Chapter Nineteen
Things Can Always Get Worse
IMOGEN GALLAGHER
Running. Hunting.
Liam and his brothers had been right there with me all night. The sharp sting of isolation I’d felt the previous night had been swept away, replaced by games of tag, teasing, and breakneck races.
An experience I’d never really had before. My own brothers had never played with me in wolf form. In this life, I had always been alone. Overlooked. Forgotten.
Even with all the messed-up-ness of marrying Aiden and losing Liam, a strange gratitude bubbles within me. I was stepping into a new family—a pack.
An actual family.
I trot out into the clearing near the back of my cabin, my personal sanctuary away from everything that has to do with my father. The wolf inside me yields, leaving me naked and vulnerable under the dusky predawn sky.
His scent infiltrates the air before I spot him. A knot of unease coils in my stomach, twisting up like a hangman’s noose. My heart hammers a frantic rhythm, echoing the dread reverberating through me.
My father looms on my porch.
Liam, Bast, and Jackson are mere steps behind, but it doesn’t matter. This is about me, a fact etched so deep it throbs in my bones. If he knew anything about Liam, about our connection...
Liam would already be dead.
I snatch up my discarded clothes from the ground where I’d abandoned them last night. I yank them on, each pull of fabric over skin a physical assertion against the rising fear. Squaring my shoulders, I lift my chin and step toward my fate, my feet moving with a courage I don’t recognize.
The wooden planks of the porch press cold against my bare feet as I approach my father. He doesn’t make eye contact with me, instead keeping his gaze trained on the breaking dawn, but I don’t need him to look at me to sense the iron will radiating from him. He’s always been a tyrant wrapped in a cloak of paternal concern. Today will not prove any different.
My father looks to my right, straight at the place I hear Liam’s footsteps.
“You’re one of Aiden’s.” My father’s sharp voice shreds the peace of the quiet morning, icy and unyielding. The command in his tone sends an involuntary shudder rippling down my spine.
My gaze flicks to Liam. The morning light paints him in shades of gold and shadow, illuminating the raw power that ripples under his skin. He moves with a grace that speaks to his strength, a predatory allure that both calms my spiraling thoughts and ignites a fire of longing in my heart.
“Yes, sir,” Liam answers, his voice strong and clear.
Movement behind him catches my attention. His brothers, Bast and Jackson, slip into the shadows, their forms quickly swallowed by the trees.
Only Liam remains, a sentinel shadowing my every move.
“Darcy was spotted in town.” His words echo like a death knell. The last encounter with Darcy nearly cost Liam his life. But as my father continues, a new fear takes root in my heart, overshadowing the dread Darcy’s name incites. “I’m leaving one of my guards with you today, as an added precaution.”
You mean as a spy.
My mind races, terror gnawing at my insides.
If my father discovers the potential mate bond between Liam and me, everything will unravel.
Before I can react, Liam steps onto the porch, closing the gap between us. The heat emanating from him, the promise in his eyes, soothes the panic threatening to overtake me.
“There’s no need,” he says firmly. “My brothers and I have been assigned to protect Gen. She’s safe with us.”
“Your opinion is noted, but the decision is not yours to make. She is my daughter. The guard stays.” The finality of the statement slices through the air like the crack of a bullwhip.
My father’s gaze shifts to me, as if expecting me to react, to challenge him.
But I stay silent.
My father gestures toward the dark SUV parked off to the side of the cabin. One of the rear doors opens and a mountain of a man unfolds from the inside, every movement deliberate and calculated. Noah. The brother of the man my father coldly shot just days ago for driving me, Rachel, and Meredith to Denver.
Sunlight glints off his bald head, emphasizing the deep-set nature of his icy blue eyes. They’re eyes that have seen too much, eyes that don’t allow any trace of emotion to show. His face is a weathered canvas, tanned and lined from hard years working for my father. Thick, corded muscles ripple beneath his black T-shirt as he steps closer, every inch of him screaming danger.
An involuntary shiver runs down my spine. Darcy’s cocky smirk was unnerving, but Noah is on an entirely different level. There’s a coldness to him, a silent promise of violence that clings to the air.
It’s no accident Noah’s been assigned to watch over me. My father’s cruelty knows no bounds. This is his twisted way of keeping me in line—using a grieving brother, likely burning with rage and pain, as my warden. Torture for me. Torture for Noah. Just a nice helping of pain and control all around for everyone.
My fucking father, ladies and gentlemen.
“Noah will ensure everything goes according to plan. Just one more moon run, Imogen. After that, the festivities begin.” My father flashes a devilish smile—a smile that says he knows exactly how I feel and he doesn’t give a single solitary fuck.
