Chapter 49

Forty-Nine

IZZY

“ S o let me get this straight.” I can’t seem to wrap my head around everything Christian just told me. Some of it I heard before from Grayson, but… “Your father believes that wolf shifters are killing off other wolf shifters? That Kain is somehow involved?”

Christian doesn’t pull his gaze from the windshield as he expertly steers his car down a dirt road.

“They’re not the only supernaturals who have been killed recently.” His lips purse. “My research shows me that vampires, witches, and warlocks have all seen a substantial increase in deaths over the past few months.”

“And all of the murders are made to look like they’ve been done by Hunters?”

Christian nods. “Maybe some of them were done by Hunters, but all of them?” A muscle twitches in his jaw. “Something doesn’t add up.”

I focus straight ahead, trying to process everything I was just told.

I still find it surreal that there’s an entire group of humans who will actively try to kill us just because of our blood. Christian even pointed out that they would go after me , despite the fact I show no characteristics of a supernatural. It’s disgusting.

“My father told me that the various packs have been discussing war,” Christian says quietly.

I grip the seat belt over my chest. “War? With the Hunters?”

How would that even work? It’s not as if Hunters wear color-coordinated clothes when making their kills. They look like any random person walking down the street.

Does this mean the shifters will attack humans at random? Anyone they think may be a threat?

“I don’t know what the fuck is going on, but I don’t like it. Not one bit.” Christian shakes his head slightly.

“So that’s why you’re here?” I cautiously turn towards him, unable to help but admire the strong lines of his profile and the dark stubble grazing his chin. “Because you’re helping your father investigate the deaths?”

“Before Larissa and Ali, there were only a few deaths in the area—not enough to draw any conclusions. But my father had his suspicions and asked for my help.” His long fingers tap against the steering wheel as he releases a humorless laugh. “You’re the only person who knows the true reason why I’m here.”

“Ashton doesn’t know?”

“AJ is…” He struggles to find the right words. “He’s the smartest man I know, but he’s also the most oblivious. He never bothered to ask me why I was here; he simply developed his own conclusions.”

“Why do you call him AJ?” I heard Christian refer to him that way before but never discovered the reason.

Christian smiles, the curve of his lips effortless. “His first name is Ashton, and his middle name is James. Our mom used to always refer to him as AJ, and I guess the nickname stuck…though our father refuses to use it. I think that’s why Ashton loathes the nickname now. It reminds him too much of our mother and how things used to be.”

“You told me before that Ashton is your half brother.” I think back through my conversation with Hale and Gerry. “I thought that packs…combine DNA to make a child.”

Christian glances at me once before refocusing on the road. The trees here are thinner, giving way to rustic log cabins and cottages. I wonder if some of the packs live here. I suppose it makes sense. If I were a wolf shifter, I would want to live somewhere deep in the forest so I don’t accidentally run into a wayward hiker.

“That’s true,” he agrees easily, pulling the car to a stop.

Dozens of cars line the dirt street. Up ahead, a short walk away, people move about, their faces indistinguishable. Unease curls in my chest like a snake.

“But my mother had me before she met her true pack. They adopted me when I was a baby.” Sadness splashes across his face, causing my chest to constrict.

“I wish you hadn’t lost them,” I whisper.

One of his hands rests on the center console, and I desperately want to reach for it. Squeeze it. Offer him comfort. But I resist.

“I never knew my birth father,” Christian confesses. “He was a one-night stand of my mother’s who died shortly before I was born. Drug overdose. My mother’s packmates were the only fathers I’ve ever known.”

Fuck it.

I place my hand over his. “I’m here for you if you ever want to talk.”

“I know.”

For a long moment, we simply sit there, not saying anything. Hell, we’re not even looking at each other, both of our gazes fixed on the shifters in the distance.

But I’ve never felt more at peace.

Is this the mating bond at work? Christian? I don’t know for sure, but I can’t say I’m upset. Warmth envelops me from head to toe, wrapping me in a comforting embrace I don’t want to escape from.

It’s Christian who breaks the silence first, his tone reluctant. “We should get out of the car.”

“Yeah.”

Neither of us moves.

Christian licks his lips and flicks his eyes in my direction. “I really am sorry that I kept all of this from you. I know I shouldn’t have?—”

“You really shouldn’t have,” I agree, interrupting him. I give his hand a squeeze before releasing it and unhooking my seat belt. “I’m not sure if I’ve forgiven you completely yet. You still need to grovel.”

”Grovel?” He arches an eyebrow.

When Ashton does it, he looks arrogant and pompous. When Christian does it, he just looks…cute.

Ugh. He’s killing me.

“You know…get on your knees and beg for my forgiveness and all that jazz,” I say, waving a hand in the air for emphasis.

His eyes heat, turning molten, and an answering blaze of warmth rushes straight to my core.

“If you want me on my knees, baby girl, all you have to do is ask.”

Oh. My. God.

A flush starts at my chest, traverses up my neck, and stops at my cheeks. I feel hot all over.

Christian smirks at whatever expression he sees on my face—probably one of absolute shock and wonder—then smoothly slides out of the car. It takes me a long moment to get myself under control, to calm my rampant heartbeat until it’s at a manageable level.

“That wasn’t nice!” I huff, following after a grinning Christian.

“What are you talking about?” he asks with an innocence befitting the devil himself.

