37. Ava

Grief is an odd phenomenon,a living entity dedicated to tormenting the soul and exacting memories as its toll. It dives beneath the skin, weaving through tendons and muscles, sinking into the core of our being.

It commandeers time, reducing it to a meaningless figure on a malfunctioning microwave. Grief has the power to unhinge the sanest among us, transforming vibrant thoughts into echoes of what once was.

As I peer at the documents spread before me, my vision blurs, the sensation akin to sandpaper against my eyes. I've lost track of time, reduced to a shadow dwelling in the past, simultaneously living and not.

I've let the world believe I'm healing from human injuries—a broken ankle, ribs, and a thigh wound. Little do they know a simple shift has mended me completely.

Eloise has the clinic handled, and she even broke out the air mattress after I climbed in bed with her because her couch was giving me a crick in my neck.

And my phone… Well, that continues to sit in the little box where it belongs, because I can't call them and tell them what I know now.

I will. I just need time.

Resting my head on the window frame, I stare at the papers.

There is so much incriminating evidence, and I don't know where to start. Fact is, I haven't known what to do with all of this since I began to go through it.

I cried until my eyes swelled. Eloise laid me down with frozen peas on my eyes, and then when they healed, I cried some more.

My father is a monster, and I have the evidence to not only take him down, but also the entire Puritas cult as well—one cell at a time.

The first packet of papers was official Puritas documentation. Inside was a set of papers that include official Puritas Umbra letterhead forms. Among them is a certificate of leadership, explicitly naming Christopher Thompson as the current head of the Puritas Umbra. The document outlines his roles and responsibilities, including the oversight of operations aimed at the eradication of supernatural beings, specifically one known by the code name Eclipse Veil.

It's a secret communications and operations plan within the Puritas Umbra. It signifies actions specifically designed to weaken, demoralize, or directly attack the spiritkin, aiming at the very heart of what makes them unique—their spiritual essence.

It's to kill their spirit, which essentially turns the spiritkin human, and worse, the men in the Puritas Umbra see these women as a challenge. Once they break them, they own them.

This is what my father planned for me—he wanted Elijah to break me, to kill the spirit that I didn't even know I had.

The next set of files are all correspondences. There are several letters and emails indicating my father's direct involvement in planning and authorizing missions against supernaturals. Some of these communications hint at recent operations that align suspiciously with events or attacks known to me and the supernatural community, like the attack on the child.

Then there is the membership list—a full roster listing the names, roles, and contact information of key Puritas Umbra members. This list not only confirms my father's position, but it also reveals a network of individuals working under his command, some of whom I know and are prominent figures in society. Hell, I remember having dinner with these people as a child.

There are property ownership records as well—deeds and other documents proving my father's ownership of the house where my mother was found. This directly ties him to the location and suggests his involvement in activities more sinister than I ever imagined.

That fact took me out for an entire day, because the implication… No, I can't go there yet.

My gaze settles on my father's personal journal—the most damning discovery of all. Within its pages, my dad expounds on his belief in the supremacy of humans over supernaturals, justifying his leadership of the Puritas Umbra. More disturbing is the revelation of my parents' arranged marriage—my father essentially purchased my mother, then systematically crushed her spirit.

Even worse is the photographic evidence. I could have lived my entire life blissfully unaware of these images. They show my father at Puritas Umbra gatherings, including ceremonies and events where members are inducted or promoted. Some photos eerily capture the moments before raids on supernatural communities, with my father prominently featured.

Tears stream down my face again, and I close my eyes, overwhelmed by the last file in the pile. It contains my father's plans for the future—a detailed strategy for targeting and eradicating supernaturals through chilling "cleansing" operations set to occur soon. My heart aches and burns for all those we've lost and all those we stand to lose.

A knock on the door jolts me from my spiral of despair. Rising, I swipe at the lingering tears and sniffle. "I'm coming," I call out as the knocking persists.

Opening the door, I find Brody standing there, sheepishly sporting a fresh haircut. He's dressed in scrubs, stained with what looks like blood, and he's even wearing Crocs. "Hey," I say, feeling my heart flutter.

