Chapter Twenty-One
Sometimes Screaming Helps
IMOGEN GALLAGHER
The distant growl of a car engine reaches my ears and I recognize it immediately—Rachel. Anticipation twirls through my stomach. I wish she wasn’t here. I wish the rehearsal dinner wasn’t looming ahead of me tonight. There’s no way around it. The wedding is coming.
The cheerful knock at my door makes me get up from the bed, even though I don’t want to. I open the door and am unable to suppress the spread of a smile on my face with her infectiously wide grin prodding me out of my sour mood.
She’s also holding an extra-large steaming latte of the very best coffee. The smell is divine and for a brief moment everything else weighing on me disappears and it’s only a happy moment with a dear friend.
“I have a surprise for you.”
I raise my eyebrows and sip the heavenly latte, silently prompting her to spill the beans.
“Spa day,” she announces triumphantly.
An amused chuckle bubbles up in my throat. “There’s no spa in Ash Hollow.”
“Nope, but we are making one at my house. Hair, facial, makeup. It’s going to be amazing. And I have brunch and mimosas ready to go. Let’s blow this joint.” She waves her hands wildly, her eyes twinkling with excitement. “Get dressed, I’ll load up all the wedding stuff so you can change and get ready at my place.”
A new wave of tension wraps around me at the mention of the wedding, but I push it aside.
In a flurry of movement, she’s gathered everything she and Meredith brought over yesterday and is out the door, leaving me with coffee and perplexed about what just happened.
She does know I’m not exactly excited about this wedding. Why would I want to go celebrate and have brunch?
Except the drinking part might be an excellent idea. Maybe she’s not completely nuts.
A few moments later she bursts back into the cabin and ushers me out, wearing nothing but a pair of comfy sweats and a T-shirt. I follow obediently, purposefully not making eye contact with a pissed-off Noah, who’s made himself comfortable in the back seat of Rachel’s car. I also force myself not to scan the woods for Liam and the others.
Rachel winks at me and points to the front seat of her little car.
“Are you sure it’s safe?”
She shakes her head and grimaces. “Noah made the mistake of doubting me. Calling your father, and then getting chewed out for interrupting some meeting. It was ugly. I actually felt a little sorry for him.”
I huff and try not to let any emotion show. I feel sorry for him too, but it’s not because my father chewed him out.
The ride is a silent one.
Rachel parks the car in the alley behind her shop and we climb the stairs to the apartment above with Noah trailing a few paces behind.
She steps in front of me, blocking him from coming up the last few stairs. “You’re not invited. Go get some breakfast. Coffee. Whatever. But you’re not coming inside.”
This tiny little waif of a brunette, with her punk-rock plastic choker necklaces and dozens of beaded bracelets, just stands there like she has the power to stop a two-hundred-and-fifty-pound solidly muscled werewolf male from doing whatever the fuck he wants.
Maybe she does...
“Fucking move, bitch,” Noah says, his voice gravelly and pissed.
“You know, I actually felt a little sorry for you, but if you’re up for calling me a bitch then I’m up for being one, asshole. No men inside. Call Oliver and check if you want.”
Noah pulls out his cell phone and hesitates, makes eye contact with me, and his face hardens.
“Noah, I.” The apology is on the tip of my tongue. I know he’s angry and hurting. He lost a brother—
“Fuck you, the both of you. You’ll both pay for what happened to my brother. I can be patient.”
Rachel straightens her spine, stretching her five-foot-four frame at least another two inches.
“Don’t do anything,” I whisper-hiss over her shoulder, worried she might use magick and put herself in even more danger.
His face colors red and the muscles in his cheeks twitch like he’s grinding his teeth. His wolf rumbles in his chest. His eyes spark with gold. Then he meets my gaze again and flashes a menacing grin before turning and heads back down the stairs.
Fuck.
Rachel whirls and pats my shoulder. “He’s gone. Let’s go.” She ushers me swiftly up the rest of the stairs into her apartment. Immediately, a medley of aromas greets me—not just the familiar scents of coffee beans and freshly baked pastries from the shop downstairs, but also a deeper, underlying mix of hers, incense, and something slightly metallic. The entire essence of her apartment feels like a warm, comforting hug, yet filled with mysteries to be discovered.
Rachel’s living room is a delightful blend of her vibrant personality and what seems like centuries of accumulated knowledge. Bold colors—especially the rich purple walls—serve as the backdrop to rustic wooden bookshelves, overloaded with more than just books. Old leather-bound grimoires mingle with modern gardening manuals, hinting at an interest in herbology. Which makes a lot of sense now that I know Rachel is a witch. Dried herbs hang from the ceiling in a corner, alongside bundles of white sage and braids of sweetgrass. The strong scents of lavender and another herb I can’t identify tickle my nose.
