Chapter 5
ROWAN
Ihave no idea what I’m supposed to do with all of this information. Scream? Cry? Run for the mountains and hope the bears are more emotionally available than these people? All of the above feels like a solid option.
Worse still, they’re all staring at me like I’m supposed to say something profound. Like I’ve got the wisdom of a hundred past lives just waiting to roll off my tongue. But every time I open my mouth, all that comes out is silence and a dry heave of disbelief.
Archie presses against my cheek, his fur warm and soothing. “It’s going to be okay, Rowan. I know it’s a lot to process, but you’re not alone in this. I’ll protect you.”
Sweet. Add bodyguard ferret to the ever-growing list of things I didn’t think I needed to know.
Just as I start to inhale through my nose in some pathetic attempt to calm down, the conference room doors slam open again. This time hard enough to rattle the chandelier so thoroughly that I briefly wonder if it’s going to come crashing down.
And this time, there’s no smiling Liz with an ice cream cart on the other side.
There’s a hulking beast of a man filling the doorway, shoulders tense, chest heaving, and eyes glowing like someone pissed in his cereal. And his gaze? Fixed directly on my grandmother, like she personally lit his house on fire and danced in the ashes.
“You,” Cade growls, stalking forward with three terrifying strides. I brace myself for some well-deserved yelling, maybe even a table flip, but that’s not what happens.
Instead of screaming, the psycho grabs Iris by the throat and lifts her clean off the ground like he’s some villain in a supernatural wrestling match. Without saying another word, he gives his wrist a quick flick, and Iris goes limp in his hand.
Dead limp.
I jolt to my feet so fast that my chair rockets backward and crashes into the wall like I’m in a poorly written sitcom. “What in the actual fuck is your problem?!”
“She shot me,” Cade says flatly. “With a poisoned arrow.”
“Oh, well, then obviously strangling a woman to death in front of a live audience is the reasonable response,” I snap back, hands in the air. “Something is seriously wrong with you people.”
“Iris isn’t dead, Ro,” Archie reminds me. “She just needs a few minutes to come back to life.”
I blink. Slowly. “This is insane.”
“It’s just another day around here,” Liz offers with a shrug from behind the ice cream cart. “People kill Iris a few times a week. Usually with more flair, though.”
“You’ve got to be shitting me,” I mutter, dragging my hands down my face as I pace the far side of the table, trying to avoid eye contact with the murdering monster.
But apparently, ignoring him was a huge mistake.
One moment, he’s across the room, and the next, he’s right next to me. Towering, looming, and radiating “angry Viking lumberjack” energy.
I have to crane my neck to meet his gaze. Easily over six and a half feet of muscle, menace, and golden eyes that practically glow with…something. Not affection. More like territorial rage dipped in testosterone.
His eyes flick over me like I’m a puzzle he’s already solved.
“What do you think you’re doing?” I demand, stepping back and nearly tripping over my feet.
“You’re my mate,” he says, like that explains everything from the Hulk rage to his casual strangling tendencies.
I blink again.
“You need to come with me.” The confident look on his carved-from-marble face tells me he’s not used to being denied.
Well, that’s about to change.
“I don’t think so.” I snatch my arm away as he tries to reach for me. “Don’t even think about touching me. You just choked the life out of my grandmother.”
“She’s not actually staying dead,” he deadpans, frowning like I’m the unreasonable one. “And you don’t even like her.”
“Yeah, well, that doesn’t mean I want to skip off into the sunset with her not-really-murdered-murderer.”
The crease between his brow only deepens. “I’m not a murderer. I’m your—”
I actually growl. A low, guttural sound that rips from my throat like it was lying in wait. It startles even me, but apparently, it works.
“If you say mate one more time,” I warn, “I’m running. Full-on forest sprint. Answers be damned.”
From the floor, Iris chuckles. Groaning, she sits up with all the grace of a zombie on leg day. “There’s the Rowan I always hoped you’d grow into.” Her eyes flick to Cade, voice sharpening. “You’re not welcome here. Not by me, and certainly not by her. It’s time you left.”
As much as I appreciate Iris standing up for me, I don’t really think she’s going to instill any fear into the man who just broke her neck, even if she brings the crossbow back out.
“You know I can’t do that,” he says gruffly. “She’s not safe now that she’s in transition. It doesn’t matter what I wanted or what I thought… It’s my duty to protect her.”
Duty, huh? That word snags in my brain like a thorn. Not fate. Not love. Not even creepy soulmate law. But duty.
