Chapter 30 #2
I take the thick, worn leather collar and fist it in my hand. The power sparks between my fingers as I hold it, and I cringe as I step between Elliot’s knees.
“Why do you wear this horrific thing?” I ask.
With a sigh, he mutters, “Because I have to.”
My eyes roll, and I contemplate tossing it out the window.
“That’s not an answer, Elliot.”
There’s a long pause as he sits staring at our feet.
“Do you remember your first Fright Night?” he asks.
I nod.
“Yeah.”
“Do you remember what happened that night?”
Vaguely. I remember Kitty was nervous, and Dame had just been sworn in as alpha, so he was even stricter than he is now. Elsie and I were still getting the hang of things at Highcrest and hadn’t planned on going, but Elliot had cornered me in Dixon Hall to beg me to attend.
I don’t remember why I agreed. But I do remember thinking he looked delicious.
I shrug.
“Not really.”
Elliot nods.
“I’m not surprised. The Inquisition cleaned it up pretty quickly. But you remember that girl went missing?”
“Oh, yeah, Serena Vankemp? Or something?”
“Serena Vandame,” he corrects, still focused on our feet.
“The pack declared it an accident. Some stupid lie about falling down the marsh.” He shakes his head, frowning, like it’s the dumbest thing he’s ever heard.
“But it wasn’t an accident. And she didn’t die from a fall.
She was mauled.” He pauses, swallowing down a lump in his throat. “I mauled her.”
“What?”
He takes a deep breath before lifting his head to meet my gaze, and I can tell he’s expecting concern or shock, maybe even fear, to be written on my face. But really, all I am is confused.
There’s no world in which Elliot mauls an innocent girl.
Sure, he likes to fight, but it’s usually a sanctioned challenge. And when it isn’t, it’s always because they deserve it.
Serena Vandame was a quiet girl, from what I recall. Short and polite. Sweet in every sense of the word. If Elliot hurt her, I’m sure there was a reason.
“Some idiot thought it would be funny to hex me,” he explains. “A berserker hex, to be exact.”
My mouth drops open, and I cover it quickly with my hand.
“Any wolf would’ve done some damage, but with my power…” His voice trails off, and his eyes grow distant. “You can imagine what that was like.”
Yes, I can. But I’m not sure I want to.
He shields his eyes as if trying to run from the memory, eventually dropping his head in shame.
“The only thing that managed to rein me in was Damien. He’s the only alpha my wolf has ever listened to.
But by the time he made it out back, she was already gone.
The Inquisition decided I was a liability.
My mother managed to reduce the sanctions after another hefty donation, but they were insistent upon a dampener.
Told me I could either voluntarily wear it or they would bind it to me against my will. You can guess which option I chose.”
He lifts his head to find me watching intently.
“What happens if you take it off?”
“I don’t know. I never have. Not before last night. They’d probably expel me if they found out.”
I frown at the leather lying limp in my hand.
Such a seemingly insignificant piece of hardware. Yet somehow, the greatest oppression he’s ever known.
Suddenly, Elliot’s snap decision to hide my crimes makes all the more sense.
“Elliot.” I hold his face in my hands. “I’m so sorry.”
He doesn’t look at me, but I continue holding him anyway.
“You know it wasn’t your fault, right? That’s not who you are.”
He nods solemnly, drawing his arms around me as he rests his head on my chest, and I say nothing as I fasten the heavy leather strap around his neck.
When I’m finished, I kiss him, because I’m not sure what else to do.
I can’t tell if it has the same effect on him as it does on me. Knowing his curse, it probably doesn’t, but he plasters a grin on his face anyway and proceeds to drag me downstairs into the kitchen.
Isaac still isn’t home, which means he likely found something better than dessert.
Good thing too. Feeding a werewolf after letting him fuck you into next Tuesday takes more than I’d expected, and Elliot spends a good hour scarfing down everything in sight.
But it isn’t until he’s sniffed out a few snacks from the pits of the pantry that he starts to slow.
“Fates, do you always eat like this after?” I ask, watching as he shovels a fistful of popcorn into his mouth.
“Nah, only when my girlfriend nearly drains me dry.”
He chuckles as he tips the bag back.
Girlfriend.
That’s the first time anyone’s ever called me that.
I mean, really called me that, and meant it.
I’d never considered how it would make me feel.
Mostly because I’ve never concerned myself with notions of romance.
It always seemed like an impossible task—finding someone to meet my needs. Someone who wasn’t afraid of me.
But as the word echoes in my head, a warm, buttery taste blossoms on the back of my tongue, like honey and mint, and I think I like it.
I haul myself up onto the edge of the island and watch as Elliot empties three more bags of chips.
“Did I take too much?” I ask when it becomes evident that I will need to restock the house in its entirety.
Elliot’s head falls back, and he groans at the ceiling.
“You know, every time you ask me that, I die a little inside. Do you want me to die, princess?”
He presses a hand to his chest in mock offense, and I bite my lip to keep from laughing.
“No.”
“Are you sure? You can be honest, I won’t be mad.”
I’m silent for a moment as I pretend to contemplate my answer. But eventually I can’t keep the smile off my face, and I confess.