“Rachel, this is...surreal, but in a fantastic way. It’s so you,” I say, caught in a whirlwind of fascination.
She offers a wistful smile. “Thanks. I know it’s weird you’ve never been up here before, but there would’ve been questions I wasn’t ready to answer.”
“It’s like an ancient apothecary met a punk-rock goth. It’s perfect. And yes, I agree. I would’ve had many questions.”
My gaze floats around the room, taking in the trinkets and crystals, their facets catching the sunlight streaming in through the window and refracting it into a myriad of dancing colors.
Below the window, an array of potted plants thrive. I recognize the aloe vera, but the others are a mystery to me. Nearby, a mortar and pestle sit next to fresh plant cuttings. My eyes follow the trail of unfamiliar herbs, leading me to the heart of the apartment.
In front of the stove stands a tall, elegant redhead, her long hair cascading like a fiery waterfall down her back. I squint, taking a second to register the face that accompanies the mane.
Emma Banfield—Meredith’s daughter.
I blink, surprise catching me by the throat.
My mind goes into overdrive. Why the hell is Finn’s mate here? The woman is practically a stranger to me, our interactions limited to curt nods and half-hearted attempts at weather chitchat.
I’m about to unleash the storm of questions brewing inside me when Rachel swiftly presses her hand against my mouth, silencing me.
Her eyes are wide and insistent, communicating stay quiet . I nod, the gears in my brain grinding to a temporary halt.
Rachel drops her hand from my mouth and starts muttering in old Gaelic. The cadence is musical, flowing around me like a magickal fog. I can almost taste the charged energy in the air.
“Cone of silence?” I ask, once her incantation finally ceases.
She snorts out a laugh. “Yes. I had Emma get here way before us so Noah wouldn’t know. And we need privacy for the conversation we’re about to have.”
My gaze drifts back to Emma, who’s now perched against the kitchen counter, her arms defensively crossed. Her frown carves deep lines into her forehead as she scrutinizes me. I stare at the striking green Celtic tattoos encircling her wrists—mate bond marks.
The sight strikes me like a punch to the gut. Confirmation.
Their bond... I’d suspected it, but never had concrete proof. Both of them are always so careful to keep their arms covered, their secrets hidden in shadow. Yet here she is today, the marks of her and my brother’s unity in plain sight.
The realization leaves a bitter taste in my mouth. “What’s going on?” The words stumble out of me. “I thought we were drinking today, Rachel. I want to drown my feelings in alcohol.” My voice pitches into a whine as I navigate through the apartment to the kitchen, feeling the weight of uncertainty press on me.
“She’s right,” Emma adds, her attention back on the sizzling pan of bacon. “We really should have alcohol before we tackle this discussion.”
I snatch a glance at her over the refrigerator door, frustration prickling at my insides and inciting a spark of fury. How dare she agree with me? “What’s going on? Why the hell are you here, Emma? You’ve barely spoken two words to me since...well, ever!”
Emma doesn’t look at me. Just keeps poking the bacon with her tongs. But her feelings are so loud they’re hitting me like a nuclear wave of radiation.
Fear... My wolf knows the smell intimately—bitter and acidic.
I grab the bottle of champagne from Rachel’s fridge and take it to the table. Popping the cork off with a soft hiss, I pour a meager splash of orange juice into a flute, then drown it in champagne. I empty the glass in a few swallows, the sharp bite of the carbonation tangling with the sweet citrus of the juice, then proceed to refill it.
“Anyone else?” I hold the champagne ready near the other two flutes on the table.
Both women give silent nods, so I fill their glasses and hand them out. I sink deeper into my chair at the table, my grip on my second mimosa tightening.
“All right, Rachel. Spill,” I murmur, barely audible over the chaotic drumming inside my chest.
But Emma speaks first. “First of all, your father is a horrible man. I’m...sorry.” She hesitates, her words punctuated with apprehension.
I don’t make a face or try to stop her in any way. Mostly, I’m surprised she’s even admitting it out loud. I always assumed she didn’t have a hard time because my father doesn’t hate Finn the way he hates me.
“I didn’t reach out to you because... I didn’t know if you were trustworthy. Mom wasn’t sure either.”
I didn’t trust you either. So we’re even. But the fact that Meredith hadn’t trusted me...that hurts a little. Still, I nod and sip my mimosa, acting like it’s nothing, then glance over at Rachel and raise an eyebrow.
She grins, shaking her head in response. “I told them you were. I told them we’d been friends for years.”
