Chapter 13 Esmerelda
ESMERELDA
Iheave my and Minerva’s bags out of the trunk and drop them on the sidewalk outside the tall, drab building looming in front of us. As I crane my neck to take in the endless gray walls, my heart sinks. Function over comfort, that’s what this place screams. Safety over warmth.
A wave of longing and homesickness crashes over me. Not for the luxury I’m accustomed to, but for anything with a soul. This building has none. Its cold frame feels like an omen, and dread settles thick and lumpy in my gut.
It’s not just the faded awnings or narrow windows stealing my breath, it’s knowing that after everything that happened today, I will never be the same again. And staring at this hollowed-out structure, I can’t help but fear it mirrors me.
Tears sting my eyes, and I swallow hard. Mom. Dad. Stephan. Edward. Gone. All of them. My chest cracks with the finality of it all. But I can’t stay in this state. I can’t keep feeling sorry for myself. There’s too much to do. Too much to solve.
I straighten my spine. No pity parties. I’ll do what I’ve been doing best lately: lock my feelings down and focus on one thing—doing right by my family.
Anger surges, hot and violent. I don’t even realize I’m clenching my jaw until the ache sets in against my temple.
Whoever did this will pay—slowly, painfully, fully.
I let the fury twist tight inside me, snapping my spine taller.
I let hatred fill my veins, even though I’ve never believed myself capable of hate.
Maybe I am now. Anything is better than this hollowness.
Min squeezes my arm in silent support, and when I meet her gaze, I see the same steel mirrored back. It helps. It helps that she’s here. Gods, I don’t know what I would’ve done if she’d been petrified too.
“I think we should go inside before we’re spotted,” she murmurs.
It’s nearly midnight. The street is empty, but she’s right. We need to keep a low profile. I don’t want our enemies finding me before I’m ready to take them down.
Marcus and Leonard are still by the trunk, speaking softly as they lift their bags. Funny, after all the fighting since the alpha decreed this marriage, for the first time I feel like Marcus and I might actually be on the same side.
He catches me watching and offers a soft smile. “Leave your bags there. I’ll bring them up.”
I shake my head, forcing my voice to remain steady. “That won’t be necessary. But thank you.”
He nods, nothing more, before turning his attention back to Leonard. Just a polite exchange. Civil. Almost ordinary. Huh.
But it isn’t long until the knot in my stomach twists tighter. I’ve spent hours blaming him, convinced he was at the center of it all. But if I’m honest with myself… I don’t see it. Not here. Not now.
Could the council be right? Is this all a setup?
A trap laid to destroy us all from the inside?
The thought grates me. I’ve had rivals in business, sure.
People who wanted to outbid me, undercut me, outmaneuver me.
One, because I’m a woman, but also because I’m smart and people don’t like that.
I know how to fight that game. But this?
This isn’t contracts and boardrooms. Whoever this is went after my family.
My guests. In my home. That makes it personal.
So very, very personal. This is blood and war.
Poison and stone from an enemy I don’t know and can’t face.
Yet.
Inside, the reception area is a nightmare of sparse furniture in faded green, brown, and burnt orange, under fluorescent lights. I shudder to imagine what the suites look like. This must be the council’s idea of a sick joke. Or revenge. Olivia did say we were still on their shit list.
The place is eerily quiet. Only the slight hum of the flickering light about to burn out and the sound of our feet grazing the threadbare carpet welcome us.
The desk is unmanned, though I know someone is here.
Magic hums against the walls, sharp and metallic on my tongue.
If I had to guess, a sylph is cloaked in glamour, silently watching.
A shiver runs up my spine. I hope this place is as safe as it’s supposed to be. And please gods, no bugs.
I glance at the elevator and instantly steer Min toward the stairs. The relief on her face tells me she was thinking exactly what I was thinking. Seven flights is better than trusting a metal box. Truth is, I don’t trust anyone or anything right now. Except these four. Gods help me, but it’s true.
The scent of fear and desperation hits me as we venture toward the stairwell, and it’s not making my wolf happy at all. She lets out a low growl of warning, but it doesn’t help me now. We’re here and there’s nothing we can do about it.
The stairs look ready to give way beneath my feet, each step groaning as if it might splinter apart.
