’t get discouraged if it takes time to adjust.”

Dakota nodded, though she remained quiet. If there was an adjustment period, that meant she wasn’t prepared. Not being prepared was an unacceptable chink in the armor of her achievements. And that was something she couldn't afford, not after her father had pulled strings to get her into the main guildhall in Norwich.

“It’s time for you to come home. There’s too much conflict in Blackdon, and I want you here in case the riots get worse,” John Montgomery had said during their weekly call the month before. “I’ve spruced up your old bedroom and made some inquiries. They don’t usually take transfers this late, but James Ashborne owes me a favor for getting his daughter out of trouble.”

That was that. Once John Montgomery made up his mind, there was nothing Dakota could do to change it. A week later, her old apartment was packed up, and she was shuffled back to Norwich, where the entire city was saturated with harrowing memories that held her like a vise.

That was why she liked Blackdon. It was new, progressive, and exciting—a complete contradiction to the old cobblestone streets of Norwich. It had become home. She had friends and a life. She had thrived under the advisory of the alchemists there. She left everything behind after Callum—everything—with no interest in ever returning.

Yet, here she was.

“Your patient is under,” James said, tilting his head toward Julia. “You’ve already mentioned Blood Replenishing and Bone Repair. Why don’t you tell me about the history of the distills while you work? It’s best to practice critical thinking while doing other things. It opens up new pathways in your brain.”

Dakota drew up the third distill, Blood Replenishing—light blue with a slight medicinal odor. “The distills are made from harvesting the five plants. Each plant was grown in the Governor’s Fieldhouse, where the soil is imbued with the blood of the Banished Gods that were driven out a thousand years ago. Now, those plants’ properties can be enhanced under the right conditions. The First Law of Thermodynamics: energy cannot be destroyed, only transferred from one form to another. ”

“Excellent,” James said. “Tell me about Pain.”

A mender moved around them to hang a bag of saline from the metal pole attached to the stretcher as Dakota shoved her hand through the swirling black smoke to administer the entire dropper of Blood Replenishing into Julia’s mouth. “Pain is distilled under the light of a full moon from willow bark harvested on the battlefield, now the Governor’s Fieldhouse. It’s the easiest and most direct to distill because the conditions only require a full moon to enhance Ilios the Mind God's abilities.”

“Couldn’t have said it better myself.” James ran a thoughtful finger along the curve of his chin as Dakota administered the final distill, Bone Repair. There was a sickening thud as Julia’s ankle slid back into place under the splint. She groaned, grimacing as her head lolled back and forth before settling back into sleep. “You know, I worked with your mother for a long time. You remind me of her. Her skills as an alchemist were quite astonishing, but yours aren't far behind.”

The advancements Sarah Montgomery once made in the field were unrivaled, and becoming an alchemist was the one thing Dakota could do to keep them connected. It was the one thing she knew would have made her mother proud.

Dakota’s heart soared as she deposited the final two vials into her pocket, and she was relieved to find the black smoke surrounding Julia dissipating before vanishing entirely. Becoming a mender had been the original goal, but to be the best in her father's eyes, she had to become an alchemist. And the top one at that. “Thank you, sir. That means—“

“From what I’ve seen, it’s going to take a lot more to become the alchemist her mother once was,” a voice from the door called over the chaos of the trauma bay.

Dakota deflated under her father’s scrutiny, his eagle eyes piercing her spirit like a handful of expertly drawn arrows. “Dad, what are you doing here?” she asked, ignoring the dash of menders fleeing the bay at the appearance of the Head Ranger of the Iron Guard.

John Montgomery stepped into the room, sweeping his gaze from her to the whiteboard documenting the times of her distill administrations. The single mender that remained fiddled with the finger clip tracking Julia’s pulse.

Her father looked the same as he always had—dark, bluntly cut hair now salt-and-pepper with age, cold hazel eyes that hardened as the years went by, and a stiff posture that demanded unyielding respect.

“When will she wake?” John asked as he locked his stare on James, breezing by Dakota’s question with pretentious ease.

“I just put her under a few minutes ago,” Dakota replied. “It will be some time before—“

“I wasn't asking you, Dakota,” her father retorted, not bothering to spare her a glance. “James, your assessment.”

Dakota shrunk, if possible, even further into her embarrassment. She fixed her attention on the clinking vials in her pocket, struggling to breathe past the lump clenching her throat into a tight ball. It had been two weeks— two weeks —and John Montgomery managed to dismantle what little progress her self-esteem had made over the past twelve years. She tried to be the best, and she was the best, but her father couldn't or wouldn't acknowledge it.

“From the looks of the accident, I believe she's on something,” John said, weighing a heavy glare on James that would have made Dakota crack under pressure. “I' m taking a sample of her blood.” He took a presumptuous step past James and Dakota but was swiftly intercepted by the mender still in the bay.

“Do you have a warrant?” The mender asked, crossing her arms over her chest as she blocked his path. Even her tight ponytail, the ends dyed pink, seemed to shake its proverbial fist at him.

