Chapter 43
43
T he leather of his desk chair creaks as Jonathan Knox leans back with his hands in the air, stoic and unshakeable as ever. If I didn't actually know him, I'd wonder if this was all planned, but the man I used to call my father never allows his expression to give away a thing. He's always said that emotional reactions are a sign of weakness.
"I wasn't expecting you so soon," he states calmly, holding my stare.
I make a scoffing sound in my throat. "Lucky for me, right?"
"I somehow doubt it was all luck." He lifts his chin arrogantly, cocking a brow. "So, are you here to kill me?"
"I just want to talk," I say as I step closer while keeping the gun trained on him.
His gaze flickers down to the gleam of the barrel. "So put that away and let's talk, then."
"Sure, once you put yours on the table," I reply coolly, nodding my head toward his left-sided desk drawers.
He sighs like he's annoyed, lowering his hands so he can open up the top drawer and retrieve his firearm from inside. I watch his every move like a hawk, keeping my finger on the trigger of my own gun as he slides his onto the surface. His compliance with my directive doesn't surprise me, though. He knows damn well I have quick reflexes and perfect aim. He taught me well.
"Give me the clip," I direct.
He lifts the gun, thumbing the button to release the magazine before tossing it in my direction. "Happy?" he asks as it clatters against the hardwood floor at my feet.
"And the bullet in the chamber."
The muscle in his jaw feathers as he pulls back the slide, releasing the round and sending it rolling across the desk. Then he sets the Glock down once more, pinning me with a hard stare.
I lower my own weapon, my finger still on the trigger as I sidestep and ease down onto the seat across from him. As soon as I do, I'm hit with a haunting sense of familiarity at the two of us being in this exact position so many times before. Of course, I wasn't threatening him at gunpoint back then. A lot has changed since I last sat in this chair to discuss Guild business.
"So, what's this about?" Jonathan asks with a patronizing lilt to his tone.
I feel my inner beast push forward in response. "I think you know," I grind out, shifting my free hand to the armrest and drumming my fingers against the wood.
His eyes flicker down to track the movement, then ping back up to my own. "Nervous?"
"No," I lie, stilling my fingers.
The corner of his lips curl in a knowing smirk.
My blood boils in my veins, his condescension striking a nerve. "Let's cut the crap, we both know this was supposed to be an ambush," I murmur, narrowing my eyes on him.
He steeples his fingers, that maddening smirk still firmly in place. "Was it? You seem to know a lot about Guild matters for someone no longer affiliated with the organization. "
"Yeah, well considering recent events, it seemed like a good idea to get up to speed," I mutter.
"You've always been resourceful."
I shrug a shoulder. "Learned from the best."
A long pause ensues as we eye one another, but I don't find any warmth in his gaze at the reminder of the relationship we once had. He's stone cold; completely devoid of emotion.
Was he always like this?
"Which one of my men flipped?" he finally asks. Because of course, he's more concerned about the traitor in his ranks than the loaded weapon pointed his way, wielded by the man he used to call son .
"Doesn't matter," I grumble, confident in the knowledge that Matty should have made it safely to the access road by now. "I came here today to ask for a ceasefire."
He snorts a wry laugh, giving a little shake of his head. "You shouldn't have bothered."
"Why not?"
"You know we can't do that," he tuts.
"Why?" I demand.
He leans back in his chair with a heavy sigh. "Don't you remember how The Guild came into existence, what our objective is?" he questions. Obviously it's rhetorical; the mission statement is practically tattooed on the inside of my skull. "As long as even one monster walks the earth, the human race isn't safe," he continues, dark eyes boring into mine. "And since you're one of them, as long as you live and breathe, you're a threat."
"How can you still believe that?" I snap, the bitter sting of resentment sitting heavy on my tongue. "Don't you get it? We had it all wrong. They're not monsters, they're people, and they don't want to hurt anyone. They just want to be left alone."
"Werewolves are not people ," he snaps back, slapping a palm against the wooden desktop .
"Yes, we are . Look at me, Dad," I plead, my voice almost breaking. "I'm still me."
"You're not my son," he spits, his upper lip curling back from his teeth in an ironically wolfish snarl.
"Maybe not biologically, but you raised me," I point out. "Doesn't that count for anything?"
"No." Jonathan leans forward, pinning me with an icy glare. "Do you need me to spell it out for you, Cameron?" he asks mockingly. "You're a monster . I regret every second I spent with you, every lesson I taught you. If I could go back and do things differently, I would've smothered you in your crib and saved us all the trouble."
His words land precisely how he intends them to- they cut through me like bullets and I barely even flinch. Because now that I'm looking at the man I used to call my father through the lens of the truth, I wonder how I ever thought I saw myself in those cold, hollow eyes.
Those same eyes haunted me as I endured his ‘lessons' designed to shape me in his image; years of cruelty I braved in the name of love. Now, there's no mistaking the depth of his hatred radiating off him like a shadowy plume of smoke, tainting the air and suffocating my lungs. I can feel it taking root inside me like poison. Sloane was right; this is different than simple human intuition. It's bone deep.
"It doesn't have to be like this," I rasp.
"Yes, it does," he deadpans.
There's a sharp twist of warning in my gut, but I don't react quickly enough when he suddenly reaches beneath his desk and brandishes a pistol. I spring to my feet, raising my own gun and popping off a shot in an effort to knock it from his grip, but it's half a second too late- his bullet slices through the meat of my left side, white-hot pain searing through my body. The wolfsbane coating the bullet immediately starts spreading through my bloodstream like acid in my veins, paralyzing my inner beast.
