11. Grace

11

GRACE

T he rays of the sun are peeking out through my bedroom curtains and hitting me right in the eyes. I groan, pulling my blanket over my head to block out the brightness.

I've been tossing and turning in bed all night, sleeping in spurts due to exhaustion. My mind can hardly fathom what Ethan just admitted to me. My thoughts have been going back and forth since he left the house.

How can Ethan be a shifter?

How can I be so easily fooled by him?

How could I have been attracted to the very same creature that killed Becky?

I always thought my bullshit radar was well-honed. But I guess it isn't.

My thoughts keep returning to the moment when I first chanced upon Ethan in the woods. I keep replaying every expression in his face, every feature... I recall every word that burst out of his lips… he's never been anything but gentle with me.

I can scarcely imagine the same hands that ran through my body attacking someone with a force hard enough to kill them.

I've been disloyal to Becky long enough. I owe it to her to find out who killed her. I shouldn't have allowed myself to be distracted by anyone – even someone as attractive as Ethan.

What did he say last night? He was my mate?

What an archaic notion.

He spoke about it as if it was something predestined. Does that even still happen? I thought those things only happen in books.

But then again, people thought shifters were the stuff of lore, too.

Yet here we are.

Here I am.

Sleeping with a shifter.

I place my pillow over the blanket, pounding it into my head, as if I could stamp the thoughts into oblivion.

Think rationally, Grace , I tell myself. You've always been a practical, logical woman. How did you get yourself into this mess?

Pulling the pillow and blanket away from my face in one swift motion, I stare hard at the ceiling. I haven't checked the time, but I need to get ready for work. I don't have the luxury of taking the day off and thinking this through. My article is due today, and I still have to sell Don on the shifter story.

I'm still determined to write it, despite what Ethan has told me.

Will it be so wrong to write about it? Would I be endangering his life and his friends' lives if I do?

Frowning as I contemplate the repercussions, I get up and start changing. I'm going to be late at the rate I'm going. I'll just write the article and decide whether I'm going to submit it later.

Later that morning, the office hums with the usual din of ringing phones and clacking keyboards, but my mind is elsewhere. I can't stop thinking about Ethan. Every attempt to focus on my tasks is futile. His confession keeps playing in my head, a relentless loop that leaves me reeling.

My eyes scan the research and notes in front of me, but the words blur together. I can't make sense of anything. I look up at the clock, watching the minutes crawl by. The afternoon feels endless, each tick of the second hand a reminder of how little I've accomplished.

I'm torn. On one hand, I'm undeniably falling for Ethan. There's a pull between us, something magnetic and inexplicable. From the moment I first saw him, I knew he was different. And the way he's been with me—gentle, protective—only deepens my feelings. I've never experienced anything like this before.

But on the other hand, Becky's death has haunted me my entire life. The memory of that night, of the creature that took her from me, is a wound that's never healed. How can I reconcile my love for Ethan with the fact that he's the same kind of creature that killed Becky? The thought twists my stomach into knots.

Is he capable of the same thing? Or should the question be – do I believe him capable of doing the same thing?

The answer is irrevocably no.

Do I believe he deliberately seduced me to stop me from exposing the existence of his kind? Also no.

Is he someone I can build my whole future on?

I don't know.

By the time the workday finally ends, I'm exhausted, both mentally and emotionally. The office empties out, leaving me alone at my desk. I open a new document on my computer, my fingers hesitating over the keyboard. Instead of working on my assigned article, I start writing the expose on shifters, compiling all the information I've gathered so far, as well as Ethan's confession.

The words pour out of me in a torrent, my emotions driving every keystroke. I outline everything I know about shifters, the legends and myths, the truths I've uncovered. I detail Ethan's admission, the way he looked at me, the pain in his eyes as he told me the truth.

I feel a pang in my heart as I read the story that's unfolding through my fingertips. It feels as though what I'm doing is an act of betrayal. Not to Becky – but to Ethan.

Suddenly, I get the feeling I'm being watched. A prickling sensation crawls up the back of my neck. I turn and see Adam peering over my shoulder, his presence sending a shiver up my spine.

"What do you want, Adam?" I ask, trying to keep my voice steady. His sudden closeness feels invasive, and I can sense something off about him.

He shrugs, but there's a glint in his eyes that unsettles me. "Just curious about what you're working on."

"It's none of your business," I reply curtly, hoping he'll take the hint and leave. But he doesn't move, his gaze fixed on my screen.

I quickly save the document and minimize the screen, leaving my wallpaper on the monitor.

"Is it about shifters?" he asks, his voice low and too interested for my liking.

I freeze, my heart pounding in my chest. "Why do you care?"

Adam leans in closer, and I can feel the intensity of his stare. His eyes are sharp, calculating. "Just be careful, Grace. You never know who might be watching."

His words send a chill through me, and I suddenly feel exposed, vulnerable. He's too close, his presence oppressive. I deliberately turn my chair fully away from him.

He's emanating an aura I can't place. Something intangible and dangerous. I stand, pushing my chair backward and forcing him to back down a step. He's invading my personal space in a way that makes me extremely uncomfortable.

I close the document and shut down my computer, grabbing my things and slinging my bag onto my shoulder.

"Thanks for the warning," I mutter, brushing past him and heading for the door. My mind is racing, the implications of Adam's words swirling around in my head. Is he just trying to spook me, or does he know something?

I hadn't planned on leaving the office just yet, but I've only just noticed that I'm all alone with Adam. With how weirdly he's been acting, I suddenly don't feel safe around him.

As I push open the office door, the cool evening air hits me, but it does little to calm my nerves. The encounter with Adam has left me rattled. His words echo in my mind, mingling with the confusion and fear already churning inside me.

Pressing the elevator buttons more urgently, I can't stop the panic from rising up my throat. I glance back at the main entrance, half-expecting to see Adam watching me from the glass, but he's nowhere in sight. Still, the feeling of being watched lingers, and I can't shake the sense that something bigger is at play here.

Was it really a rogue shifter who killed Becky? From everything Ethan has confessed to me, it's highly likely that it is. If that's the case, is it still out there? Who is it? Am I in danger for trying to find out? I need to find out the truth, for Becky's sake and for my own.

I also need to figure out where Ethan fits into all of this. But Adam's warning, the menacing glint in his eyes, makes my skin crawl. There's something he's not telling me, something dangerous.

I start walking, my resolve hardening with each step. This isn't over. Not by a long shot. And now, more than ever, I need to tread carefully. Because in this world of secrets and shadows, trust is a luxury I can't afford.