"Are you okay?" Brody asks, sweeping his gaze over the mess that was once Eloise's apartment.

Guilt washes over me for the hurt I've caused. With a deep breath, I admit, "No, I'm really not." I gesture toward the scattered papers on the table. "It's these files."

"Hey," Brody says, gently taking my hand and intertwining his fingers with mine. He turns me toward him, cradling my face and sending shivers through me with his touch. "I'm not here for the papers or to pry into what you found. I'm here for you, Ava. Just you."

His words are a balm to my soul. I nod, barely managing a whispered, "Okay."

"What are you up to right now?" he asks, his thumbs caressing my cheeks. His touch, warm and incredibly gentle, tempts me to melt into him.

Glancing at the microwave's blank display, I realize, "Shoot, we lost power last night. I don't even know what time it is…or what day."

"Didn't you see any of our messages?" he inquires, concern etched in his features.

Cheeks flushing, I admit, "No, I?—"

"It's still in the box, isn't it?" he guesses, his smile crooked but understanding.

"I just needed to process everything, to take it all in," I confess, resting my forehead against his chest. He smells like the hospital, but beneath that, he smells like Brody—pine and leather, like home.

I've missed him.

"I was hoping you'd check in on Wednesday," he whispers, kissing the top of my head.

"It's not even Tuesday," I reply, wrapping my arms around him, inhaling his comforting scent.

"Ava, sweetheart," he says, gently pulling me back to look into my eyes, "it's Friday."

"What?" My eyes widen in disbelief. "Impossible. There's no way I missed an entire week. You never stopped in," I argue, despite me telling them I needed time.

"We wanted to give you the time you asked for." he admits. "What have you been up to?"

"Eloise is at a conference. She went to New Orleans in my place," I explain, stepping back and hoping I don't smell like I've been secluded for days. "She left on Monday. Or was it Sunday?" My memory fogs.

"Come on. Put your shoes on," he instructs, heading toward my phone, which I've intentionally left untouched in the box.

"What are we doing?" I yawn but comply, sliding into my sneakers.

"When did you last eat?" he inquires, a hint of worry in his voice.

"Breakfast," I respond, my brow furrowing. "Yesterday."

"Yesterday?" He raises an eyebrow. "Ava, with your shifter metabolism, you can't neglect yourself."

"I'll explain later," I say, standing up and approaching the table with renewed determination.

"Later?" Hope colors his tone.

"Yeah," I answer, looking at the list of names. "We have a lot to talk about." I gather all the papers and shove them into my old canvas backpack. "Eloise will be away for another week. The clinic was supposed to be closed, so I'm going to let it stay that way."

"Okay, but—" Brody starts, turning me to face him, my duffle bag in his hand. When I don't comment, he slings it over his shoulder. "Serious talk later. Driving lessons now, all right?"

"What kind of teacher are you?" I ask, locking up and following him out of Eloise's building. "Patient or volatile?"

"Patient," he answers, holding the door open for me. "Besides, if anything happens again, I want to make sure you can drive us to safety." His cheeks flush with embarrassment.

"Touché." A wave of embarrassment washes over me, acknowledging his point. "Oh, it burns." I squint against the sunlight that seems determined to sear my retinas.

"That's what happens when you stay indoors for a week." He chuckles, holding the car door open for me. "Have you let your wolf run?"

"No," I reply, sliding into the seat. "Though I did shift for Eloise."

Laughing, Brody closes the door behind me. I quickly stash my backpack under the seat as Brody opens his door. He notices the papers but chooses not to comment, instead looking at me.

"You shifted in the apartment?" Brody asks as he starts the car, pulling away from the curb and driving down the street.

"She asked," I respond, my attention caught by the engine's purr and the smooth rhythm of the car as we navigate the winding road. There's an electric sense of anticipation between us, a shared excitement I can't ignore. "All right, what do I need to know?" I ask, rubbing my hands together eagerly.

Brody shoots me a look filled with mischief, hinting at a lesson that promises to be about more than just driving. I've missed him—his scent, his smile, and the way he looks at me without any filters.