Plaster peels from the walls and crooked artwork—pieces that look to have been commissioned straight from an asylum—hang in uneven rows.
But halfway up, the truth hits me. It’s all glamour.
An illusion of rot and ruin. Clever. No one would ever suspect the alpha was hiding here of all places.
The realization eases the tension in my chest. Marginally. Because the smell, that’s still here.
By the time we reach room 1111, I’m ready to collapse. The keycard clicks and I exhale in relief as I shove the heavy door aside and click it against the magnet so the rest can follow me in. It’s a relief to dump my bags down at the entrance despite the fact that I packed light.
Inside, I find two adjoining hotel rooms have been gutted and remodeled into compact suites.
The décor catches me off guard. Bright, almost cheerful.
Worlds away from the interior designer’s nightmare downstairs.
The kitchen is an unapologetic canary yellow, but at least it’s functional.
And I don’t know, I kind of like the fact that it doesn’t look clinical.
When I spot the high-end coffee machine gleaming on the corner of the counter, I nearly weep.
I also, for a miniscule moment, consider lying down on said counter with my mouth under the spout, but third-degree burns on my tongue would just be the cherry on top of this giant clusterfuck of a day.
The lounge is spacious with a couch, two occasional chairs, and a coffee table.
Again, everything is functional, and at least it’s tasteful.
For a moment there, I thought we might be sitting on tomato boxes with rodents as our companions.
I’m very pleased that isn’t the case. The lounge opens onto a balcony shielded with a mother-of-pearl shimmer.
We can see out, but no one can see in. The privacy eases something in me.
A touchscreen on the wall changes the view.
I scroll until I land on a beach scene. For some reason it soothes me.
Maybe because the beach was the last time things felt simple.
I glance between the rooms. Perfect mirror images of each other.
Doesn’t matter which one ends up being mine and Marcus’s.
I don’t have the energy to care. I stride straight into the bedroom and collapse onto the bed.
The only bed. Of course. The council is still clinging to their fantasy that this is a real marriage.
A humorless huff escapes me. Let them. If they want to waste energy on the illusion, fine.
I’ve got nothing left to give. Not tonight.
“Good choice,” Marcus says, setting his bags and mine down.
I shoot him a look. Both rooms are the same. But he’s obviously searching for something to say.
“Shouldn’t Min and I share, and you and Leonard do the same?” I suggest.
Leonard and Min follow us into our room. “I bunked with him before when we were kids. Never again.” He turns to Min with a pleading look. “I swear I won’t bite. Don’t make me.”
Min arches a brow, then looks to me. “What’s the plan?”
She’s calm, but I can feel her rage thrumming like a live wire, can smell the acridity of it.
“We start with a list of possible suspects.”
“I agree,” Marcus says.
I turn to the others. “Anyone have paper?”
“I’ve got some in my laptop bag,” Leonard says.
“Perfect. Thanks.” I give him a small smile. He wasn’t exactly a dream best man at our wedding, but he’s been civil since I moved in.
“I’m sorry about your family,” he says quietly as he hands me a pad of paper and a pen.
“I’m sorry about yours too.”
He nods, and we take a moment to let our shared trauma root us.
Min digs into her bag and pulls out some different colored yarn. “I’ve seen this on human TV. They use string and pins to make a murder board.” She flinches. “Sorry. Bad word choice.”
“No, it’s fine. Great idea.” I take the yarn from her. Of course she has knitting with her. Min always does. I’ve never actually seen her finish anything, but she’s always making squares.
“Shall we set up in the living room? It’s a bit cramped in here,” Marcus points out, his eyes landing on the simple furnishings in the room that barely fit in the small space.
“Good idea.” Leonard agrees.
I groan at the thought of leaving the bed. It’s not covered in silk or Egyptian cotton, but it feels like the most luxurious thing I’ve ever felt at this moment. I think Marcus may have a point. If I sit on this bed any longer, I’m not going to get up.
We head into the living room, and Leonard gestures for us to sit on the couch.
I choose one of the stiff occasional chairs.
If I sit anywhere plush at the moment, I’m definitely going to fall asleep.
Now that the adrenaline is gone, exhaustion has set up shop and it’s a bitch to keep my eyes from falling shut right now.
The only thing keeping me awake is pure determination to figure out who dared attack my family.