Chapter 31 Where It All Began
Where It All Began
The Bentley was a bruise on the familiar landscape; a glossy, monstrous thing crouched in the dirt drive. It didn’t belong here. It looked like it had taken a wrong turn into poverty and decided to conquer it.
My pulse spiked.
As soon as Aiden’s SUV settled into the gravel, I yanked the door, got out, and then shut it with a force that echoed in the stillness. But the clatter of it was swallowed whole by the hush that had fallen over the place.
The air smelled of fresh-cut grass and engine exhaust, but beneath it lingered something metallic. Old blood. It wrapped around me, a suffocating reminder of past violence.
The house towered above the drive, warped and faded by decades of humidity, its green paint now a sickly, pale hue in the low light. My hands trembled. I flexed them until my knuckles went white, then forced myself up the walk, boots crunching on loose gravel.
A shadow flickered across the house’s front window, then disappeared. The front door swung open, and there he stood.
Ulysses Morozov.
He looked like he’d stepped straight out of a GQ cover.
Midnight suit tailored to lethal precision.
Not a wrinkle. Not a hair out of place. His pale eyes caught the dying light and held it, cold and steady.
He didn’t belong here, and yet he filled the doorway as if he owned not just the farmhouse, but the entire night.
“Josephine,” he drawled, stepping aside to let us in. “You took your time,” he said.
“And you’re in my town,” I shot back.
He didn’t flinch, just stepped aside, inviting us in. “Let’s discuss the… mess you left behind.”
The word carried weight, a polished blade wrapped in velvet.
We stepped inside, the air thick with the sharp scent of lemon cleaner, a feeble attempt to disguise something more sinister lurking beneath. The furniture stood neatly arranged, but the memory of the chaos we had left behind clung to the walls like a ghost.
This pristine space felt foreign, its surfaces gleaming with an unnerving perfection. I couldn’t recall it ever being this immaculate, as if it had been scrubbed clean not just of dirt, but of the very essence of what had transpired here.
I turned on him. “How?” I said, my voice barely above a whisper, “Ulysses, where’s Ethan?” A chill crept down my spine, and I hesitated, the words heavy in my throat. “I… I mean… his body.”
Aiden stood beside me like an unyielding wall, his strength a comforting anchor in the storm of uncertainty.
Yet, my gaze remained glued to Ulysses, whose poised demeanor radiated a chilling serenity.
He was like a coiled serpent, muscles taut beneath his tailored suit, ready to strike at any moment.
The air around him hummed with tension, each breath I took heavy with the weight of his unspoken threats.
“You haven’t been to work,” Ulysses said, his voice like silk. “That wasn’t the deal we had.” The corners of his mouth twisted into a smile that never touched his eyes.
A wave of tension coursed through me, my muscles tightening as I fought the impulse to snap back at Ulysses.
But before I could voice my defiance, Aiden shifted beside me, his presence a steady force.
He stepped slightly forward, his jaw set and eyes narrowing, ready to confront the looming threat with fierce intensity.
“Now’s not the time for your power games, vampire.”
Ulysses’ gaze slid to him, assessing, faintly amused. “Everything is a game, wolf. The question is who’s winning.”
“Enough,” I said, my voice slicing through the tension like a knife, sharper than I had meant it to be. “Answer me, Ulysses,” I demanded, my frustration bubbling to the surface, “Where’s Ethan’s body?”
He leaned back slightly, a smirk playing on his lips. “I had some… associates who specialize in… removals,” he replied, his tone casual, as if discussing the weather.
His words hung in the air, a casual dismissal that felt like ice water coursing through my veins. A sickening realization settled in my gut: Aleksey was here, lurking in the shadows.
“Removals,” I repeated, tasting the word like it was poison. “You mean Aleksey.”
The thought of his presence sent a cold tremor through me, conjuring images of his ruthless efficiency.
He was the one who had orchestrated the cleanup in Emily’s house, leaving no trace of the chaos behind.
And now, he was the specter responsible for “taking care” of Ethan’s body, his hands stained with the finality of death.
The corner of his mouth lifted in a smirk.
My pulse kicked up. “What did you do?”
“I had him take care of the corpse,” Ulysses said lightly, as if we were discussing spilled wine.
Aiden’s jaw tightened, his gaze flicking briefly to the darkened corners of the room as if expecting Aleksey to step out of them.
“Ethan wasn’t just a corpse… he was a friend, a husband. And you brought a killer into Oakville?” His voice was low, dangerous.