I pantomime strangling him, and he laughs out loud at that, the noise carefree and airy. It causes an answering smile to pull at my lips. The butterflies in my stomach begin to riot.

We walk side by side to the party, our hands so close they almost touch. Each step causes the tips of our fingers to graze. At one point, I swear Christian hooks his pinkie with mine, but when I glance in his direction, he ignores me, focusing straight ahead.

“I’ve never been to a werewolf party before,” I whisper to Christian as we finally join the crowd I spotted from the car.

“Wolves aren’t the only shifters out there,” Christian tells me softly, his eyes dancing with amusement. “They’re just the most common.”

“But ‘werewolf’ sounds so much cooler than ‘shifter,’” I protest.

He chuckles again. “Don’t let anyone here hear you say that. Werewolf is almost considered a curse word in these parts.”

My eyebrows shoot up to my hairline. “Is it really?”

Oh my god. How many times have I jokingly called one of the guys or Hale or Gerry a werewolf?

Christian winks at me. “No.”

“You asshole!” I playfully swat at his shoulder as he stealthily dances away from me.

A part of me can’t seem to coincide this Christian to the one at my school. Mr. Montgomery. I wonder if this was how Christian was before he discovered he was a lone wolf, before he moved out of his home and into the wilderness, before he left everyone and everything he knew behind.

A sudden sadness replaces the joy I felt only moments before.

Christian, oblivious to my change in mood, grabs my arm. “Come on. Let me introduce you to people.”

The introvert in me wants to shake my head adamantly and retreat to the perimeter of the party, where I can watch and not be forced to interact. But the part of me curious about this world and the people in it allows Christian to pull me forward.

The party takes place between four houses—two on one side of the road and two on the other. All of them are rustic in appearance, seeming to be constructed out of red-brown logs.

Both adults and children alike play on the street, in the yards, and on the front porches. There’s what appears to be a buffet in the front lawn of the largest house. A game of volleyball takes place on the lawn across the street. The sound of laughter fills the air.

It’s…perfect.

Almost too perfect, like flipping through a catalog encouraging people to buy property in a new town.

The sight does very little to calm my rapidly growing unease.

Christian moves towards two men who are conversing a short distance from us.

“Izzy, I’m sure you know?—”

“Silas, how are you?” I interrupt, recognizing the man closest to me.

His broad shoulders, scarred face, and perpetual scowl are unmistakable. I haven’t seen him since my last shift at the theater, before…

A knot forms in my throat.

Silas downs his bottle of beer. “I’ve been better, kid.”

Dark shadows distort the skin beneath his eyes.

I don’t know what to say to him. Apologizing seems…wrong, somehow. I never understand why people say “I’m sorry” when something bad happens, despite having nothing to do with it. Those two words don’t change anything, don’t fix anything. I think an apology is designed to expresssympathy towards a situation, but it just feels shallow, somehow. Insincere.

So what I say instead is, “I wish that never happened.”

I could clarify what I meant—I wish Minnie never died, I wish Silas didn’t lose his business, I wish Minnie’s family and friends didn’t have to deal with the grief of losing a loved one—but I don’t.

Silas’s expression turns softer. “Me too, kid. Me too.”

The second man has turned towards us at some point during the conversation, and I finally get a good look at him.

“Mr. Remington?” I ask, aghast. “You’re a shifter too?”

My substitute yearbook teacher smiles sheepishly and forks a hand through his blond hair, sprinkled here and there with gray streaks.

“You’ll be surprised by the number of people you know here,” Christian tells me, leaning in close so his breath tickles the hair by my ear.

A shiver rumbles through me.

Both Silas and Mr. Remington stare intently at the tiny sliver of space separating me from Christian. Silas’s jaw clenches, and Mr. Remington’s eyes turn as dark as obsidian.

What the fuck?

Something occurs to me then, a possibility so outlandish and impossible that I have to laugh.

No, this can’t be right, can it?

Ignoring Silas and Mr. Remington for the time being, I turn so I’m facing Christian completely.

“You won’t get in trouble for being here with me?” I ask, making sure to keep my voice loud enough for Mr. Remington and Silas to hear.

If my theory is right…

My heart hardens, turning to stone, even as I keep a tiny smile on my face.

Christian appears confused by my question, maybe because he already assured me that he wouldn’t be.

“Um…no?” He stares at me like I’ve lost my goddamn mind, and maybe I have.

I lower my voice to a whisper—though still loud enough for the men to overhear. “Good. I want you to fuck me again like you did on your desk at school.”

Christian’s eyes widen in shock, and a ferocious growl reverberates from directly behind me. Both Christian and I turn to see Mr. Remington stepping forward, his eyes glowing with the appearance of his wolf. The growl, however, came from Silas, who has begun to sprout fur on his arms and neck.

Oh my god.

Oh my god.

How could I have been so blind?

Logically, I understand how I didn’t notice the similarities until just now—because I hadn’t been looking for them. I didn’t know that my parents weren’t my true parents and that I was a wolf-witch hybrid.

But now…

I have the same nose as Mr. Remington. His is a little bigger, given the size difference between the two of us, but it’s the exact same shape. And my hair color is similar to his as well. The similarities are harder to see on Silas, but they’re still there.

Our eyes are the same—a bright, clear blue.

I want to believe I’m looking for connections that don’t exist, but I know that’s not the case. Something in the depths of my soul tells me that my theory is correct.

Mr. Remington and Silas are my fathers.