“The court is a big deal, I get it now,” I admit, twirling a strand of hair around my fingers. “It’s understandable that the fewer people who know that place exists, the safer.”
Emma dips her chin in a nod, relief relaxing the tight lines of her face. “When this deal with Aiden came around, my mother tried to figure out how to bring you into our circle without alerting your father.”
Ah, that makes more sense. Meredith is very strategic and cautious and my father makes a habit of knowing everything about everyone.
“When did my father find out you and your mother are witches?”
“Finn made an offhand accidental comment and that was all it took. He threatened Finn until I caved and told him the truth.” Her voice falters on the next words. “Your father quickly became obsessed with me and what I could do for him—in business, against his brother, anything really. He was excited that he now had a secret weapon at his disposal.”
A caustic laugh bubbles in my throat and tastes like ash. “Yep, that sounds about right.”
“He...he wouldn’t let me leave the house,” Emma continues, her gaze dropping to the floor. Her fingers tighten around her cup, knuckles turning white. “He told Finn I was too valuable to be allowed to leave. Finn and I tried to flee once, but Oliver found out and...we didn’t dare try again after that.”
I sit a little straighter in my chair. A memory flashes before my eyes—Finn, staggering through the house months ago, with twin shadows of bruises blooming under his eyes. I’d never known my father to physically hurt one of my brothers, so it’d seemed absurd to think that at the time. I’d just assumed he’d gotten into a brawl.
“He beat him, didn’t he?” I was well aware of what it felt like to be on the other side of my father’s fists. I wouldn’t wish it on anyone.
Emma’s eyes glisten. She takes a gulp of her mimosa. “He was going to beat me.” Her voice is barely a whisper. “I think he wanted to see if the bond worked the same way because of what I am.”
“And did you feel my brother’s pain?”
She nods, and a tear falls down her cheek.
Fuck.
“First off, you don’t ever have to apologize for calling my father a monster. He is one. He’s hit me more over the course of my life than he’s hugged me. And he usually does it to—”
“Keep your brothers in check,” Emma finishes for me.
I let out a sigh that sounds like it’s been dragged from the depths of my soul. “I doubt that. My brothers have never tried to protect me. My father simply enjoys hurting me and exerting power. I haven’t pinpointed the true reason. But then again, he never does anything without a specific goal in mind. There’s always a reason. Always a darker selfish intent behind the obvious motive.”
I reach for the bottle on the table and top off my nearly empty glass. “Some of that bacon would be great, if it’s done.”
“Yeah, sure.” Emma puts her glass down and gets up to retrieve the bacon from the frying pan. She places a bowl of nice crispy bacon in the center of the table and sits down opposite me. Rachel takes a small piece from the bowl.
I grab a piece of bacon, the rich, salty fat exploding in my mouth with a flavor that makes me moan. Over the years, I’ve learned to find joy in these simple pleasures—the solitude of my cabin, disappearing into an amazing fantasy book, and the comfort of excellent food.
“Aiden is a good man. He will care for you. He will be kind.”
Emma’s sudden announcement startles me. I look up at her, bacon halfway in my mouth, my wolf growling beneath my skin. Fuck her. Who is she to tell me anything about Aiden? She might be in a crappy situation with Finn, but at least she has her fated mate.
“Then you marry him,” I say, letting the bitter words slide between my clenched teeth. I put the glass flute on the table so I don’t crush it in my hand.
Emma flinches but holds her ground.
“Gen.” Rachel’s voice washes over me, soft and soothing like a balm. Unfortunately, it does nothing to soothe the ragged edges of my shattering heart.
“I’m losing what should be mine.” I grind out the words, throwing each one at her like a blade. “Don’t you dare tell me how good Aiden will be for me. You talk about my father like you know him. Like you’ve seen the extent of his evil.”
My wolf rises to the surface, and my vision changes, filtering out extra colors—distractions. I see the sweat on Emma’s brow. I smell her fear. Her heart races in her chest like prey before a predator.
“You. Know. Nothing.” I stand from my chair, my voice echoing in the room. “I’ve committed unspeakable acts to spare myself from my father’s relentless wrath. I’ve been his punching bag since I was old enough to take a hit and get back up off the floor. He’s hated me my entire life and I have no idea why.”
I put my hands on the table and lean closer, putting my face inches from hers. “So don’t you dare tell me what’s good for me. I’m giving up everything to save your fucking family and this entire valley from being burned to the ground by my father and uncle.”
“I—I just.” Tears stream down Emma’s cheeks. “I’m sorry.”
