Chapter 15

Fifteen

ASHTON

“ W hy the fuck did he get released?” My father slams his fist down on his desk, causing it to shake.

I can’t help but focus on the varnished picture frame directly in front of him, facing away from me. Even without looking at it, I know it’s of my mother—those smiling green eyes and locks of light-brown hair that frame an angelic face.

A part of me hates that I look nothing like her.

I shift my attention towards Matthew, the only other person in the room.

The twins’ father crosses his arms over his chest and sighs heavily. Today, his orange hair clashes comically with his yellow suspenders and vomit-green shirt. He looks like he just graduated from clown school.

“I told you. Grayson Grey wasn’t involved in the murders,” he says.

“And how do you know that?” My father stands abruptly, his knees banging against the desk.

The picture frame topples.

I just barely capture it before it can shatter. I see my mother’s face for a fraction of a second—those green eyes that have haunted me for years now—before Father brutally yanks it out of my hands and settles it back on his desk, straightening it so it’s facing him once more.

For a man who likes to pretend his fated mate doesn’t exist, he’s awfully sentimental.

“Grayson agreed to help me with an… investigation I started,” Matthew says carefully.

Too carefully. For once, his jovial smile is nowhere to be seen.

“An investigation,” my father parrots, frowning. “He’s a human. A Hunter .”

I can see how tightly he’s holding on to his control. Any second now, he’s going to detonate, and I’m not sure any of us will survive the blast.

“He’s neither.” Matthew shakes his head once, the movement causing his floppy red hair to bounce across his forehead.

For the first time since we started this meeting, I speak up. “What do you mean?”

An uneasy feeling blossoms in my stomach.

“He’s a vampire.” Matthew says those words calmly. Nonchalantly.

As if he didn’t just throw a bomb in my lap and watch it explode.

Grayson Grey…is a vampire?

A vampire has been hanging around my mate?

Not my mate. At least, not in the possessive sense. She’s not “my” anything. I made that quite clear to both her, myself, and my packmates.

So why does the thought of a vampire lurking around her fill me with such dread?

I know very little about the creatures that go bump in the night, but what I do know fills me with a distinct sense of unease. They’re said to be killers. Murderers. Torturers. They don’t just drink blood to survive—they do it for the thrill of it. Of course, all of that could be some urban legend passed down from generation to generation.

But still…

If there’s even a hint of truth in that…

A vampire.

A fucking vampire.

I tighten my grip around the armrests of the chair.

“How is that possible?” My father’s tone is imbued with more anger than I can remember him having in months. For once, his unflappable mask has faltered, revealing the spiteful man underneath. “We would’ve noticed?—”

“Not if he starved himself to pass as human,” Matthew counters.

Father’s jaw clenches, and he reaches for the phone on his desk. Even after all of these years, he still insists on keeping a landline. I’m not even sure if the old bastard knows what a cell phone is.

“We need to get in contact with the Elders. Now. They’re up to something.” Father’s gaze slides to me for a moment before immediately flitting away.

He does that often. It’s almost as if it pains him to stare directly at me. I wonder if he sees my mother—his fated mate—in my features. I’m dark-skinned like my father, but I have my mother’s jawline and nose. At least, that’s what people say. I don’t see it.

“Ashton, don’t you have to get to school?” he asks.

This time, I’m the one gritting my teeth together to keep from saying something I’ll regret. “I think I should hear?—”

“Off to school, boy.” Matthew offers me a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “You’re not on the Council just yet. Let the adults handle this.”

Let the adults handle this.

I take a deep breath, reminding myself to remain calm and nod cordially. I’ve perfected the art of keeping my expression utterly blank. Impassive. No one can sense the turmoil lingering just beneath the surface, demanding to be let out.

“Of course.” I stand gracefully and straighten out a crease in my shirt.

Father always tells me I need to look immaculate when going out in public. Wrinkles, he claims, are for people who don’t give a shit about their appearance, and that’s not who I’m supposed to be.

“Please call me if there are any updates,” I say.

“Of course,” Matthew says, but my father remains silent, glaring at the phone on his desk.

Still, I find myself lingering, unwilling—or perhaps unable—to take that final step out of the office. “Should I keep an eye on Grayson?”

“No need.” Matthew waves a hand in the air and exchanges an unreadable glance with my father.

