Chapter 29 Grayson
I don't leave her alone. I don't even ask if it's okay that I stay. Instead, I hold her close while she cries herself to sleep.
I don't leave when she drifts off, even though there are a million things I should be doing.
But there's nothing I'd rather do, nowhere I'd rather be, than right here.
Lying in an uncomfortable position, with my mate tucked in my arms, her soothing omega energy wrapped up in her floral, angelic scent as her breathing evens out.
My smoky, cinnamon scent crackles in the air—dark, volcanic, smoldering with ash and anger. So strong, it coats my tongue, but I swallow down the urge to rage and smash something with my fists. Instead, I let Mona's omega, her effortless, supportive scent, calm the fire inside me.
I wish her father was still alive so I could kill him again.
I don't know what Silas was thinking, how he found her—how, after finding his omega, he could bite her and leave her—but the more I learn, the more I suspect he's behind the scenes, working us all like puppets.
He's involved in all of this. I just wish I knew more. I wish we could find him.
Kendrick suspects the witches are involved in the missing shifters. And we can now confirm the witches were involved in suppressing Mona's wolf. Silas found her, somehow, and freed her.
But why? To what end?
The witches don't want to take over our clans. Even if, somehow, they found a way to control the alphas, the lunes of every clan, they could never hold on to that power. They could never control a clan of shifters. We vastly outnumber them.
So, what is it they want?
I dig my phone out of my pocket. After making sure Mona is fast asleep, I dial the number. He answers, surprisingly, on the third ring. Usually it's days, sometimes weeks, before I hear back.
"We have a problem," I say quietly.
He says nothing, just waits for me to fill in the blanks. So, I do. I tell Kendrick about the training course, and Mona's wolf. About the witches. And then about the blood.
"I spoke with Trin, she informed me of the magic in your mate's blood. Who was the doctor?" Kendrick asks. Trin Halperin wouldn't have withheld any information from Kendrick. So I fill him in on what Mona told us about her doctor in New York, and about her father and all the pills.
Kendrick hums. "The witches have a compound outside Ontario.
Deidre's coven. It's not very large, there's only about a dozen or so that live there.
Not big enough to house the number of shifters that have gone missing, so initially, I dismissed its value.
But Deidre's playing the long game." He quiets for a moment. And then, "I'm sending in The Ghost."
Shock runs through me. I recover quickly. "How will he get past the witches?"
The Ghost is Kendrick's secret weapon. A man so elusive he belongs to no pack, no clan—not even Kendrick's—and few people know his real identity. But he's young.
If there were a silent, deadly assassin that could infiltrate a witch's coven without raising alarms, it would be The Ghost. He's stealthy and deceptive, or so I've heard.
Shifters—wolves, especially—are loud, big, and dramatic by nature.
I'm certainly guilty of it, my dominance requires brute force.
But the Ghost isn't like the rest of us, and no one knows why.
Kendrick doesn't answer me. Instead, he says, "I'll let you know what he finds. Keep me posted on your end." Before he hangs up, he adds, "The time is coming, Grayson. Have your wolves ready."
The line goes dead.
We've had a tentative alliance with the witches for some time now. And while we have no evidence they are responsible for the missing shifters, we have irrefutable proof they've tampered with an omega. With that, and the witches on our land today—he's right. Something's coming. We need to be ready.
I set my phone down on the side table. Carefully, I kick off my shoes, gingerly setting them on the ground. Then I turn out the light and, though it's still early, I settle in for the night, because I'm not letting Mona out of my sight—out of my arms—until morning.
After all these years, I can't believe I have a mate. It feels so precarious. So fragile.
Her existence thrums through me like a second heartbeat. I don't understand how she can be mine. She's a miracle. An anomaly.
And she's mine. My Moon Goddess blessed fated mate.
How do other shifters survive this? This constant gnawing terror clawing at my insides, full of worry and fear for her safety and happiness.
Since we've met, I've become even more of a possessive, overbearing, alpha-fueled ball of fire, running on raw instincts.
I've panicked more in the last week than I have in years combined.
I think about her needs, her wants, her wellness in a constant stream of consciousness, right there beside every other daily task.
I wake up—is Mona awake? I eat. Is Mona hungry? I run drills. Is Mona safe? Enjoying her day?