Her father rested a hand against the gun strapped to his hip. “I’m the Head Ranger, girl . I need a sample of her blood and—“

The mender’s blue eyes narrowed onto him. “Then you know the law when it comes to blood draws. It requires a warrant. Come back with one, and I’ll be more than happy to lend you a hand.”

John’s stare ticked back to James. “Alchemist, her blood is vital to the cause of the accident.”

The mender’s eyes narrowed, if possible, even further.

James swallowed hard as his gaze darted from the mender to the woman asleep on the stretcher before returning to John. “While your reasoning may be correct, Ranger Montgomery, the law does require a warrant. And we all prefer to follow the law , do we not?”

John looked on the verge of arguing but thought better of it. He drew back his stiff shoulders. “I’ll be back with your warrant.” His tone took on a saccharine sweetness that made Dakota’s gut tense.

“Looking forward to it,” the mender volleyed, tilting her head as she looked up at him.

He didn’t care to send Dakota a parting glance as he turned on the toes of his boots and marched from the bay.

Dakota's happy place was the distillery, surrounded by glass beakers, distillation equipment, test tubes, and low-flame burners. It was also one of the only places in Norwich that her father couldn’t muscle his way into.

Not that he hadn’t tried.

The distills were kept under strict lock and key in the quiet darkness, and it was the safest place on the continent of Montrose. Even when she began her studies as an alchemist in the city of Blackdon, the distillery was her sanctuary.

Retrieving the key from the ring hanging around her identification badge, Dakota unlocked the middle drawer of her desk. She rummaged past her old reference books and piles of papers, stopping when her hand brushed against what she had been searching for—a leather-bound journal.

Dakota plopped the journal onto the desk and cracked it open, letting out a long breath when she studied the scribbled pages. She was so close to a breakthrough. So close to working out the formula for the distill she had been experimenting with over the past five years. She hadn’t told a soul—not her prior advisors or closest friends. Unauthorized experimentation was illegal. If she were caught, she would spend time in prison in the best-case scenario. Worst case, she would face the executioner.

But this formula was transformative, earth-shattering. Life saving .

She knew that it only had value if it worked. She only had value if she could get it to work.

Then, maybe John Montgomery would look at her as more than the daughter who killed her mother.

But the unexpected appearance of her father continued to plague her, so much so that Dakota flicked the journal shut and let out a frustrated sigh just a few minutes later. It wasn’t odd that an Iron Guard showed up at the guildhall for a simple car accident—no, that was expected.

The odd part was that the guard was her father—Head Ranger, to be precise. The Rangers were the top detectives of the Iron Guard, handling far more violent and high-profile crimes than car accidents. For him to bully his way in was not out of character, but it was beneath his position. He triumphantly returned a few hours later, a warrant for Julia’s arrest in hand, and had her carted to the city jail before the mender dared turn her glare on him a second time.

Dakota’s phone buzzed across the desk, slashing through the serene silence. She dropped the journal back into the drawer and locked it before reaching forward to swipe the home screen open.

I know you’ve been busy, but I need to see my best friend. I’m bartending tonight. Come by?

She hesitated, hovering her thumbs over the keyboard to decline the invitation, when another message appeared beneath the first.

Your read receipts are on. See you soon, bitch !

Dakota checked the ceiling vents twice to ensure the full moon’s light could reach the willow bark softly boiling in the distillation equipment. The mixture would vaporize overnight in the equipment's upper chambers before cooling and condensing into liquid form. From there, the distill would be dosed into labeled vials for patient use.

While the process was straightforward, it was challenging to remember when each distillation had to be influenced by the cosmos. Pain, for example, needed to reach a boiling point before dusk so the full moon’s light could hit the vapors and activate the magic before it condensed into a liquid. Blood Replenishing had to be completely condensed into a liquid for the vat to soak under the annual autumnal meteor shower. The alchemists prepared for that in advance—however much they could make was how much they had for the year. It was an all-hands-on-deck endeavor.

Thoughts on her experimental formula and the ever-pressing matter of adjusting it before the upcoming fall equinox followed her across town. And it wasn’t until she slammed her car door shut and the gravel of the broken pavement crackled beneath her shoes that she pushed it from her mind.

Dakota pulled open the door to Twist and Tonic , the unsuitably named hole-in-the-wall bar, and was immediately greeted by a blast of cold air twined with someone's cloying perfume. The sharp clack of pool balls from the table on the far side clapped over the twangy music. The bar was busier than she expected it to be, but she put her head down and pushed through the crowd before plunking into the wooden stool that butted up against the high counter.

“No, I’m not getting you another beer,” Lyra said firmly as she poured a shot of whiskey into a highball glass filled with soda. “You’ve had six already, and I know your old lady won't be happy if you come home plastered. Again.”

“Isn’t it my job to figure out what'll make her happy?” the man retorted, leaning against the edge of the chipped wooden counter.

“Not if she’s gonna come after me for it. Finish your pool game, and get the fuck out. I’m not gonna tell you twice.”

Dakota smirked as the man stalked away from the bar, grumbling under his breath. His two friends used their pool cues for support as they roared with laughter. Lyra shook her head as she slid the whiskey drink to another customer, her eyes lighting when they finally found Dakota.