His back rigid and imposing, he turns on his heel and strides toward the SUV. The early morning sun casts long shadows, making him appear even more menacing. Without sparing another glance, he slides into the vehicle, leaving behind a thick fog-like tension. The SUV’s engine roars to life, and drives away, leaving the three of us locked in an uncomfortable, almost suffocating silence.
The dust settles. Nature starts chirping again, asserting its dominance. Noah quickly closes the distance between us, freaking me out more than a little bit.
Every muscle in my body tenses. I take a step back, feeling the cool morning grass beneath my feet.
A low, primal growl reverberates through Liam, his body moving fluidly to intercept Noah’s advance. “You may be here on Oliver’s order, but Gen is under Aiden’s protection. My brothers and I have this well in hand, so I suggest you keep your distance.”
Noah inclines his head, staring at Liam with a hawk-like intensity. His silence is eerie, his gaze dissecting. “Fine,” he finally says. The word is laced with unspoken challenges and accusations.
He retreats, sinking into one of the oversize Adirondack chairs. The wood creaks slightly under his weight. His eyes never leave either of us.
The air I’d been holding hostage in my lungs escapes in a shuddering exhale. My heart still races, thumping loudly in the hollow of my throat.
Liam gestures at the cabin door, and I obey wordlessly. The heavy door closes behind us with a finality that sends yet another shiver down my spine.
We walk through the cabin, our movements slow and deliberate, as if we’re treading on thin ice. He snatches a few squares of toilet paper and one of my black eyeliner pencils, hastily scribbling down a message.
Not safe. Can’t stay. Suspicious. Woods w/brothers.
I nod in understanding.
He tosses the message in the toilet and flushes. Then he leans in, pressing a chaste kiss to my forehead before leaving me alone in the claustrophobic silence of the bathroom.
Another stolen day.
Another day of fear and hiding, instead of hidden moments of joy with the man who should be my mate.
But he’s right to leave.
Noah’s dangerous.
But now I’m left alone to marinate in my thoughts.
I roll over in the comfort of my bed, pulling the blanket up to my chin, creating a cocoon of warmth against the chill that seeped into my bones. My gaze drifts up to the overflowing bookshelves, each spine a testament to the fantasy worlds I’ve delved into. Worlds these authors glorified and romanticized, infusing the everyday with a shimmer of magick.
Yet what they seem to overlook is that even magick can’t always triumph over corruption, or anger, or the insatiable thirst for power.
Sure, these books are brimming with tales of good versus evil. But in those woven worlds, good always wins. The promise of a happily-ever-after is a beacon at the end of their trials.
The reason I continued to read them is simpler—they offer a glimmer of hope. That perhaps someday I too can possess a fraction of the happiness these fictional characters attain by the end of their journey.
A ribbon of sunlight sneaks through the blinds. The glaring brightness of the afternoon paints the cabin in a warm, deceptive glow. The entire day, I’ve been holed up inside—a prisoner in my own home. Reading, sleeping, picking at snacks, and only daring to creep near the locked door to ensure it remains that way. Ensuring Noah can’t waltz in uninvited.
I can hear him on the porch, still sitting in that chair. Once, he knocked on my door, asking for something to eat. I’d refused, heart pounding in my throat. No way was I letting him inside my cabin while I was alone.
His response—a frustrated kick against the door—had only reaffirmed my instincts to be wary of him.
A soft knock a few minutes later and the sound of my whispered name on the other side of the door pulls me from my bed again. It’s Jackson this time. The wisdom behind Liam’s absence is not lost on me. We can’t afford any more stolen looks or silent exchanges under Noah’s surveillance.
I open the door and assure Jackson everything is fine. My voice remains steady, my expression composed. The art of disguising raging emotions is a skill I’ve honed over many years of practice.
Jackson takes his leave and once I lock the door behind him, I take refuge in the shower once again. But the hot water does little to wash away the anxious energy humming beneath my skin.
Next I seek solace in another nap, crawling back into the sanctuary of my bed. And now here I am, restlessly flipping back and forth, boredom prodding at me randomly like a malfunctioning cattle prod.
My heart pounds in my chest every time I think about stepping outside and facing Noah. Talking to him. Looking at him. The man my father left to watch over me is patiently waiting for me to make a mistake so he can take his pound of flesh.
Those who serve my father are driven by two things—the promise of gaining favors or the crippling fear of losing something precious. Family, security, status. My father has an uncanny knack for pinpointing vulnerabilities, for wielding them like a weapon. He revels in instilling fear and in causing pain.
The moon tonight can’t come soon enough.