49. Chapter Forty-Nine
Chapter Forty-Nine
Dacre
Five days. Five days of eating nothing but peanut butter sandwiches and being shut in a dark room is all I need to listen for the code to what must be a hidden room in one of the nearby offices.
Fresh leather polish drifts through the vents, as well as the smell of walnuts. My grandfather always keeps fresh walnuts on his desk.
The code is four digits, and it belongs to my grandfather.
He or Liam will have set it. Either way, I think through every date of significance.
Numbers they favor or old passwords. I have a whole list of codes to try, sitting in my pocket.
I finally convinced Liam to give me a crayon and paper because I was starting to go insane from boredom.
Emma is somewhere, probably hating my guts.
Even if she doesn’t choose me in the end, I need her to know the truth: that I pick her over any obligation.
When I’m scared, I remember her laughter, and when I feel so alone that I think it will swallow me, I remember the heat of her delicate hand in mine.
The way she traced a finger over my knuckles made me feel so happy that I thought my heart might explode.
I don’t remember ever being happy, but when I was close to her, I got a glimpse of that magic. She makes her own happiness, and maybe it’s better that I don’t steal any more than I already have, but I’ve got to stop her from joining the gala.
All I need is to get through the metal door.
Liam never took my watch, so I can still check the time.
It’s half past three in the morning, so if Liam is on the estate, he’s likely not near the office.
I’ve been working on the hinge, little by little, with the bedpost I unscrewed, and I think I’ve almost got it.
The grandfather clock in the office chimes, and I attack the last pin in the top hinge. At last, it comes loose. I place the door gingerly to the side and tread lightly.
My guess is right. One of my grandfather’s offices appears to be well used, judging by the fresh set of hydrangeas on the coffee table. I wonder if he’s visited in the last few days without my knowing . . .
I search the desk for my phone. No luck. I try the door next, starting with my list of codes. At the first denial, I freeze and listen for movement. I don’t hear footsteps in the hall, so I try again. Then again.
After a couple of tries, the green flash accompanies a pleasant chime, and the lock clicks.
I scoff. That asshole used Florence’s birthday as the code.
There’s a hum from a TV a few rooms over, but not much else. No staff tonight. One heartbeat I can make out, but not enough to stop me from making my way down the hall and down the stairs. I take a deep breath when I step outside. Step one, done. Step two: How am I going to find a car?
I could go back inside and search for a set of keys to the cars in the garage, but it’s risky. The unfamiliar window shutters reveal what I already know. I have no idea where I am. I’ve never been to this estate before.
The air outside is cool and sticky as I wade through an opening in the trees. I walk at first, and then I run while I try to sense for anything that feels familiar. Food. Lights. The smell of burning wood. As I contemplate the likelihood of being lost, Florence comes to mind.
She’ll never forgive me if I die in the woods and leave her alone. In my head, I hear her laughter at the mud caking my shoes and pant legs, but it fuels me when I see and hear nothing but darkness and bugs.
After thirty minutes, I catch the scent of asphalt and tire rubber. A road must be close. Good thing. I’m fucking starving.
There’s a rustling of broken branches and leaves up ahead, and I halt. A deer. No. Much bigger. A bear. The steps multiply, and a large set of glowing werewolf eyes peeks through the trees, followed by another set, then another.
Parker Owens. I can tell by his smell. His pack circles me for a moment, likely smelling for any danger, before disappearing into the brush. To change, probably. It’s hard to have a conversation when the other is naked.
Parker stumbles out of the trees, shirtless in a set of sweatpants. His usually wide smile is nowhere to be found.
“I’ve been looking for you, asshole.”
“Do you think I enjoy walking around in the woods at the ass crack of dawn? I was . . . detained. Literally. Is Emma okay?”
“Of course, she’s okay. For now. She made a deal with your grandfather to take her sister’s place in the gala that someone forced her into.
I’ve been trying to find ways to get her out of it, and you’re the only person who came to mind.
Plus, I found something about the name you gave me.
I’m not sure whether I’m here to kick your ass or save you, but Emma was adamant that I find you to make sure you’re okay. She’s really worried about you.”
I try not to let that comfort me too much. But I’m starving, cold, and exhausted, and knowing she was probably the only person in Vviveren who cared about my absence is comforting.
He walks a few steps closer. “Did you know about the deals your grandfather’s been cutting, targeting non-donors to get them to accept a place in the Donor Program?
I suspect it was him who had the idea to trap Eva.
He’s been asking Emma about the gala. I think he worked with Luther to use her sister to force her into it. ”
“What? No. I . . . I knew he was hiding something. That’s why I had you look into it, because he watches me so closely.”
It’s coming together. My grandfather used Luther to get the contract in front of Evangeline. Both families had the same goal of getting Emma into the gala.
“The Matthew Bromen you told me to look into . . . He’s dead.
The asshole I found to look into it said he almost thought it was a cold lead, which is rare.
But Matthew was a student at Doxlothia before changing his name to Michael Smith to try to hide his identity.
Likely tried to run because your grandfather was targeting him. For his blood.”
“You’re saying . . . that my grandfather did this?”
“I think your grandfather is a bad man, and I’m trying to figure out how much you know.”
“Your father was trouble.” Those words take the breath from my lungs again.
“You didn’t know that’s what he and Luther’s family have been doing for years?”
“No, Darien gave me a tip about not signing contracts, but he made it seem like it was Emma. I was sure she was the target. She . . . still is. My grandfather can think leagues ahead. He must’ve known Luther was going to target Evangeline and used that to leverage Emma.
I didn’t even think about it, because I . . .”
I was so focused on Emma.
“I didn’t know, or I would have told you. I love Emma. I want to fix this.”
“Good.” His shoulders fall from his ears. “Then you’re going to help me.”