Chapter 15 - Jonah

Jonah paced outside of the room where Vera tended to Moira. She'd brought her ultrasound machine from work, a handheld device that she used to ensure the baby was still healthy and safe inside of Moira. Once that was determined, Vera locked Jonah out of the room and demanded privacy. He hadn't managed to get very far, too worried for Moira to leave her presence.

He couldn't make out the words in their raised voices, but a heated discussion was happening on the other side of that door. At times, so heated that he was tempted to barge in and make sure that Vera was no threat to Moira, but he knew neither sister would appreciate his intrusion. Instead, he walked back and forth along the hallway in Vera's sterile, pristine home.

Finally, Moira came out. Her eyes were red-ringed, but he dared not hug her, not with Vera right behind her. She smiled weakly at him.

"We're both okay," she reassured him.

Vera crossed her arms and stared Jonah down. "She's not okay. She's got a broken rib because you can't handle yourself in a fight. You didn't even manage to catch them?"

"We caught him," Moira protested, coming to Jonah's aid, "Jonah was just more worried about me than he was about keeping him."

But the shame still stung him. He had let another wolf hurt his mate right in front of him, and they could've hurt his child, too. Then, he'd let them run off where they could make another attempt at it. He hung his head.

"Did you get a good description of them, at least?" Vera badgered.

He glanced at Moira, who shook her head. In the low light, he hadn't been able to make out much more than the impression of sand-hued fur and no distinctive features, and it seemed like Moira hadn't managed much more than he had. At least he felt confident that it wasn't Vera now. Even in poor lighting, he was sure Moira would recognize her own sister.

"Not really. Tannish? Big, stocky, powerful. A male," he said, though even that had been hard to discern, the wolf's scent muddled by the smoke still burning in his nose.

Moira was pale and exhausted, swaying on her feet. Jonah caught her arm and steadied her, ignoring Vera's heated glare. "She's going to stay here with me tonight," Vera said, daring him to challenge her. "Where I can keep an eye on her, and we'll have a Rosewood out guarding all night. So you can just run along back home now."

She shooed him away, dismissing him, but Moira's hand was tight on his arm. "You did everything you could, Jonah," she assured him. "It wasn't your fault, and Vera says with how us wolves heal, I'll be back to my old self in a day or two. Don't beat yourself up over this."

He sighed. "Easier said than done. Are you sure you want me to go?"

Before answering, Moira looked to Vera, who gave a tight shake of her head no. He had a long way to go to earn Vera's trust. It felt like an insurmountable mountain just then.

"Yes, I'm sure. Go get a good night's sleep." Moira released his arm.

"I've got the guest room ready," Vera said, tugging Moira toward one of the closed doors in the hallway.

"I'll come see you tomorrow," he said, slinking by them and heading down the stairs.

Vera clucked her tongue. "I'd rather you didn't."

"Please do," Moira said over her sister. Then Vera pulled her into the guest room and shut the door, leaving Jonah with no choice but to leave.

He walked outside and considered what to do next. There was a hunch that he had to follow, he decided. That morning, there had been two options for the vandal's identity in his mind, Vera, or Evans. They had just ruled out Vera, which meant it was down to one.

Jonah had to face what he had been avoiding ever since coming to home from the White Winters. He made his way to his childhood home, dread accumulating in his stomach with every step her took. The main street was silent and eerie, and the once-grand house lurked like a sleeping giant on its corner. Its picket fence leaned toward the ground.

For a long time, Jonah stood on the front doorstep. Memories flooded him, all of the times he had run through that door barefoot, tracking in sand as a child. His mother laughing, scolding him, but never stopping him. Then, more recent memories. The dread of walking in that door, knowing his father would be there with a drink in his hand and an argument on the tip of his tongue. No matter how quietly Jonah crept into the house, his father would appear.

A waft of stale air hit him as he opened the door. He flicked the light switch beside the doorframe and stepped inside, letting his eyes adjust. It was much the same as when he'd left it. Stacks of junk in every corner. Dust an inch thick across it all. Cobwebs in the corners.

