Sydney
Mom watches me come back downstairs like she hasn’t moved from the steps in the grand foyer in the hour I’ve been in the orrery. The castle is quiet, but several eyes watch my progress in total silence.
Mom’s housekeeper whispers something to a maid, who scurries away into the dark recesses of the castle.
My mom grabs my arm as I pass her. I halt mid-step. “What’s wrong?” she asks.
I shake my head, unable to find the words I need to convey the situation I’m in, that Sarah’s in. When I don’t say anything, she asks, “Did something happen?”
“I have it handled.”
“Can you tell me–”
“I can’t.” I meet her eyes. I won’t come between my parents. I can’t tell her about Sarah and the crushing truth I’ve learned. I can’t tell anyone else.
Because Sarah would be taken from me, separated from Blake, and probably brought to Eastonia, and I won’t allow it.
Mom reaches up and cups my cheek. Every emotion roiling in my heart swells at her touch. I want nothing more than to tell her everything, but she’d have to promise that she’d keep this secret from her own mate.
I know she can’t. It’s too big of an ask.
Her lips part, but I wrench away from her and continue down the stairs, blowing past the confused castle staff and the warriors waiting by the door, waiting for commands in the event I’m here at this odd hour because something serious happened.
I’m not sure where I’m going when I get into my truck, but it’s not the road I take home to Shadowcrest. The sun rises over the Neutral Zone, casting the area in streams of gold and pink. The gray, unkempt buildings rise all around me.
Nothing is open yet. Every storefront I pass is empty. The sideways and covered entrances haven’t been swept free of snow.
But a bodega on the corner lights up the area with its flashing open sign, so I pull my truck against the curb and step out.
A bell chimes as I walk inside. I keep my head low as I move toward the coffee machine on the far side of the room.
“You know who I am, Rich. Come on.”
“Pay your tab, and then we can talk. The boss told me–”
“I don’t care what your boss told you,” growls a familiar voice that has my head snapping in the direction of the checkout counter. “I’ll have the money I owe him after tonight’s poker game, okay? I just need in–”
My feet move of their volition, and I’ve face to face with Mr. Foxglove, the landlord who tortured and swindled Sarah out of so much money it makes my head spin to even think about.
I grab him by the collar of his jacket and slam his head down on the edge of the counter. The clerk stands there, motionless, watching every move I make as I drag Foxglove out of the shop and into the street.
Only then does the clerk follow, watching from a distance as I kick the landlord repeatedly in the stomach.
“Get up,” I snarl, kicking him again. “Don’t make this so easy for me.”
Foxglove sways to his feet, blood pouring down his face from a gash on his forehead, and pulls a knife from his jacket.
I grab his wrist and twist. He drops the knife, and I drive my fist right into the center of his rat-like face.
My knuckles split at the impact, but I’m beyond feeling. Foxglove falls to the ground, motionless, his eyes rolling back in his head.
Panting, I slowly turn to the clerk.
“Do you need him for anything, or can my boss have him?” the clerk asks without an ounce of emotion.
I’m aware of the underground network rife in the NZ, the crime lords who oversee illegal gambling rings and auctions. Dragging Foxglove back to Shadowcrest and having him tried for his crimes against Sarah and his other tenants would be a mercy I’m not willing to give him.
But leaving him to pay for his debts, in blood, to whatever boss he pissed off?
“Take him. I don’t want to see this man ever again. I’ll repay his debts to your boss if you can make that happen.”
“Alpha,” the clerk says with a bob of his head.
I get back in my truck, resisting the urge to run Foxglove over, and drive back to Shadowcrest without the coffee.
* * *
Cosette sits on the edge of my bed, running a brush through Sarah’s hair when I return to the manor.
She looks up at me as I enter the room with dark circles lining her eyes. She’s exhausted. She’s been up all night.
Sarah’s eyes are closed. She looks like she’s sleeping, but it’s more than that. No touch brings her back. No loud sound. Not even Blake crying for her will rouse her.
Cosette’s eyes scan my body, landing on my bleeding hand.
Normally she’d ask what happened and then scold me like I’m a child, but today, she just nods to herself and looks back down at Sarah.
“You should expect guests within the next twenty-four hours. Have a room made up for them, please.”
“Kenna, I presume?” She drops all formality. It doesn’t matter in a time like this.
“And her mate.”
Cosette nods as she rises, her eyes still locked on Sarah. She struggles to swallow before turning to face me, saying, “She has a mark on her arm that wasn’t there before.”
I close my eyes as the fragmented memory of Sarah being tortured by Gabriel flashes through my mind.
Something heavy roils through our bond. Someone else marked my mate. Marked her as a child against her will. She’s lived with that mark. She’s been hiding it for years using what I presume are her powers.
“I want to cut it out,” Cosette says timidly, which is totally uncharacteristic of her. She meets my eyes, taking a shallow breath. “I need to cut it out, Alpha. But I can’t do it without your explicit permission to… to hurt her, because it will probably hurt, and I need to know that you won’t hurt me for touching your mate.”