"First, let's get to know the heart of the beast," he suggests, his voice a gentle rumble akin to the engine's hum. He gestures toward the dashboard, where the dials and displays seem to invite us to explore. "This" —he points to the tachometer— "measures the car's heartbeat, and this" —his hand shifts to the gear stick— "is how you'll whisper sweet nothings to it, coaxing out its full potential." His analogy makes the car seem alive, a being that responds to touch and intent, much like the palpable tension between us.

He guides the car to a secluded spot on the side of the road and announces, "Your turn," with a smile that promises both challenge and excitement. As we switch seats, the air crackles with unspoken promises.

As I settle behind the wheel, Brody leans in, his proximity overwhelming. "First, adjust the seat. You should be able to comfortably press the pedals and stretch your legs." His hand brushes mine, sending a jolt through me, as we adjust the seat. The fleeting touch speaks volumes, acknowledging the start of a nuanced dance.

"Now, the mirrors," he instructs, his breath warm against my ear as he helps angle them perfectly. "You want the best view possible. It's all about perspective," he murmurs, his words layered with meaning. The atmosphere thickens with unspoken thoughts and potential.

With the seat and mirrors set, he explains the functions of the clutch, brake, and accelerator. "The clutch is like a flirtation, the brake sets your boundaries, and the accelerator…" He grins mischievously. "The accelerator is when you're ready to escalate."

As I grasp the gear stick, ready to shift under his guidance, the driving lesson subtly mirrors a lesson in the dance of attraction. "Gently now, feel the car's response," he directs as I shift into first gear, the car responding eagerly to my touch.

Gripping the gear stick, I try to mask my nervous excitement. "Okay, here goes nothing," I whisper, a mix of anticipation and anxiety swirling within me.

The moment I attempt to move the car, it jerks awkwardly before stalling completely, the engine shutting off with a judgmental sigh. "Oh, shoot." I blush, feeling embarrassed.

Brody's chuckle is warm and reassuring, devoid of any mockery. "It's okay, happens to the best of us," he says, his touch sending a familiar thrill through me. "Give it another shot. You have this."

With a deep breath, I restart the engine, and this time, we smoothly pull away without any drama. "You're doing great," Brody encourages, his voice carrying a smile. "Take it easy, aim for the parking garage."

Reaching the parking garage, I feel a small victory. I navigate through the dimly lit concrete labyrinth, finally spotting an open space. With a bit of maneuvering, I park the car and turn to him with a victorious grin. "I did it," I announce, proud of my accomplishment. "Not bad for a first timer, huh?" Our eyes lock as we share a moment of triumph. I drove for the first time ever. Pride swells within me.

"Not bad at all," he whispers, the silence between us heavy.

Suddenly, the air is charged, and his lips find mine in a fervent dance. His hands pull me closer, one tangling in my hair, the other gripping my waist. Our bodies meld together effortlessly, and he deepens the kiss, exploring the depths of our shared desire.

The intensity of our initial embrace is fiery, our passion undeniable, but as we find our rhythm, the frenzied urgency gives way to tender exploration. Each kiss feels like a discovery, each touch revealing new paths to a treasure we're eager to uncover.

His hand traces up my back, eliciting shivers that reach the very core of my being. A gasp morphs into a moan as his fingers find the nape of my neck—a spot he knows all too well. He smirks before lightly grazing my lip with his teeth in a gesture that ignites a deep hunger within me.

Overcome with desire, I straddle him, our bodies responding to each other in perfect harmony. His growl vibrates through me, primal yet achingly tender as he draws me even closer.

"You have no idea what life is like without you, Ava," Brody murmurs against my neck. "I missed everything about you."

"I need you," I whisper in response, my words a breathy promise as I draw him back into a kiss.

The undeniable connection between us threatens to overwhelm me, but I don't care. I'm lost in the moment, craving his touch. This is what I need, the blissful escape he offers.

I've missed him, missed them. This week has taught me where I truly belong—with him, with them—but Ethan will have to wait a bit longer for forgiveness.

As Brody's tongue invades my mouth with an assertive boldness, our bodies press closer, weaving a tapestry of unspoken desires. His hands wander beneath my clothes, igniting fiery trails on my skin. The friction between us builds, threatening to consume us with its intensity, yet it's this raw passion that we crave—a dance of primal desire wrapped in the intimacy of our connection.