Still, he could see the bones of the place beneath it all. It had been built with love and attention, and it, like the rest of the town, deserved more than to fall to pieces from neglect. He slid by the piles of junk and headed up the stairs, familiar creaking beneath his feet from the old floorboards.

His bedroom was the first in the hallway, and he passed it without opening the door, not wanting to see what his father had turned it into during Jonah's absence. The bedroom his father and shared with his mother was at the far end of the hall, and across from it, his father's office. During the good years, Silversand members had been in and out of their house, and the office had been pristine and ready for guests.

Bracing himself, Jonah nudged the door open. To his surprise, it wasn't as congested as the rest of the house. Stacks piled up on the floor around the desk, but most of the desks remained clear. He flicked on the lamp behind the desk and started flipping through his father's papers, not sure what he was looking for.

Bills mixed with letters from concerned pack members, people pleading for help to keep their businesses going after the town had faded into obscurity. It seemed his father had done everything he could to cut tourism in the town. Jonah might never know why unless he stumbled upon his father's diary.

He recognized his mother's handwriting at once. It was graceful cursive, dramatic curving letters, and the lush ink of a quality pen. A hand gripped Jonah's heart in a vice as he read. His mother knew of the affair his father was having, of the child that had resulted from it. She made no demands of him. In fact, her writing sang with the empathy and gentleness he remembered from her, even when her heart must have been torn in two.

Jonah set the letter aside and kept searching. Here was his evidence that there was in fact, another son, that it might be Evans, but there must be more to the story. A second letter from his mother illuminated another piece of the puzzle. The other woman was married. His mother pleaded with his father for caution, warning him that if the woman's husband found out, there would be more than just their marriage at risk. He'd put the whole pack in danger.

There were no more letters from his mother in the drawer. Jonah wondered if they'd been a last-ditch effort to get his father to listen, after he'd tuned out her pleading in person. One more letter of interest, from a Silversand elder warning his father that they had spotted a suspicious man armed with a gun in the area.

Setting the letter down, Jonah tried to put the puzzle pieces together. His father had an affair with a human woman. The husband of his mistress had found out and come to town for vengeance. Had he found it? Jonah thought of his mother's body, and the mysterious circumstances surrounding her death, the way he'd never gotten the answers he'd needed.

If that man had killed his mother, perhaps his father had been driven by more than grief but guilt as well. Perhaps he'd shut down the town to keep anything like that from happening again, to protect his wolves from human intruders. It was his father's way, that black-and-white thinking. Now, where did Evans fit into the puzzle, Jonah wondered.

As the child of the mistress, he might resent Jonah's father for destroying his parents' marriage. He might resent him for the wolf form he'd inherited, without the knowledge of being surrounded by a pack. Jonah sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. Even if he had managed to untangle this web, it wouldn't have fixed the problems he was facing now.

That would come down to Evans. As much as Jonah wanted to rip the other man's throat out, remembering how he'd knocked Moira aside, he knew he had to try to reason with him first. He had to try to patch up the things his father had torn apart.

With a final look around the office, Jonah turned out the lamp and went back downstairs. He couldn't linger there with the ghosts of his parents so close. The memories seemed to come alive the longer he stayed in that place, and now, with the words of his mother's heartache in his mind, they were too much for him to bear.

He locked the door and made a mental note to call a cleaning crew the next day, then went home to take a long shower, scrubbing the dust from his skin as his thoughts tangled.

***

Two days later, Jonah was no closer to finding Evans.

"So what, no one has heard from him?" Moira asked, frowning. "And he's trying to be the next alpha? Not exactly giving off the most reliable vibe."

They were on their way to drop off the check with Mrs. Alden, and he could feel Moira's excitement in the way she walked and the quick, giddy smile on her face that even their conversation couldn't stifle. She was healed up after her tumble with the other wolf. She had been given Vera's seal of approval to leave the house. However, it had come with a list of conditions that Jonah had to abide by and the promise that if Moira ever got hurt under his watch again, he'd pay for it.

"It's certainly suspicious," Jonah agreed. "But maybe he just needed to go home for a while. He didn't grow up here, after all. I'm trying not to jump to conclusions."

He'd already told her everything he'd found in his parents' house. Moira listened thoughtfully, and he could see her mind working as she puzzled out the same pieces he had and came to the same conclusions.