“It’s about time! Get over here!” Lyra squealed as she curved around the bar’s edge, her arms outstretched .

Not much had changed with Lyra over the last twelve years. She still sported her maxi skirts and tight crop tops with a purple-stoned necklace clamped around her throat. Her dark curly hair was still tied back with a silk scarf, and she still hated wearing shoes, preferring sandals or bare feet, no matter the season. Her tawny skin was still enviously flawless, and her husky voice still drew men like a moth to a flame.

But her eyes were shuttered compared to their youth, and she had a rough edge that contradicted the freestyle life she had curated for herself.

Lyra was the only person Dakota voluntarily kept in contact with after escaping Norwich. Even that was under the condition that she never mentioned The Savage Wolves Brotherhood, the night Dakota called her sobbing from Blackdon, or, more importantly, Callum Reynolds. Lyra had adhered to those conditions without question.

“I’m sorry it took so long,” Dakota said, wrapping her arms around Lyra’s neck and pulling her into a tight hug. “Work. John. More work. Avoiding Ethan.”

Lyra reeled back, wrinkling her nose in disgust. “Your father still trying to convince you to date Ethan Sullivan? Gross.”

"Yes. He even showed up at the house three days ago—completely unprompted. John doesn’t see the issue.”

“Someone could staple a red flag to the back of John’s eyelids, and he still would swear he couldn’t see it,” Lyra retorted as she weaved to the other side of the bar. She grabbed two shot glasses, clunking them onto the counter. Next, she grabbed a bottle of clear liquor and filled each glass to the brim before pushing one toward Dakota. “Cheers, bitch. Welcome home.”

The liquor went down smooth, the taste tangy and sweet, and Dakota licked it from her lips. “Hopefully, the riots in Blackdon will subside so I can finish my alchemist association and move right out of Norwich again.”

“He’s already getting to you. I can see it in your eyes.”

Dakota sighed, savoring the second glass Lyra poured. “He’s exhausting. I don’t even want to talk about what he did today.”

When the front door opened again, the warm air fluttered briefly against her back, and a familiar low growl followed on its heels. Motorcycle engines. Just hearing that sound threw her into a place she desperately didn't want to revisit. The abrupt need to escape to the safety of the distillery or a scalding hot shower was unexpectedly unbearable.

But she patched herself up, hoped Lyra wouldn't need her to piece together a thought for a few minutes, and knocked back the rest of the shot in one gulp .

“I know I just visited you in Blackdon a few months ago,” Lyra said as she collected the two shot glasses and dumped them into the sink beside her. “But I’m glad you’re back in town. I’ve missed you. What do you need, Logan?”

Dakota glanced at the man who approached the counter. He was younger than her and Lyra by a handful of years, with a crooked smile and a newly unwrapped toothpick settled in the corner of his mouth. A cold wave of nausea punched her in the stomach when she noticed the wolf patch on the front of his leather motorcycle cut. It took long, slow breaths to keep the liquor from tearing its way up her throat. Lyra sent her an apologetic look.

“Four beers and four shots,” Logan answered before leaning against the bar, his shoulders squared to Dakota. “And who are you?”

“I wouldn’t do that,” Lyra warned in a sing-song voice as she grabbed the first two pint glasses and filled them from the tap.

“What?” Logan asked innocently, an arrogant grin quirking the side of his lips. “I can’t ask a beautiful girl what her name is?”

Dakota recovered in time to click her tongue against her teeth as Lyra set the third and fourth beers on the counter. “You can ask. I won’t answer,” Dakota said.

Logan’s grin widened, a challenge sparking in the depths of his gaze. “Why? You don’t have to be scared of me.” He pointed at the patch on his chest. “I’m from the SWB, baby. I’ve got the whole force of the Brotherhood behind me.”

“Oh, Logan. If only you knew how wrong of an answer that was.” Lyra pushed the four shots of liquor toward him. “Take these and stop embarrassing yourself.”

Logan’s gaze slid toward Lyra. “Are you going to tell me your new friend’s name?”

Lyra grabbed a towel from the underside of the bar and wiped the spilled beer foam from the counter. “No, I’m not. And she’s not a new friend. You should walk away if you want to live to see another day.”

Logan’s gaze flicked between Lyra and Dakota. “You can’t be serious—“

“Now,” Lyra interrupted, shooing him away with the wet dish rag. “Goodbye.” Logan didn’t say another word as he grabbed two of the beers. His friend jostled forward to grab the other two. “Don’t forget your shots!”

The tension gripping Dakota’s stomach began to ease as another friend nabbed the four shots. Seeing the wolf patch made time slow to a devastating crawl—only made worse by the wood-paneled walls closing in on her like a prison cell. She was sure Callum would be a member of the Brotherhood again. That was if he didn't inherit the thing outright .

Logan knew him. One degree of separation. Too close for comfort.

“You okay?” Lyra asked, her gentle gaze filled with apprehension. “In hindsight, I should have—“

“I’m fine,” Dakota said too quickly, slapping a grin on her face that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Really, it’s fine.”

From the raised brows and tightly pressed lips, Lyra was no closer to believing her than she was to believing herself.