“Yes, I’m sure.”
“Then stop asking,” he says, chucking a chip at me.
When he cannot find any more suitable snacks, and he finally accepts that he has, in fact, eaten my brother out of house and home, we decide to drag ourselves back to reality.
It’s more difficult than I thought it’d be.
There’s a quiet voice in my mind telling me to turn and sprint in the opposite direction.
But I chalk it up to nerves. It isn’t every day you accept the love the fates have given you.
Still, it takes all my energy to resist fleeing as we make our way up the Crescent House steps.
Elliot passes a quiet greeting to a few of the wolves idling on the porch, but they quickly drop their eyes, muttering amongst themselves as we pass.
“What’s their problem?” I ask.
“Probably scared I’ll dock them.”
We both chuckle as he pulls me under his arm. But the brief moment of joy is just that—brief.
As we step into the foyer, Elliot stiffens, and I stop short as I spot Dame standing in the entryway to the den, eyes downcast, tail limp.
The look on his face is familiar. The last time I saw it, Kitty had just been carted off to the infirmary after getting a little too experimental in the potions lab.
“What’s wrong?” I ask, but Elliot’s already moving.
“Iris,” he says, turning to hold my face in his hands. “I want you to go home.”
“What? Why? What’s going on?”
“Don’t worry about it. Everything’s going to be okay. Just go home, alright? I’ll call you.”
“Call me? What’s—”
“Elliot.” Dame’s voice is grim as he says his name, and I start to sweat as I recognize the pain in his voice.
“Yeah, Dame,” Elliot barks. “I know. Just give me a second. Promise me you’ll go home, baby. Please?”
Elliot’s eyes are pleading, and I nod, unsure what I’m really agreeing to, but I don’t have time to consider it. He’s kissing me, long and hard, before I can speak again, and I can feel my throat start to constrict as I realize he’s telling me goodbye.
He breaks away without a word, and my head pounds as I glance around at the people gathering in the foyer.
A few of the other wolves are idling just inside the den, watching, and whispering. There are several men, uniformed and armed, standing on either side of Dame. And Woods is here.
Why is Woods here?
“Elliot Cross,” one of the inquisitors announces. “You are hereby contained for the maim and murder of Deacon Anderson.”
“What?” I blurt, clinging to Elliot.
But he’s already pulling away from me, detangling himself from my hold.
“Iris, go home.”
“No, Elliot—”
“Baby, I don’t want you to see this. Please, just go.”
I must look crazed, pulling at him as he tries to pry me off.
“What?” I say, too shocked to find any other word.
Elliot smiles as he steps away.
“You know I hate when you do that?”
I nod.
“Yeah, I know.”
In my periphery, I can see the inquisition closing in on us, and I pull him down, crushing his lips to mine one more time as I try to impart every word I haven’t said into a single kiss. But as he pulls away, I whisper the only ones that matter.
“I love you,” I say, voice quiet. Quiet enough that only he will hear.
He swallows hard as the dampener constricts, and tears spring to my eyes as rage consumes me. But there’s a smile on Elliot’s face as his hands come behind his back, and it’s the last thing I see before they wink out of sight, and I’m left standing on my own in the middle of the entryway.
“Iris…”
Dame’s voice is soft as he reaches for me, but I shake him off.
“Don’t!” I snap, moving toward the door.
“Let me take you home,” he says, speaking gently, the way you might speak to an innocent child.
It makes my teeth grind. I am too far from innocent for such tenderness. And it seems everyone but Dame knows that.
As I look around, I see nothing but eyes. Staring. Judging. Shaming.
My stomach turns, and I suck down a shuddering breath as I try to keep from crying under their watchful gaze.
“Iris…” Dame calls, but I’m already halfway out the door, stumbling down the steps and back out onto the sidewalk.
I think I can hear him trailing behind me, but I don’t know for how long.
I wouldn’t know because I don’t look back, and I don’t slow until I reach the relative safety of the apartment.
It’s empty, of course, but as the tears start to stream down my face, I think I’m okay with that.
I don’t even make it to the sofa this time. I crouch down in the entryway, clutching my stomach to keep the grief from pouring over.
It works for a while, but the pain is too deep to stifle, and I let it run its course until my phone vibrates and I see “Kitty” pop up on my screen. I rush to open the message.
Kitty
This is everyone we could find.
The attachments come in one at a time, each picture a page of about ten names. In total, the list is much longer than I expected. There are at least forty people here, with demon-blood quantum ranging from 50% all the way to 2%.
I only recognize a few names as I scroll. None of which hold any significance to me.
Tara’s name is notably absent. Not that I was still entertaining the idea of her falsifying her own blackmail, but it would be irresponsible not to check.
Surprisingly, Deacon is not listed either.
I read through the entire list as quickly as I can, and I’m prepared to give up as I reach the last page, but then it catches my eye.
Sitting at the very bottom of the last attachment are the words “Covington St. James - 12%.”
I scramble with the buttons, flicking through the screens, and aiming for Dame’s number. But as I lift the phone to my ear, a voice speaks from a shadowed corner of the living room.
“Hello, Iris,” it says. “Put the phone down.”