Chapter 3 #2
At that moment, I realized that if I became the werewolf Queen, I would never lead our people to a doomed war. I would ensure I found a way to protect them first from vampires’ compulsion power.
The images started to fade out, but even in the haze, I could recognize the vampire Queen standing proud before Dad’s werewolves, compelling them to walk toward her sword, piercing them through their hearts, jumping out of the castle windows, or stabbing each other.
And then, as if my inner voice spoke to me, murmuring a truth I had nearly forgotten—Victoria, as powerful as she was, could not compel me as a witch.
I was the only one who could stand before her and fight her.
But I didn’t have a wolf spirit to help me with supernatural speed, strength, and healing.
My fingers twitched nervously at my sides while sweat trickled down my forehead.
My hatred for the vampire Queen increased tenfold.
Time sped up again, and the storm of moving images of Torin’s memories whirled around me.
Flashes of memories spun around me, but the images were stained in red instead of the white mist and clouds.
I could make out the silhouette of Torin’s body moving in destructive ways, unmoving bodies at his feet, blood flowing on the ground.
The preview of memories only slowed down as if to show me a brief moment when Torin ripped apart hunters and vampires. I couldn’t tell the time or the place. At night, nightmares tortured him, and during the day, memories haunted him.
A wave of dizziness washed over me, and I wished for the horror movie to end.
Finally, time slowed to reveal the furnishing of a familiar apartment. Torin looked a lot more like he did in the present. But his nose seemed thinner, and he had dark circles around his eyes. He stood in front of a table, and behind it stood an older man with grayish hair, probably in his fifties.
A sudden realization struck me. This was the same Los Angeles apartment where Tammy and I had once stayed, the same one that Adrian had invited us to—the hunters' headquarters. But it wasn’t Adrian who stood before Torin. It was his predecessor.
The apartment looked the same, but the furnishings were different. On the table, the hunter leader had a crossbow, quiver, and arrows.
To confirm my suspicions, I walked to the window and gazed at the busy, unchanged Los Angeles streets. Then I turned to face the men.
Behind the older gentleman stood three younger hunters, all rugged and weathered, holding silver blades and crossbows. They looked at Torin with weary but sharp eyes.
As a ghost, I circled around my mate, unnoticed.
Torin’s black hair, slightly longer than I remembered it in the present, touched his broad shoulders.
He emitted the same untamed allure that drew me to him.
His strikingly handsome face radiated strength and resilience.
His sharp jawline had a faint hint of stubble, adding a touch of rugged charm.
Torin didn’t appear under duress—he wasn’t hurt or held captive. So why was he here? I finally focused on their conversation.
“…silver dagger into my heart. But make sure not to take it out until my last breath,” Torin said in a flat voice, and I shuddered.
His voice lacked vitality, and my eyes watered as my heart ached for him. I was in love with a broken man.
How could Torin be so calm in such a moment? I wanted to grab his shoulders and shake him out of his pain, but there was nothing I could do to change the past or his present.
Torin must have come to terms with his decision. My tears broke free and poured down my cheeks. His trauma ran so deep that he was ready to give up a life of immortality. Torin couldn’t live forever when he hated himself.
The older man looked at Torin and smiled. “It’ll be done, Alpha.”
The Torin I knew cared about his pack. He was an Alpha who would do anything for his pack members. But this Alpha before me wasn’t the brave and compassionate leader who would kill his friend to relieve him from his suffering while sacrificing his own sanity.
There was an undeniable strength in Torin’s physique, sculpted through years of training and battles. But the strength in his amber eyes was gone. And although a black shirt hid his scars, I knew they were there.
A strange beeping startled the men, and Torin reached into his back pocket and pulled out an ancient-looking cell phone. The small buttons stuck out, and the screen was too small to be a touch screen. He picked it up by pressing one of the buttons.
“Yes, Brendan,” Torin said, and my mouth fell open.
Was he talking to my father so casually? It had to be Dad.
Silence followed. Torin looked at the ceiling and let out an annoyed sigh, which I was sure my dad heard on the other side of the line.
Torin would never dare do this now.
“Yes, I will be there. Leaving now,” Torin responded to something my father said.
Then there was more silence.
“No, I wouldn’t miss it for the world,” Torin said with sarcasm, which would not have been tolerated in the present.
I had forgotten to breathe, trying to catch Dad’s words.
Torin hung up. Torin and Dad seemed close back then. So what had happened that drove a wedge between them?
Torin looked at the hunter leader. “I have to go because I promised something important to a friend, but I’ll return tomorrow.”
I gaped at my mate. Dad and Torin were not friends now. And what had he promised?
“Well, this friend of yours just prolonged your life with another day, Alpha. But be back tomorrow. Or we’ll come for you and the werewolves.”
Torin nodded and left the apartment.
My dad had saved Torin’s life twice now. What was so crucial that Dad wanted to show Torin immediately? Whatever the reason, I was grateful that the King had saved my mate’s life.
As the veil of the white fog descended, I knew I would be transported to Torin’s memory, where I would find more answers.
With each passing second, the fog thickened until everything around me faded into obscurity.
Tension knotted in my stomach, and I scratched at the irritating tingle under the skin of my forearms. What harrowing memories would I visit next?