"Better for us if he never comes back, honestly," Moira said.

It would make things simpler. With no competition for alpha, Jonah could assume the role and begin putting things back together for the Silversands. And if Evans really was the vandal at the heart of the latest crimes, the area would be a lot safer, too. But he couldn't imagine Evans just walking away from everything.

"We shouldn't talk about it now. I want to focus on your new bakery." Jonah passed her check as they approached Mrs. Alden's house, a shabby two-story with a lovingly tended garden out front and a pumpkin on her stairs.

"My new bakery," Moira breathed, staring down at the check in her hand. "I can't believe it. Is this real?"

She held it up to the sunlight like she was checking for fake money, then pressed it against her chest.

"Scout's honor," Jonah promised. He ran up the steps and rang the doorbell. "Get up here. This is all you, Moira."

She smoothed her knit dress and took the steps slowly, like she expected the whole place to vanish any moment. It stayed solid, and they waited side by side outside of Mrs. Alden's.

"Should I ring it again?" Jonah asked, peering at the windows beside the door. Blue, floral curtains hung in front of them, blocking his view inside, but there was a light on somewhere.

She grabbed his arm to stop him. "She's old, she moves slowly. Give her a minute to get to the door."

They waited. And waited. Jonah bounced on his toes and cupped his hands around his forehead, taking another look inside.

"I'm going to knock," he said, raising his hand, "just in case she can't hear the doorbell."

He tapped his knuckles against the door and waited, watching Moira from the corner of his eye. She was breathtaking. Every time he looked at her, his heart pattered faster, and it was all he could do to stop himself from begging her to give them a real chance. What if they could be more than fake mates?

His feelings for her were complicated, the mix of guilt and attraction, the pull of fate like a pressure chamber, and he knew she didn't feel the same about him. How could she, after how he'd treated her? Still, she played her part so well, and Jonah knew it was a testament to how badly she wanted this bakery that she was willing to put up with him to get it.

"Maybe she's not home?" Moira held the check tightly with both hands. "We could come back another time."

"The light's on," Jonah reminded her, "and from what you've told me about her, she doesn't seem like the type of woman who would go around wasting electricity. Something is off here."

Moira took his place at the window, craning her neck to see around the curtain. "Try the door."

Surprisingly, it opened. The ease of entry only increased Jonah's feeling that something was wrong inside. He didn't waste his breath asking Moira to stay outside, knowing she'd follow him in regardless of what he said.

"Hello?" He called.

There was no answer. Moira passed him and went to look in the kitchen, shaking her head when she returned. "No one in there either. Should I check upstairs? I feel like I'm invading her privacy."

"If she weren't elderly, I'd agree, but what if she fell? Let's go up." They climbed the stairs together. "Hey, I'm sure she's okay."

Moira's face was growing more worried with every step they took in the silent house. "I know, I'm sure she is. It's just weird, and with everything else going on, I can't help but worry."

At the top of the stairs, they split off and searched the rooms, returning to the hallway empty-handed.

"Maybe she just stepped out for groceries or something," Jonah offered as they headed out of the house.

Moira lingered in the entry. "Maybe, but you don't believe that, do you?"

Jonah weighed the benefit of lying to her to ease the worry etched across her face and decided against it. One of the things he liked about Moira was her ability to face things head-on, and there were already enough lies between them.

"No, but there's not much more we can do here. Why don't you ask around at the Rosewoods? I'll see what I can figure out with the Silversands. We can meet up later."

She nodded, and for a moment, Jonah thought she was going to hug him goodbye. Her bouts of affection were sporadic, impulsive, and he tried not to get his hopes up for them. It was even harder now, knowing that their child was growing inside of her. That they'd created life together.

It hadn't been something he'd thought of much before, when the idea of a relationship was at the farthest reaches of his mind. His life was too erratic for that. He couldn't promise stability when he didn't have any inside of himself to begin with. Yet here he was. Fated mate and a future father. If only he could make his mate care about him.

"See you later," he said, finally, when the silence had stretched too long and the desire to grab her, to hold her, was too great to ignore for another second.

He left her on Mrs. Alden's doorstep and forced himself not to look back.