I want to tell her I would never hurt her, especially over something as necessary as this, but Cosette has been around long enough to know that mates are exceedingly territorial and honestly murderous when it comes to their partners.
The idea of anyone hurting Sarah twists in my gut. I see red, unable to stop myself from feeling these emotions.
“You can’t be here when I do it. You need to be far away.”
“I understand,” I choke out.
“I want warriors outside the door.”
Warriors to stop me from charging in, shifting, and tearing Cosette apart.
“And you need to talk to someone about this, Sydney,” she says with motherly affection, laying a hand on my arm. “Ryan, maybe.”
“I can’t involve him.”
“He would want to be involved.”
“Kenna will be here soon. I’ll know what we’re dealing with then, and then I’ll tell Ryan.”
“Her friend Hadley called while you were gone. I told her Sarah wasn’t feeling well. Does Hadley know the truth?”
“I doubt it.” I think Sarah hid this part of herself from everyone. She buried her past and meant to keep it buried on that island for the remainder of her life.
“Can Hadley be trusted?”
“I’ll talk to Ryan about it. It doesn’t matter now. Sarah just needs to get better.”
Cosette nods and starts turning me toward the door. I notice the sharpened knife on the bedside table, a metal jar, and a pair of thick, rubber gloves.
“It’s liquid silver,” she says in a near whisper. “To eat away the mark if it’s deep. It will leave a scar, I’m afraid. But–” She stops in the doorway, turning to face me. “She won’t feel it as much, I don’t think. It’s better to do it now, when she’s asleep like this.”
“I agree.”
“Then you’ll let me?”
“I wouldn’t trust anyone else with it, Cosette. Please do what you think is best. I trust you.” I lean down and press a kiss to her cheek. When I pull away, tears line her lower lashes.
But as I turn, she says, “You need to spend some time with Blake.”
“I don’t know if I can.”
“He’s your son, Sydney.”
“I’m well aware–”
“He needs you. Sarah needs you to be strong for him right now.”
A flash of anger–misplaced and wrong–spirals through my system, leaving me breathless. I shouldn’t be angry with Sarah. If anything, I’m beyond devastated for her, for us, and for our son but…
She could have trusted me. She could have told me, the night we met and realized we were mates, who she really was.
I would have protected them both. Instead, she stole my memories. She blocked me out and then nearly died rather than facing this together.
“Where is he?”
“Dalia is with him. She hasn’t left him.” She gives me a little shove down the hallway. “Take him somewhere today while I take care of the mark.”
Cosette disappears back into my room without another word. I find Dalia in the sitting room attached to Sarah’s old room. She watches me approach in silence and gently passes Blake to me. “Get some rest, Dalia,” I tell her, and she leaves the room, hopefully going upstairs to her own quarters.
I quickly pack a bag for Blake–diapers, wipes, a blanket–and go downstairs for a bottle.
Warriors appear. My warriors. My own packmates. They watch me closely as I maneuver through the house with Blake, analyzing my every move. They don’t know why they’ve been called here today by Cosette, of all people. They likely didn’t understand why we were out searching for Sarah, my house guest, all day yesterday.
In time, my pack will learn the truth. They’ll regard Sarah as my mate, my Luna. But until then, their only job is to protect her, even from me.
I hate that it has to be this way, but Cosette is right. I can’t be here. She needs warriors to protect herself from me.
The moment I pull my truck up to the cottage I’ve been getting ready for Sarah, I feel the first slice of flesh being flayed from my mate through our bond, and I grip the steering wheel to stop myself from screaming in rage.
It’s an effort to get Blake out of his car seat and into the warm sanctuary of the nearly empty cottage. My entire body thrums with nervous energy. Sarah might not be able to feel what’s being done to her, but I do. Every flicker of pain ignites in my heart, rendering me unstable and blind to everything around me.
Everything except for my son.
I sink to the ground in the living room, my back sliding down the new floral wallpaper. I hold onto Blake for dear life as Cosette, two miles away, cuts Gabriel’s mark from Sarah’s skin and douses the wound in silver.
I feel every moment like it’s happening to me.
She was right to tell me to leave and to take Blake with me. He is the only thing grounding me, the only thing stopping me from shifting and running back to the house.
He looks up at me with eyes that match mine–confused, anxious, and heartbroken.
“It’s okay,” I tell him, fighting past the physical and emotional pain. I rest him against my chest, my hand covering his back as I lay my cheek against the top of his head. “She’s going to be okay.”
I watch the light creep through the windows as minutes turn to hours. Blake sleeps against my shoulder, his tiny fists gripping my shirt.
Somewhere in my depths of despair, my voice rings out on its own in a deadly promise.
“Come for us, you fucking bastard. Face me like a man. You told me once that I’d never be able to protect them, and I understand what you meant now. You can’t possibly grasp what I’d do to protect what's mine. Come for me, Gabriel. Finish what you started.”
The words echo through the cottage.