Chapter 3

Three

IZZY

M r. Montgomery stares at me as if I just whipped out a blue, tentacled, alien dildo and then taped it to my forehead like a unicorn horn. A potent combination of disbelief, horror, and reluctance lines his handsome face.

But I don’t back down, despite his silence. I refuse to.

My head reels from all of the information thrown my way. Wolves? Witches? Warlocks? Blood Companions? Hearts? This feels like something plucked straight out of a bad romance-turned-horror movie.

Instinctively, I lower my gaze to my arm once more. I can’t stop myself. I need to see the brand on my skin. Because that’s what it feels like—a brand. Owning me. Possessing me. Claiming me.

My sweater, however, obscures the mark from view.

Which is probably a good thing, considering I’m less than a second away from being homicidal.

Christian clears his throat and focuses on some of the papers scattered across his desk. There are even more on the floor, almost as if a tornado tore through his office before I arrived.

As I watch, my arms now folded over my chest, Christian begins the painstaking task of straightening the pages. His gaze doesn’t stray my way. Not even for a second.

“As I said before, a wolf’s Heart is similar to a witch’s or warlock’s Blood Companion. A fated mate, so to speak.”

An uneasy feeling swirls in my stomach. “And do these wolves…kill their fated mates to gain power?”

Christian’s head snaps up, and shock splays across his face. “God no!” He shakes his head vigorously. “No. It’s not like that. Wolves treasure their Heart.”

He blows out a heavy breath while simultaneously dragging a hand down his face. After a long moment of silence, he pushes the papers aside and focuses on me once more.

Being the object of his full attention is unnerving, to put it mildly. Unnerving…and arousing. A flush starts in my neck and creeps up to my cheeks.

“Explain,” I say at last, grateful when my voice doesn’t crack.

“As you probably guessed, wolves form packs when they reach a certain age. They can be as small as two and as large as ten or more. Most of these packs live together in a community?—”

“Like this one,” I interrupt.

Christian’s lips nudge upwards a quarter of an inch. “Like this one,” he agrees. “When there are a lot of packs in one place, they usually elect the most powerful pack to settle disputes. We call them the Council. They also deal with all matters concerning nearby supernaturals. They’re the spokespeople on behalf of the wolves, so to speak.”

I purse my lips as I think this through. “And who is your Council?”

A strange, indecipherable emotion flickers across Christian’s face. It’s too fleeting for me to gauge, but it almost looked like…grief.

“My parents’ pack, actually.” He pauses and then adds, “Well, they were the Council. Now, it’s my dad and a different pack.”

I feel as if there’s more to the story than what he’s saying, but I decide to drop it for now. I have a feeling that this is one wound that hasn’t yet scabbed over.

“So what do these packs have to do with the Heart?”

Christian runs a hand through his dark hair, ruffling the black strands. “When wolves are of a certain age, they form a pack. Usually that’s signified by a mark forming on their skin.” He absently runs a finger across his wrist, a forlorn expression marring his face before he masks it. “A lot of times, a wolf will receive a second mark as well—a mate mark.”

“A mate mark,” I repeat, feeling oddly numb. Empty. There’s a hollowness in my chest that refuses to abate.

“Not all pack members will have a mate. Some wolves within the same pack will have different mates. Only strong packs will share a mate—what we call a Heart, though that term is often interchangeable with mate. It’s believed that the Heart will strengthen the pack, make it more cohesive and unified. Wolves will know if they’re a Heart by their eighteenth birthday. Before then, they’ll just believe they’re a mateless wolf.”

“Only wolves are Hearts?” Something akin to jealousy climbs insipidly inside of me.

Christian casts me a strange, unreadable look. “Usually, but not always. Sometimes a witch or warlock can be the Heart of a pack. Sometimes it’s a vampire or a succubus or a?—”

“Wait, wait. Wait a fucking minute. Back up.” I hold my hands up as if I can somehow fend off his words, yet they continue to come at me, a knife that’s all blade and no hilt. “Vampire? Succubus?”

Christian offers me a smile that’s almost pitying. It instantly pisses me off.

“There’s a lot you need to know, Isabella.” He hesitates, his lips firming. “But I’m not sure I’m the one who should be telling you all of this. Your…your mates should.” He speaks through clenched teeth.

“Mates?”

And you’re not one of them?

He seems to realize what he said a second too late. His eyes widen in panic.

“Izzy—”

“I have mates ?”

“I didn’t mean for you to find out like this.”

“Who are they?” I demand, but I know. I fucking know.

A wave of anger capsizes any rational thought in my head. All I know is rage. Rage and betrayal and fear—all three of them so potent they threaten to drown me.

Before Christian can answer my first question, I follow it up with, “Do they know? Do they fucking know that I’m their so-called Heart?”

His silence is answer enough.

Those cunt-licking, ass-kissing, dildo-fucking assholes! Why didn’t they tell me?

And why does Ashton continue to push me away and hurt me if he knows?

I feel like an idiot.

A stupid, oblivious dumbass.

“How is this even possible?” I explode, throwing my arms up in the air. “I’m human. One hundred percent human.”

“Perhaps—”

“Perhaps?!” I’m afraid to admit my voice rises to an embarrassing level. I’m sure scientists haven’t even discovered this particular sound wave yet.

“We should sit down with Hale and Gerry?—”

“Hale and Gerry?”

They know too?

Out of everyone, their betrayal hurts the most.

But can you even call it a betrayal?

What right did you have to know?

I place my knuckles against my forehead and groan.

“I’m fucking this all up, aren’t I?” Christian’s voice is tired. Weary.

“You’re certainly not making this any better,” I snap.

I don’t know how I feel. What to think. How to process.

On one hand, it feels as if my entire life is a lie. Everyone knows this humongous secret while keeping me in the dark. They simply moved me where they wanted me to go—a puppet on strings. A pawn on a chessboard with no checkmate in sight.

On the other, what would I have done if I knew about this earlier? Freak out? Run away? Call them insane? If I didn’t quite literally see my skin change and distort, I probably would’ve laughed in Christian’s face.

So what does this all mean for me?

I don’t get a chance to ponder.

The handle on the office door shakes once, twice, three times, but the lock holds.

Then Ashton’s voice calls out, cocky and belligerent, “Christian? What the fuck are you doing? We need to talk about Isabella.”

And I lose my shit .