Chapter 20 #2
I don’t bother sitting; if our past encounters are any indication, someone will be down in about thirty seconds. Besides, the chairs in here are uncomfortable, and I can shield Iris more easily if she stands along the wall.
“You okay?” I ask her.
She nods, and I realize that she is not nervous; she’s determined, and if there’s one thing I adore more than an angry Iris, it’s Iris on a mission.
“Ashbourne!”
The receptionist calls her name, and a short sprite with a clipboard appears beside the desk, waving us forward impatiently.
We follow him in silence to one of the empty concrete boxes they call offices, where a pale, slender man in an ill-tailored suit sits waiting behind a plain wooden desk.
“Mr. Cross, Ms. Ashbourne.”
His dull voice greets us as we enter, and he stands to introduce himself.
“Senior Inquisitor Malictus,” he says, not bothering to offer a hand.
He is tall, with the signature scaly markings of a kelpie creeping up his neck, and I wait until he returns to his seat before pulling out Iris’s chair and gesturing for her to do the same.
“Thank you for coming in voluntarily,” Malictus says, already flipping through his paperwork.
Between my file and hers, the pile is comically large, but he seems to be getting the hang of it.
“Sure,” I say. “The Crescent pack wants to lend itself to the inquiry in whatever way it can.”
He nods but says nothing as he continues searching through the documents. I’m not surprised that when he finds what he’s looking for, he starts with me.
“Mr. Cross,” he says, straightening in his chair. “This is not your first time here, correct?”
“That’s correct,” I answer.
“Quite a few incidents over the years, yes?”
“Yes.”
He keeps his eyes trained on his papers as he speaks, but it isn’t until his gaze drifts to Iris, as they all eventually do, that I understand why.
“M-ms. Ashbourne, y-you have quite the record as well.”
Iris shrugs, passing him a pretty smile that I’ve never seen before, and a sweaty, dirt-laden scent seeps from the inquisitor like a noxious gas.
“R-right…very well...” He stammers, still staring.
I clear my throat to keep from growling at him, and Malictus responds by dropping his gaze once more.
“Your file indicates that your bloodline bears a curse? Mr. Cross?”
“Is that a question?” I ask.
“Y-yes, it is.”
I groan inwardly.
I knew this question would come. It’s always the first thing they ask. Ordinarily, I have no problem answering, but beside me, Iris is now watching, and I have to stop myself from turning to face her as I speak.
“Yes,” I say. “My clan is cursed.”
“And what are the limitations of this curse?” Malictus asks.
“It prevents us from feeling certain emotions.”
He releases an exasperated breath as he grows irritated with my pointed answers.
“Which emotions might those be?” he clarifies.
In my periphery, Iris’s face is nothing but poised, but I watch closely as I continue.
“Love,” I say simply. “Among other things. But primarily, we cannot experience love.”
Iris twitches, almost imperceptibly, but she knows better than to give us away, so her eyes remain trained on the inquisitor, even as I silently will her to look at me.
That’s my good girl.
“And this makes the Cross wolves rather violent, does it not?”
The inquisitor continues his questioning, but Iris is no stranger to being labeled. She has more than a few of her own hanging over her head. So she catches the implication of the question being asked before I even answer.
“Elliot didn’t hurt anyone,” she interjects, hands balling into fists in her lap.
My dampener constricts as she comes to my defense, and I squeeze her fingers, rubbing the back of her hand until it loosens.
It’s nice of her to defend me, but I’m used to the accusations by now. This isn’t near the worst they’ve leveled at me. If we can walk out of this office with nothing more than “VIOLENT” stamped on my file in big red letters, I’ll be happy.
“Cross wolves are blessed with great power, but we are no more violent than any other wolf. The curse frees us of the burden of such loyalties, which often gives us an advantage against our opponents, but no, we are not violent by nature.”
I make my mother proud and stay true to the script, the many times I was made to recite it, coming in handy.
You would think these words were our clan’s creed, given the frequency with which they are repeated.
But burdensome or not, it is effective. You could ask a hundred Crosses the same question, and you’d get the exact same answer. Word for word.