No need?

Grayson was in a cell less than a day ago for the murder of two wolf shifters. Now he’s free, and the Council doesn’t want me to keep an eye on him?

What the fuck is going on?

I feel as if I’m missing something, like I’ve only been handed the outer edges of a puzzle and am forced to shove the pieces together.

What are they hiding?

But instead of saying any of that out loud, I simply nod once and slip out of the room.

My father and Matthew can do what they want, but I don’t trust Grayson Grey any more than I can throw him. There’s a reason he was released from prison, and I’m going to find out why.

The last thing I want is to go to school. To be surrounded by idiotic classmates who don’t have a single working brain cell between them all.

And, more than that, I don’t want to see my packmates or Isabella.

I still remember the fury on Emery’s face as he rammed his fist repeatedly into me…

Trying to ignore the residual panic coursing beneath my skin, I lift my chin up high and stalk towards my locker. Students part for me immediately, but it doesn’t bring about the usual amount of satisfaction.

Usually, one of my packmates waits for me at my locker.

Today, the hall in front of it is empty.

I am calm. I am collected.

I repeat that mantra in my head as I twist my dial combination and take out my books for the day.

I am calm. I am collected.

No one can see me break.

I did what was right for my pack—I know I did—so why does it hurt so damn much? Why does it feel like needles driving into my brain, causing my heart to pound even faster?

I am calm. I am collected.

Movement at the end of the hall captures my attention. I turn to see Emery chatting with a group of guys on the football team. When his eyes meet mine, they harden instantly, turning glacial. He sneers at me.

Emery has been my best friend since we were in diapers. We’ve had petty disagreements over the years, but never anything like this. Not once has he ever looked at me with such raw, unfettered hatred before.

She did this to us.

She tore us apart.

Just as I knew she would.

Emery turns and stomps away without a single word to me, and I watch his retreating back with a spike growing in my throat. Swallowing it down proves to be impossible.

“You fucked up.”

I turn to see my older brother leaning against the wall beside me, his sleeves pushed up to his biceps and his arms crossed over his chest. His dark hair is mussed in a way that makes my eyebrow begin to twitch. Hasn’t the imbecile ever heard of a hairbrush before? Father would have an aneurysm if he were to see him now.

“You shouldn’t be using that language around a student,” I snap, something dark and insidious crawling through my chest like a venomous snake. It grips my heart in a vise-like hold and refuses to release.

“I’m not going to pretend to understand your reasoning?—”

“I need to get to class.” My voice is inflectionless as I begin to walk away. I don’t want him to hear the anger brewing. That would mean I lost control, and I refuse to allow that to happen.

Not in front of him.

Not in front of the brother who abandoned me when I needed him most, leaving me behind with our deranged father.

“You’re not just going to lose your mate but your pack as well,” Christian calls to me.

His words still my feet.

I turn only my head to glare at him over my shoulder. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I don’t?” One of his eyebrows lifts mockingly. Arrogantly.

And I find I want to hurt him. I want to hurt him the way that I’ve hurt myself, the way I hurt my packmates, the way I hurt Isabella.

“You don’t have a pack, Christian, so you can’t possibly understand.” I bare my teeth at him. “Why don’t you retreat into the woods and lose your mind there? I’m not in the mood to deal with you and your baggage.”

For a brief, brief moment, I swear I see pain flicker in Christian’s eyes. But it’s only for a second—no, less than a second—and I wonder if I imagined it in the first place.

Still, I can’t help but feel a pang of guilt.

Guilt…and self-loathing so intense I fear I’ll drown in it.

“Be that as it may, I know your packmates. And believe it or not, I know Izzy. You’ll lose them all if you keep pushing them away.”

Fuck. Even hearing her name is a punch to the gut.

Isabella is a perfect poison, deadly but enticing, unhealthily intoxicating. I need to purge her from my body once and for all.

I am calm. I am collected.

I am calm. I am collected.

I am calm. I am collected.

Once I’m sure I have my emotions under control, I give Christian a dry look and say, “I’m protecting my packmates.”

And Isabella too.

Even if she doesn’t see it.

Even if she doesn’t understand it.

I’ll be her villain, if that’s what it takes to keep her safe.

I just pray I don’t come to regret this decision in the end.