63. Deacon

Less than eight hours later, the wheels of my private jet touch down at McCarren Airport. I ran my legs until my pain focused solely on them before I shifted, made arrangements, and packed for my trip down to see my buddy, Marcus, so he could explain exactly what the fuck was going on.

How he could have let this happen.

I'd finished an entire bottle of 1928 Macallan Anniversary Malt while in the air, and it had numbed some of the anger, but nothing took away any of the unending void that had filled with harrowing agony.

I'd put on my favorite suit, black Armani, with a red silk tie I'd bought in Italy while being fitted. I'd grabbed it solely because it matched the hue of her hair. It taunted me while I stood, chalk lines being dashed onto its fabric. I'd never worn it. I couldn't. Seeing it hanging in my closet alone tormented me every time I got dressed.

I welcomed the pain. It lit the fire to my anger and allowed me to lead a pack I never wanted in a city I didn't want to be in, with memories I didn't want to relive.

Today, I wore the tie like a suit of armor, fortifying my strength. It was a visual symbol of the love I've carried for her, silently from afar.

No one had ever replaced Grace's place in my life. Even after several meetings where the pack hinted at my need for a Luna and heirs, I'd never betrayed the words I said to her.

She was it for me.

And now she"s dead.

Because of him.

My jaw clenches every time I think of his role in her death. Kellen informed me that Grace had been sick for a while but hadn't been treated due to a pregnancy. She was hoping to start chemotherapy after the baby was born, but her body gave out before she could, and she died in childbirth.

He should have demanded she be treated. She could have other children. There was only one Grace.

From what Ashley had accidentally told me over the years, she already had a child a few years ago, an heir for their pack. I never asked for updates about her or her life, but occasionally, they slipped out, and those days were the hardest to get through because they took away pieces of the hardened exterior I'd built up since they left.

That day, in a fit of rage, I'd killed an enforcer who fell asleep on duty. Then I'd flown off to Italy for six weeks, allowing myself to participate in the underground fights where I"d killed dozens more.

Most people assumed I was just violent and dark, like my father before me, but Ashley knew how hard those moments were, and she avoided telling me anything about Grace as a way to keep me from going off the deep end.

Once the plane is parked by the hanger, I descend the stairs and jump into the black Mercedes Ashley had set up for me. The driver had been switched with one of my enforcers, and our schedule had been left up to me.

Grace's funeral pyre would take place tonight at the packhouse on the edge of town. I had a few hours before the event, but every part of me needed to see her before they gave her body to The Fates.

I hope they are happy with the mess they've made.

"Trust The Fates"

My ass.

I decide my own fate now. They don't get to influence my future.

When we arrive, the packhouse is teeming with people setting up arrangements for the ceremony. I instruct my driver to wait at the car and walk myself to the front door. Not waiting for an invitation, I walk in the cool, crisp air of the March morning, which is in full contrast with the warmth of the house.

I stop the first person I can find.

"Where is she?" my voice was calm but not friendly.

"Who are you looking for?" the young beta enforcer asks, confusion evident as he carries a floral centerpiece toward the backyard.

"Your Luna," I respond, making him stop in his tracks. His eyes drop to the floor a moment before meeting mine again, sadness in them.

"I'm sorry to tell you this, but The Fates have taken her. She passed away last night."

"Obviously," I say, gesturing to the people setting up all over. "Where have they moved her body in preparation for the pyre?" I ask, raising an eyebrow to feign annoyance. After a moment, he appears to have a realization.

"Oh, you must be the guy the coroner's office sent to finish the paperwork. They have her in the guest suite down that hallway; turn right; it"s at the end on the left. Need me to take you there?" he asks, his eyes looking for a place to set down the arrangement.

"No need. I'll find my way," I say, lifting my hand to dismiss him as I turn and head that way before he can change his mind, ask for identification, or tell someone I'm here.

Exhaling, I intentionally calm my breathing in an attempt to slow my heart rate. My wolf sits anxiously beneath my skin, waiting. Knowing we are in enemy territory, one wrong move will be a fight to get out.

I hadn't notified Marcus or his leadership of my arrival in his territory. Me showing up unannounced could be seen as a threat or an act of war.

I don't care.

I need to see her.

One more time.

I need to see with my own eyes that The Fates were wrong. Her life wasn't better with him. Mine wasn't better without her. And now Marcus's wasn't better either.

They. Were. Wrong.

She would have been better off with me.

As I turn right at the first opening, I glance back to see no one following. A slight grin lifts on my face at the luck just as I nearly trip over something in front of me, causing me to sidestep and grab the wall to avoid falling on my face.

What the fuck?

Leaning against the wall, feet stretched out into the center of the hall, is a small red-headed boy, already dressed in formal clothes. His head hangs down, and his hands sit at the center of his lap, fingers picking at the cuticles in an oddly familiar way.

The minute he looks up, I know why.

His eyes match his father"s crystal blue; his hair matches my tie.

Grace's son.

"Sorry, mister," he says quietly, dropping his eyes back down to his picking while sliding his feet closer to him so he no longer blocks the path. I take him in for a moment before responding.

His shirt is untucked, and one shoelace is untied. Tiny freckles decorate both his arms and the bridge of his nose. His bottom lip appears chapped from what I would guess to be nervous chewing on it.

Just like Grace.

"No problem, kid. Take up the space you need," I say, stepping to his side. The faint wail of a baby crying in the distance causes me to pause.

Had the baby survived?

The kid's head whips toward the crying before his teeth find his bottom lip again, causing me to pause.

"Being the oldest is a big job," I say, not knowing why I was still standing here, staring into the face of a child made from my greatest pain.

"Momma told me it was my job to be the protector. My job to make sure she's safe," he says, a bit of pride filling his tone. "But I don't know anything about sisters," he adds, his brow creasing in the serious way Marcus's does.

A baby girl.

"Well, I have a little sister," I say, squatting down to meet his stare and tying his loose shoelace. "She's loud and whiny and always gets into my stuff," I chuckle a bit, and the kid smiles. "But the protecting her part, it's easier than you think. I'm sure you'll be a natural. Have you held her yet?" I ask.

He shakes his head, eyes growing big.

"She's too little for me to hold. Too…" he thinks for a moment before continuing. " frabel?"

"Fragile," I correct with a grin. "Don't worry; she will be running around with you before you know it," I say, standing again and moving to open the door.

His eyes follow me as I move.

"Did you know my momma?" he asks, curiosity filling his tone. I pause, my hand on the handle, choosing my words wisely.

"She was my best friend," I whisper, my voice cracking as emotion fills me before I enter the room and shut the door. I fall against it as I try to regain control.