Ulysses’s gaze slid to him, cool and dismissive. “I brought efficiency. Chaos like this draws attention, and you’re already on thin ice.”
I stepped forward, heat flaring in my chest. “Ethan’s blood was still warm when we left. And now it’s like it never happened.”
“That’s the point,” he replied.
I wanted to scream, but instead I forced the words out, sharp and brittle. “Mateo and Emily are missing, Ethan’s dead, and you think this is some kind of strategic maneuver?”
“That’s exactly what it is,” he said. “And if you want your son back, you’re going to have to start seeing the board the way I do.”
I hated that a part of me wanted to hear him out.
But I also hated the gnawing truth that he might actually know more than he was saying, “I don’t care about your threats, your territory disputes, or whatever ego contest you want to start.
We need to find Mateo… and Emily. What do you know about the symbols on the walls? ”
He studied me for a long moment, eyes narrowing just enough to make my skin crawl. “Describe them.”
We moved into the kitchen. Emily’s absence hung heavy, the silence here different from the rest of the house, as if the walls themselves were holding their breath. Ulysses leaned against the counter, arms folded, his expression too smooth.
“There were… markings,” I started, the words catching in my throat. “Not just scribbles, symbols. They were pulsing,” I said. “Like veins of light, running across every inch of the wall.”
“Glowing?” His brows lifted just slightly.
“Blue-white,” I said. “They pulsed, like they were alive. I’ve never seen anything like it.” My hands moved before I realized, tracing shapes in the air.
“Structured,” Aiden added. “Not just markings. Werewolf runes… ancient. Some I’ve never seen used in modern packs. Someone did their homework.”
Ulysses tilted his head, eyes narrowing. “You’re certain?”
Aiden gave him a hard look. “Positive. Some of them… they’re ancient. Which means someone dug deep to find them.”
“And the boy?” Ulysses asked.
“Gone. Emily said he just needed a minute. She checked on him five minutes later, and he was just… gone. No signs of a struggle, no footprints leading away.”
“Except for Ethan,” Aiden added.
Ulysses’s gaze sharpened. “Ah. The corpse.”
“Not just a corpse,” I snapped. “They tore into him. Deep. There was blood on the floor, and when we came back… it was gone. Everything was gone.”
Ulysses’s mouth curved into a knowing smile. “My associates are thorough.”
My skin went cold. His smirk stayed in place.
Aiden’s jaw worked, his voice low. “You brought your minions to do your dirty work.”
“I brought someone who finishes what I start,” Ulysses said smoothly. “And what’s starting now…” He let the sentence hang in the air, tasting the weight of it. “It’s much bigger than the three of us.”
Ulysses’s demeanor transformed, a flicker of intensity igniting in his gaze.
“Those markings you mentioned,” he said, his eyes narrowing, a subtle crease etched into his brow, hinting at the weight of the knowledge he held.
“They aren’t just runes. They’re binding scripts. Very old. Very dangerous.”
Each deliberate movement conveyed that he was acutely aware of the stakes at play.
My stomach twisted. “Binding what?”
He leaned in slightly, voice lowering. “Not what. Who.”
Aiden’s eyes darkened. “Mateo.”
Ulysses’s gaze sharpened. “You think I had a hand in this? If I wanted the boy, I’d already have him. No… this smells of the Obsidian Circle.”
I froze. “What the hell is the Obsidian Circle?”
“The other half of your problem,” he said.
“The ones who’ve been pulling strings from the shadows for decades…
No, that’s not right… For centuries, if not millennia, is more appropriate.
They’re old, they’re patient, and they’re obsessed with one thing: the Source. And consequently, Project Moonlight.”
Aiden shot him a warning look. “Careful.”
“No,” I said, voice shaking. “Don’t stop now. Tell me.”
Ulysses’s eyes glittered. “Project Moonlight was a collaboration between supernatural factions… and human science. The aim? To channel raw power from the Source. And Mateo may be the key.”
The walls seemed to sway. “No. No, he’s just a boy… my boy.”
Mine. He just started rolling his eyes at me last month.
Ulysses leaned closer, his voice low and deliberate. “Your boy was born under very… specific conditions. There are gaps in your memory of that time for a reason.”
The weight of his words pressed down on me.
No. He was lying.
My heart raced, pounding a frantic rhythm against my ribcage.
I remember the smell of antiseptic. The beeping of the machines. The white light over my head. And then nothing.
Just as I opened my mouth to press him for answers, the sharp trill of my phone sliced through the heavy silence, vibrating insistently on the counter.