A bitter laugh escapes my lips. I stand up straight, crossing my arms in a protective shield across my chest. “Good for you. But ‘sorry’ doesn’t mean anything to me. You have your fated mate, despite the circumstances. And maybe Finn played the knight in shining armor once for you, but that doesn’t mean he’s ever been on my side.”
I walk to one of the kitchen windows. The peaceful scene of Ash Hollow’s Main Street sprawls before me, people walking and talking and living their life completely happy and unaware of my situation.
“Neither of my brothers have ever protected me. Not. Once. So fuck them. If you want me to feel joy for you and Finn, that’s not going to happen. If you want me to feel sympathy that my brother got one really bad beating while I’ve had hundreds and he stood idly by, that’s also not going to happen. If not for my supernatural healing as a Moonbound wolf, I’d have died a forgotten death twenty years ago.”
“Gen, it’s crucial you understand the whole picture regarding Emma, Finn, Meredith, and your father.” Rachel’s words cut through the thick fog of my anger. “Emma didn’t put you in this nightmare. She isn’t the reason you can’t be with Liam. Sit down. Close your mouth and open your ears. Be the kind, considerate, smart woman I consider one of my dearest friends.”
I whirl on my friend, anger flaring, hateful words poised on the edge of my tongue like venomous darts.
But I can’t.
Rachel sits there, calm and patient. She’s allowing me this temper tantrum because she knows I need to get it out of my system. She knows if I don’t scream and yell now I’ll fall apart the second I’m in public.
With a ragged breath, I march back to the breakfast-laden table and collapse into my seat. “I’m listening.”
Her skeptical glance accompanies a sip of her mimosa. Setting the flute slowly on the table, she captures my gaze again. “After Oliver discovered Emma was a witch, he started digging. And the first thing he dug up was Meredith.”
I nod.
“Now, the council within Meredith’s court considered cutting them off, severing Emma’s ties with the coven permanently. A few say she betrayed her family by falling in love with a wolf, et cetera, even though they knew it was a fated mate connection. Witches and wolves rarely have fated mate connections.”
“So Meredith came out into the open because she didn’t want to be cut off from her daughter?” I’m jealous. What would it be like to have a parent care so deeply for your welfare they would risk their life?
“Yes,” Emma confirms. “Except she presented herself to Oliver, promising him her support in exchange for my safety. She offered to use her magick to solidify his power in the valley and beyond.”
“Fucking hell, as if my father needs any help with that. So she amplified his narcissism a hundred times worse.”
“Yeah. Not one of her most strategic moves, but she’s a mom protecting her kid and that usually overpowers reason.”
Rachel takes another sip of her mimosa and pops a strawberry into her mouth before she continues. “She successfully managed to turn it into a high-stakes game of mutually assured destruction. Emma is protected as long as she does spells for Oliver. And Oliver is protected from Meredith’s wrath because he’s got a noose around Emma’s neck.”
“Because of Finn.” I glance at Emma and she nods. “But that’s not the half of it, is it?” I swivel back to my best friend and glare. “My father is never satisfied. He’s like a black hole when it comes to power. He knows there’s more. And he probably knows Meredith is holding back. She is, isn’t she?”
“A lot,” Emma says. “And if it were just me and her, this would already be over. But the others are at risk and everyone that’s taken refuge with us would be outed. Not only to Oliver and other rival wolf packs, but word would spread back to the people they ran from and all their lives would be in danger.”
“I know. I’m sorry. I’m not against you, Emma, or the rest of the witches in the court. I’m just so worn down. My whole life has been nothing more than surviving my father. Doing whatever it takes to appease him and receive the least amount of beatings possible.” Grabbing a mini quiche from a plate at the center of the table, I force it into my mouth, but it tastes like dirt.
I don’t want it.
Any of it.
“I’m really sorry about the situation you’ve found yourself stuck in with Finn. But I don’t have any sway with him. He’s never shown me any loyalty. Ever.” I pour another mimosa into my flute and down the entire thing in a few swallows.
I get up from the table and trudge toward Rachel’s bedroom door, my head buzzing. Before I walk through the doorway, I turn and face both women.
“I’m sorry. I’m not usually a bitch—well, maybe I am, but I don’t want to be. I’m really not in a good place right now.” Pain swirls through me in a nauseating dance, reminding me of the half a bottle of champagne I’ve chugged.
“It’s okay. Go lie down. I’ll check on you later when it’s time to go to the rehearsal and dinner.” Rachel tips her chin toward her bedroom. “I’m going to do anything I can to help you get through this, you know that, right?”
I do know that.
I know Rachel.
I feel her unwavering support and her genuine concern.
But it does nothing to dull the pain. It doesn’t stop the crushing weight of heartbreak. And she won’t be able to make the sacrifice I’m about to make any easier.