At least my own shot landed true. Jonathan grabs at his wounded arm as his pistol slips from his grip and clatters to the floor, our eyes meeting for a fraction of a second before we both lunge for it. I get there first, managing to tackle him to the ground and kick it out of the way in the process. We grapple on the floor, the wound in my side pissing blood and causing my elbow to slip against the hardwood. The moment I fall forward, he digs his fingers into my mangled flesh and I roar out in pain while he makes a grab for the gun in my hand.
Despite the agony searing through my body, I keep a tight grasp on the grip of my weapon, throwing my weight to the side to pin Jonathan beneath me. With a sharp shove of my arm, I slam the barrel beneath his chin and his body immediately slackens, the fight draining from his muscles.
"You won't do it," he sneers, his teeth coated in blood from a blow he evidently took to the mouth during our struggle.
"Why not?" I scoff, pressing the cold tip of the barrel tighter against his skin. "You would."
"You're damn right I would," he snarls, his eyes narrowing into slits. "You're marked for death, freak . All of you monsters are."
If I had any doubts over whether there was a sliver of humanity left in this man- a thread of care for me or the relationship we once shared- I don't anymore. His words solidify that this effort was in vain; that there's nothing I could do or say that would ever make him see past his own blind hatred of something he's never even tried to understand.
It's funny, for someone who always said fear is a weakness, Jonathan Knox has based his entire belief system around fear. And if that's true, then he's the weakest man I've ever known.
I could pull the trigger and end this now, but that would make me no better than him .
The echo of a memory suddenly bleeds into my mind; words Avery once uttered to me while she was locked in that cell.
"I'm not the one who's a monster here," I growl with a confident lift of my chin, refusing to let Jonathan Knox see how much he's destroyed me. "You are."
My ears register the sound of footsteps pounding overhead and the thunder of boots on the stairs; the rush of soldiers responding to the gunfire. Time's up. In one fluid movement, I lower my gun from Jonathan's chin and press the barrel to his kneecap instead, squeezing the trigger. He screams as the bone shatters, and I immediately push up to my feet and make a break for the door.
I press my hand over the wound in my side as I fling it open, sprinting through the hall toward the front door of the cabin. The moment I reach for the handle, a shot pops off from the staircase, splintered wood raining down over me as the bullet embeds itself in the doorframe a few inches from my head. In a burst of speed that I assume is credit to my wolf, I manage to yank the door open and dash outside, waving an arm overhead to give the signal to Cheyenne and Javi.
A rain of gunfire follows me as I sprint down the drive away from the cabin, two of The Guild's black SUV's hurtling in my direction. I dart between them, blocking out the pain lancing through my side while running as fast as I can to get to a parked vehicle further down the driveway for cover. I manage to dive behind it moments before I hear the crash of the SUV's smashing into the safehouse, followed by the deafening boom of an explosion.
My ears ring as debris flies through the air, the heat of the blast scorching my skin like a sunburn. The pain in my side sharply increases, spreading through my chest like hellfire.
"Cam!" Lo yells, her voice muffled through the ringing in my ears as she rushes out from the forest with Javi and Chey right on her heels. She drops to her knees and skids to a stop in front of me, throwing out her hands to staunch the flow of blood from my side.
"Let me see," Javi growls, tossing the detonator aside as he falls to his knees beside his mate and rucks up the hem of my shirt. He leans in to examine the wound closer, then rocks back on his heels, meeting my eyes. "It looks like it went straight through," he provides. "That's a good thing, means we don't have to dig it out."
I blink chaotically as his words register. If my injury isn't life threatening, then why do I have this feeling of foreboding still sitting heavily on my chest, like something's gone wrong?
Cheyenne pushes in on my other side, yanking a cellophane bag from her pocket and tearing it open, shoving a cookie at me. "Eat this, it'll counteract the wolfsbane so you can heal," she breathes.
I reach out to take it from her, sinking my teeth into the cookie right as the scarred-up guy who was partnered with Avery comes running up to us from out of nowhere, breathless and wide-eyed.
"Where's Avery?" he pants.
I jerk upright, suddenly realizing what my intuition has been screaming at me since that bomb went off. "Wasn't she with you?" I snarl, a wave of panic washing over me.
He blanches, shaking his head. "Sh-she went in after you, man. Said she felt your pain through the bond, so she went in through the cellar…"
" No, no, NO !" I grit out, shoving up to my feet with a roar. I don't even think, I just move, ignoring the sharp slice of pain in my side as I hobble toward the crumbling remains of the safehouse, the acrid smoke stinging my throat.
She's still alive, I know that much. I still feel her through the tether of our bond, but now I'm also now achingly aware of the fact that this pain isn't just mine. I can feel hers , too, and the crushing weight of her fear. It's like icy claws wrapping around my own throat, choking the life out of me .
I try to shove those feelings down in an effort to remain focused as I stumble up to the remains of the cellar door and start pawing debris out of the way, but the more I do, the more those feelings seem to increase. So, I change tact and let them in, opening myself up to absorbing all of the pain and fear rippling through the bond until my pulse is thundering so hard that it feels as if my heart might tear through my chest. If it helps her somehow, though, it's worth it. I'd lay my life down for hers in an instant.
Madd suddenly appears beside me, his terrified gaze meeting mine. Words aren't needed when that look of horror in his eyes reflects everything in my own, and he silently joins me in the frantic dig through the rubble, the two of us panting and grunting as we work together to find an opening.
Hold on, Luna. I'm coming.