The inquisitor nods.
“It says here you also wear a dampener? Is that true?”
Iris’s fingers twitch against my palm.
“Yes.”
Malictus looks at me in silence for a moment, an unspoken question hanging dead in the air. But there is another lesson Cross children are quick to learn—never answer a question before it’s asked.
When I offer no further explanation, he makes a note in my file, then shuts it to open another. This one is even thicker than my own, with pieces of parchment sticking out of the seams every which way, and a blood-red stamp on the first page that reads “NIGHT STUDENT.”
My surprise is smothered by the drooling look in Mr. Malictus’s eyes as he fixes his gaze on her again.
“Ms. Ashbourne, you are a succubus?”
She nods, smiling sweetly.
“Yes.”
Malictus scratches the skin beneath his collar, but somehow finds the strength to maintain eye contact.
“I’m told you have a rather large appetite for a creature of your age.”
We’re both watching her now. The inquisitor, seemingly incapable of doing anything else, and myself, searching for any indication that she is uncomfortable with this line of questioning.
But as her back straightens, and her chin lifts, I realize she has come prepared with a script of her own.
“Yes,” she says. “It is rather difficult to find someone both willing and capable of satisfying my needs. I used to feed quite frequently from a selection of ten or so men. But that is no longer necessary.”
Now, Mr. Malictus is sweating.
“And why is that?” he asks.
“Elliot gives me all that I need.” Iris runs her hand up my arm and leaves it to rest on my shoulder. “I feed only from him. Three times a day, or more if needed. He is very generous.”
The inquisitor begins to squirm in his chair as Iris strokes the back of my neck with her nails, and I only just manage to keep my laugh from breaking free.
Whereas my answers are scripted to give comfort, lull the subject into a sense of security, Iris’s answers are intended to drive the accuser to shame. A tactic I may need to consider, given Malictus is now a concerning shade of pink.
“I see,” he mutters, shuffling his papers and dropping his gaze. “And you and Mr. Cross are not mated?”
“No,” she says.
“Your family’s curse prevents such bonds, correct?”
“Yes,” I answer.
“Yet, you have claimed her anyway.”
Once again, he does not ask a question, so I do not answer. But eventually, he grows tired of the silence.
“Why is that?” he asks.
I cannot tell him the truth, but I don’t need to lie either.
There is no one in this world I would’ve done this for aside from Iris, and there are a million reasons why I even considered it to begin with.
I could sit here and list them all. I could tell him how much I admire her bravery. How much I enjoy her company, or how funny she is. I could tell him how sweet she is when no one’s looking. Or how she’s shy when only I am. But none of that would matter. Not to him anyway.
People like Mr. Malictus have already made up their minds about us. And rather than spend another hour trying to convince him otherwise. I take a page out of Iris’s book.
“I don’t like to share,” I say.
Malictus forces himself to keep his eyes on the papers in front of him. But he cannot hide his lust as his mind wanders with my words, and eventually he loses the battle. His gaze draws up to Iris’s chest, and the sickening scent of his excitement blooms as he continues to stare.
Her outfit choice makes more sense as I watch him drooling onto his desk, but the longer we sit here, the more I can’t help but wonder how she endures this every day.
“I think we’re done here,” I say, pulling Iris to her feet.
She does not question my decision. She will later, I’m certain, but not here.
Mr. Malictus, suddenly in a panic, rushes to stand.
“The Inquisition is not—”
I cut him off.
“Seeing as how no request was filed with the Crescent council, Iris and I are here merely as a courtesy. If you have any more questions for me, or her, or any of the Crescent wolves, a formal request must be filed with the council as the treaty requires. We will happily revisit this conversation at that time. Until then…have a nice evening, Inquisitor.”
Gods, I sound like my mother.
Her bark is effective, however.
The inquisitor nods, shutting Iris’s file and passing us a terse smile.
“Very well, Mr. Cross. Ms. Ashbourne. Until next time.”
There is a tone in his voice that tells me he is certain there will be a next time, but I ignore it as I usher Iris from the room.