With trembling hands, I undo the fastenings on his jeans, freeing his arousal. Anticipation tightens within me at the thought of tasting him. His hands, equally eager, slide my lace underwear down my hips, the brief chill against my skin quickly replaced by the scorching heat of his body pressed against mine.

"This is what I need—fast, maybe rough," I murmur.

"Are you sure?" he whispers against my lips, pausing for affirmation. With my guidance, he enters me. Initially, he's gentle, then he moves with increasing fervor, our shared moans filling the car. We're adrift in a sea of pleasure, seeking the shores of complete fulfillment.

As our tongues intertwine once more, Brody's grip tightens, drawing me impossibly closer. He fills me completely with a thrust that's both smooth and utterly consuming. The friction ignites a wildfire within, a blaze that threatens to engulf us. I wrap my legs around him, urging him deeper, our movements as synchronized as a heartbeat in the confined space.

With every thrust, there's a resonant smack against the car door—a wild cadence to our unrestrained desire. His hand ventures to my breast, teasing through the fabric, sending shocks of pleasure to my core. His groans against my neck send shivers down my spine, each touch marking me as his.

My nails dig into his back, a claim of possession, but it's not enough. I need to be utterly his. My whispers are both encouragement and command, urging us toward an explosive precipice. When our lips meet again, it's a desperate attempt to share our breaths, the intensity leaving us panting.

"Bite me," I tell him, leaning back so I can meet his gaze and let him see how serious I am.

His eyes move back and forth between mine, then over my face. "Ava, you can't go back. Once I bite you…" He trails off.

"I know." I roll my hips for emphasis. "Bite me, Brody, and make me yours."

He swallows, his mouth opening and closing. "Do you want to?—"

"Bite you?" I shake my head. "Will I be able to speak with you telepathically?"

"Not until the bond is complete. I bite you, and you bite me." He peppers kisses along my jaw. "And then we complete the bond."

I nibble my cheek. "At the next full moon," I whisper. "Until then, I want to wear your mark."

"Ava," he moans before his explorations continue, his lips tracing new paths along my jaw. Each thrust deepens, and every moment intensifies until we're teetering on the edge of something monumental.

The air is thick with our scent, sweat mingling with the unmistakable tang of desire. Here, in the echo of an empty garage, we're lost in our secluded world, driven by the relentless heat and hunger that draw us closer to the edge with each passing heartbeat.

The sensation builds, a coiling tension in the pit of my stomach, unraveling me from the inside out. I sense his urgency mirroring mine, his movements more desperate, more compelling. "Ava," he gasps, his voice raw with need. His lips trail to my neck, and then his canines sink into my skin.

Instead of pain, I feel utter bliss. My body coils tighter and tighter, until I vibrate with need, passion, and arousal.

I hold him tighter, digging my nails into his back as we catapult toward climax together. The release, when it comes, is cataclysmic—an explosion of ecstatic bliss that lights up the darkness, our bodies shaking in unison as we navigate the aftermath.

In the wake of such intensity, our shivers and trembles continue. Brody's lips find the tender spot behind my ear, nibbling gently and sending ripples of renewed desire through me. His fingers weave through my hair, pulling me closer, and his deep groan vibrates against my damp skin, sending shivers through me.

"Fuck," he whispers, his body pressed against mine. "You are my everything."

"And you're mine," I whisper, basking in the afterglow. Our scent, potent and intoxicating, fills my senses. He chuckles softly, his lips brushing the top of my head, then he pulls back to meet my gaze, his eyes intense and searching.

"Gladly," he responds with a smirk, sealing the sentiment with a tender kiss to my forehead.

We linger in the moment, our heart rates gradually lowering, until the edges of reality begin to intrude once more. Eventually, he assists me in dismounting, and we awkwardly adjust our clothes. Surveying the deserted garage, I clear my throat, quietly suggesting, "We should probably get going."

Brody nods, acknowledging the need to leave this stolen moment behind. I commit every touch, every kiss, and every single moan of pleasure to memory.