Maybe being mates doesn’t sound like it means what I thought.
If he’s only here as some sort of freakishly strong bodyguard, I might be able to tolerate him a while longer until I figure out how to get the hell out of this mess I’ve somehow found myself.
All over a stupid whiskey delivery. Honestly, this would be comical if it weren’t my reality.
“NightShade is the safest place for her,” Iris replies, brushing invisible dust from her shoulder like she wasn’t just rag-dolled by Mr. Too-Tall-Tantrum over here. “A supernatural can’t be killed on these grounds unless the attacker wants the Archers after them.”
Cade laughs. Not the reassuring kind. It’s rough, bitter, like he knows something we don’t.
“The Archers won’t scare the people who want her dead,” he says. “Not if the prophecy is true.” His eyes scan me, calculating. “Which is still up for debate.”
My eyes narrow at what sounds like an insult. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
“There’s an old prophecy,” Archie chimes in from his perch on my shoulder, like this is all perfectly normal. “It claims that a hybrid Hollowborn will be born and she’ll bring destruction to the supernatural world.”
I blink. “And you think I’m that person? Seriously?” I gesture to myself. “I can barely commit to a houseplant. I don’t want any part of your world. Not to destroy it or otherwise.”
“Not yet, you don’t,” Cade says, his voice like gravel. “But once you find out who you really are, what you’re capable of, things could change. More importantly, there are powerful people who aren’t going to wait around and hope you stay harmless.”
I rub my hands down my face and groan. “This is ridiculous.”
“Maybe to you,” he shoots back. “But for some of us, your prophecy destroyed everything we knew about our world.”
I want to ask what that means—why his voice dips into something almost vulnerable—but I bite my tongue. I can’t afford to care about his potentially tragic backstory right now. I’m barely holding mine together.
“So, what now?” I ask flatly. “I’m stuck here until someone decides I’m not a problem? And then I just go back to my old life like this was all a detour I might one day forget about?”
Iris shakes her head slowly and her face softens. “Your old life is gone, Rowan. Even if we convince the others that you’re not a threat, you’re not human anymore. Your wolf won’t survive on her own. She needs a pack.”
My stomach flips. Right. That little detail.
“Are you sure?” I whisper. “Because I don’t feel any different.”
I know the words are a lie the moment I say them. In fact, everything is different. My senses all feel like they’re on overload, but denial is my best friend right now, and I’m not ready to let go of it yet.
Iris’s expression hardens again. “Considering I’m confident I know who your father is, and I held your dead body in my hands… Yes, I’m sure.”
I flinch. She’s confident she knows who my father is? Cool. Just going to mentally file that under “things I’m not ready to unpack” and carry on.
“Liz,” she says, without turning, “go get the wolf heritage book for Rowan.”
Liz nods. “Of course.”
Because apparently there’s a manual for all of this.
Iris addresses me once more, casual as ever. “Do you have any questions you’d like to ask right now, or would you rather get some rest? It’s nearly two in the morning, and I think we’ve all had enough pickle juice for the evening.”
…pickle juice? Oddly enough, her brand of chaos is starting to feel normal.
“I’m good for the night,” I reply, voice flat but honest. “I’m sure all this insanity will still be here in the morning.” Unfortunately.
“That’s the spirit,” Iris chirps like we just wrapped up a yoga session instead of a supernatural death briefing.
She pivots to Cade. “As I mentioned previously, you don’t have a reservation.
You can sleep outside if you feel the need to lurk nearby.
I’m sure the squirrels would love the company.
Just don’t howl too loudly. It’s impolite before dawn. ”
Cade doesn’t even blink at her. His eyes find mine instead. “Do you feel safe sleeping in this manor tonight?”
I glance down and rest a hand on Archie. His tiny warmth is the only reason I haven’t completely unraveled. “I’ll be fine.”
Cade studies me a beat longer, then gives a short, sharp nod before he turns and stalks from the room.
I watch him go—my stare on those wide shoulders, the tension radiating off every inch of him—and suddenly there’s a surge of heat inside me. Not just warmth, but hunger. My pulse spikes, and every instinct in my body screams to chase him, to find him in the dark, and…
Whoa. No. Absolutely not.
I desperately need sleep.
“Can someone show me to my room, please?” I ask. At this point, I’ll accept directions from a ghost if it means I don’t end up blown to bits again. I’d prefer not to die twice in one night.
“I’ll take you,” Liz says, gliding into the room with the book already in hand. “Do you still want the ice cream?”