My nerves are frayed ends. She's rewired my brain—every thought now tethered to her.
And it's fucking terrifying.
With thoughts of all impending threats against her, which eventually turn to thoughts of mating and fucking, I drift off beside her. So it's a surprise when I'm jarred awake with her thrashing in my arms. She's mumbling something, squirming, tangled in the sheets.
"Mona," I whisper. "Mona," I try again, nudging her this time. But I push too hard, and she lets out a screech when she wakes and finds I'm in bed with her.
"What-what," she mutters. "What happened?"
"You were having a nightmare."
Even in the dark, I can see her almost perfectly. She scrunches her pert nose, rubs her tired eyes. Her hair is a wild mess. She looks fucking cute.
"I don't think it was a nightmare." She yawns and only then realizes I'm actually here. She and I haven't exactly got along well since her arrival. "You slept with me." It's not an accusation. The slight lilt at the end of her sentence tells me she's surprised.
"What was it about?" I ask.
"Huh?" She takes a second to catch up. I lean around her to glance at the clock on the nightstand. It's barely midnight. "Oh, the dream. Umm…"
"You were thrashing."
She bites her lip and looks down at her fidgeting hands. "It's not… I mean, it's weird. It keeps happening. Different each time, but the same. It's always in a cell. Or a cage. I think it used to be a nightmare—" she shakes her head, trying to clear the confusion.
Then she starts over. "I used to have nightmares about what Silas did.
I'd wake up screaming, feeling him bite into me.
But lately it's—it's different. He's still there.
But he's in a cell. And there's a woman there.
Sometimes she's naked. Sometimes she's wearing old sweats.
She's—I can't explain it. Like, throwing herself at him?
But she looks feral. She's a wolf, too. I can smell her. A delta, but… not…"
I don't add anything or interrupt, just wait for her to continue. She tries to see if I have an opinion or explanation, but I don't, so I say nothing.
"It's so real. And kind of mundane. When she's not throwing herself at him, they're just talking. Or… smiling."
Weirdly, that last part makes her frown. I ask, "It makes you uncomfortable?"
Instead of answering, she says, "Can I ask you something? About the mate thing?"
"Of course."
"Silas… I mean, he's your pack. And you're my fated mates or whatever, you and Orion…"
"Ask what you want to ask, Mona."
"It's just… gahh, I don't know why this is so hard."
"It's okay. Whatever it is, we'll work it out."
"I feel something for him. And I feel like that's wrong.
Like I shouldn't. After what he did to me and maybe did to my dad—" her breath hitches and she lets out a dark laugh.
Sitting up, she leans against the headboard and pulls her knees to her chest. The full moon is coming, but it's not here yet.
Still, it's bright and high in the sky, unencumbered by clouds.
The gentle luminescence makes her skin glow. Her arctic-blue eyes cut through the darkness as they dart around the room, looking for answers. But she won't find them there.
I reach out and grip her chin, making her look at me. I've seen many expressions on Mona's face since we met. Fear, anger, annoyance, amusement. But this uncertainty is new.
"You want to know if Silas is your mate."
She nods, then chews on her lip like she does when she worries. My hand is almost the size of her face. She's so small and delicate. Fierce. Fucking fierce, this girl.
My thumb, tracing the line of her jaw, reaches up and pulls her lip from her teeth.
"I don't know the answer, but I suspect yes, he is."
A single tear falls from her right eye. It tracks all the way down her cheek, wetting my thumb. I wipe it away.
"And it's just…" her voice shakes. "I feel so fucking stupid. Because I see him in this dream and it's probably not even real, but who is this woman? And nothing looks okay. Something is clearly wrong. She isn't well. But then I wake up and I feel jealous. Like, what the fuck is wrong with me?"
I offer a sad smile. "There's absolutely nothing wrong with you, Mona. You're perfect."
She rolls her eyes, but I grip her chin harder, making her breath catch.
"No, don't do that. To me, you are perfect.
And to Orion. You've gone through so much to get here, to get to us, and you did it all on your own, with no knowledge of shifters and without any help.
You and your wolf, you are perfect because you never gave up, you fought so hard, and you made it here to us.
We're here now to help you. Don't doubt yourself or any of your feelings.