She keeps pace as I practically drag her from the building, no doubt used to it by now, but once we’re out of sight of the front steps, she turns on me.
“What’d you do that for?” she snaps. “He was crumbling. I had him.”
I shake my head.
“Crumbling? I don’t give a fuck if he was melting. That was disgusting. You couldn’t taste that?”
“Of course, I could. But who cares, I’m used to it.”
She says that as if it should make me feel better. As if the fact that she is their constant unwilling subject somehow makes it okay, but it doesn’t. It only makes it worse. It makes me want to hide her away. Somewhere, even I can’t find her. Maybe, somewhere, especially, I can’t find her.
“That’s not the point, Iris.”
“I thought the point was to get them off our ass,” she hisses.
“It is, but—”
“But what? But you don’t like to share? Is that it?”
Her arms flail as her eyes roll, and I blink.
She’s moving too fast for me. Clearly, she’s angry with me, but I’m not sure why this time.
“What?” I blurt, sounding like her. “No, that’s not what I—”
“When were you going to tell me, Elliot?”
“Tell you what?”
“About the curse. That you can’t…”
Her voice trails off, and her sweet scent shifts to a fragrance I don’t recognize.
“Iris…” I begin, not really sure where I’m going.
I know why I never told her. It’s the same reason I don’t want to now.
Iris has never let my clan dictate her opinion of me. From the very first time I saw her, to about twenty minutes ago, she’s always looked at me with understanding. Now, she is looking at me, like I’m a rabid animal. Like the rest of them do.
“I didn’t think it mattered,” I say. “We’re just—”
“Just friends?”
She finishes for me, but it feels like damning myself if I confirm it.
“If we’re friends, why didn’t you tell me you were enrolled as a night student?” I ask.
She flinches, taking a step away from me.
“That wasn’t by choice, Elliot. All succubi are classified under the dark arts.”
Is she serious? What a dumb fucking rule.
My phone vibrates in my pocket, and I groan as I fish it out to see the words ‘Vanessa Cross’ scrolling across the screen.
Fuck, her timing is astounding.
“Go ahead,” Iris says, reading the screen as I do. “I’m going home.”
“Oh, come on, you can’t walk home.”
“Yes, I can!” she hisses. “And I am. Have a nice night, Elliot.”
Her long hair sweeps over her shoulder as she turns her back on me, and the dampener scrapes against my Adam’s apple as I watch her stalk off into the dark.
With a groan, I hit answer.
“What?” I bark into the speaker.
“Mom wants you home by ten,” Vanessa answers.
“Why?”
“Stop asking me stupid questions.”
The line goes dead before I can reply, and I wait a few moments until Iris is just out of sight before trailing after her.
I keep a wide distance so as not to disturb her, but I still follow all the way back to White Hall and wait until she is safely inside before tracking back to the Inquisition Office for the bike.
Mother is on a tirade when I set foot in the Manor. Her voice is already ringing through the house at a pitch not even wolves can hear. Banshees maybe. But I’m not entirely sure what it is she’s upset about. Nor do I care.
I bypass the usual feast in the kitchen and head straight to my room, shutting the door until Jeffery knocks.
He follows me down to the basement, even though I stopped needing an escort when I was thirteen. Took me a while to realize that it didn’t matter. Mother would have her way. And no matter how I screamed, Jeffery would always turn his back on us.
He does so now as he turns the key in the old iron lock, sealing my fate for the evening.
My wolf is eager to be free after the stress of the day, and the change comes faster than usual. It is still agonizingly slow, but the pain is only skin deep tonight.
The pack and their harmonies have strengthened the bonds, but more than just the pack, they’ve been strengthened by Iris, because she sang for me.
The memory rings in my ears until I’m almost certain I can feel her at the other end, weeping and alone.
But I know it’s just my imagination running away with me again.
There is no mate at the other end of my thread, and there never will be.
It’s only a dead end, a shriveled hope, a future of full moons sat in this cage with no one to keep me company but Mother and Vanessa.
But at least my wolf is content to sit quietly tonight. I rest my eyes as I wait for the pain to pass and the moment I can return home.