by Lola Gabriel
“Ash?” Easton called, just in case. Was that the creak of a door? Maybe if she rushed past fast enough…
On a mental count of three, Easton opened the bathroom door. She bolted out, ran down the corridor, and was just getting to the stairs when she heard someone behind her, also running. And then Easton was falling, with no idea of how or why or where she was going. The first step was a surprise, and every step after was horribly expected, until the wall at the bend in the stairs was coming up fast, and then a thud, pain, and darkness.
17
Ash
Ash looked at his watch as he climbed back in the car. It was already one o’clock. They had looked through old precedent for what felt like hours. And then, finally, Moskowitz had found something, coughed, and gathered the others around him.
“It seems,” Dawlish had intoned, because that man intoned everything. “It seems as though this… ahem… accident of nature has occurred before. Eventually, I suppose you’ll be turning her?” Ash had probably looked like a goldfish at this question, and Dawlish had gone on. “Well, if you don’t, she’ll be dead within sixty years, and I don’t know why you would want that, boy.” Ash had tried to look like a leader, but it was tough after being called ‘boy.’
“It’s up to her,” he said. “Fully her decision.” Dawlish laughed a laugh like a hundred unoiled hinges opening all at slightly different moments.
“Well, in that case,” he said, “we can assume she’ll be a shifter in no time. Who would want to be human? Perhaps keep her out of the limelight until then, hmm? Don’t want any more of these… shenanigans.”
Ash didn’t know what he’d expected from the council, but it wasn’t this. They had both accepted and not accepted Easton. Certainly his standing would be damaged. And now they had to have another hard conversation. I suppose you’ll be turning her. Dawlish probably had complete control over his bonded partner. In the old school way. Obviously, Ash didn’t want anything like that.
And they could have taken the threatening things going on more seriously. Well, he was alpha and could punish the offenders if he needed to. Ash was convinced (okay, maybe he had convinced himself) that it was kids. But all the same, they were still kids committing crimes. He wondered why he even took things to that gaggle of old farts anymore. Ash laughed alone in his car at this thought. Easton would find it funny. Probably as about the collective noun for a group of old farts. Was it gaggle? He smiled thinking about her. Hopefully she and Penelope were at the park or something. In fact, she’d said maybe they’d be at Art’s…
Ash hit call, and the hands free rang loudly in the car. No answer. She was probably in the park then, with all the stuff stashed in the stroller. This was what Ash told himself, but as he pulled into his own driveway, his palms were sweaty, and his walk to the front door was at double speed.
“Hello?” he called. He could hear the TV in the living room—that tiger show. He went in, but the room was empty.
They’re just at the park. They’re just at the park. But Easton’s car was in the driveway, wasn’t it? Hadn’t he just seen her crappy little car in the driveway?
By the time he got to the kitchen, the back door open like a scream, Ash’s heart was already in his mouth. It was beating at the back of his tongue as he rushed around calling Easton’s name. He was only a couple of steps up the staircase when he saw the blood. It was running in small rivers down the stairs, soaking into the runner. He turned the corner to find Easton crumpled against the wall.
“No… No, no, no, no, fuck, no…” He knelt beside her, picked up a wrist, and felt for a pulse. At first, he couldn’t find one, but then he got it, faint but there. He muttered her name and tried to look over her injuries. She had a gash on her head and an obviously broken leg. He knew enough not to move her. He got out his phone, dropped it, and had to grab it up from a pull of still warm, oily blood. There were tears in his eyes as he finally managed to dial 911. Shaking, he spoke to the operator.
“I don’t know, she fell or was pushed. She’s barely breathing… Yes, I found a pulse.” He gave his address, gave the plea to be quick that operators must get almost every call.
When he hung up, his mind turned to Penelope. She hadn’t been downstairs, but she could be upstairs still. She could be as hurt as Easton, or worse… But he didn’t let himself think the word or see any images of his baby girl lifeless. Instead, he began a methodical search. Not in her bedroom, not in the bathroom (he even looked under the sink), and finally, not in his bedroom. On the wall, last night’s message now seemed obviously, horribly ominous. Why had he left them alone? This was his fault. He’d been living in a fantasy land, a land of roses and unicorns and love winning the day. It was his job to look after them, both of them, and now… Who would do this? Who would hurt Easton and take Penelope? He sat down on his bed, his back to the scrawled letters. Someone who knew Rebecca, surely? That was why they were mad, right? About Easton taking her place, doing the mothering, and sleeping in her bed?
Ash shouldn’t be here, trying to play detective. Easton needed him, and he’d already let her down once today. Maybe for the last time, even.
He shook this thought away. He went back to the stairs. Easton was shivering. Most likely because of the blood loss rather than cold, but he took his jacket off and laid it very lightly over her anyway. His cuffs were all bloody. He stood again. He was about to roll them up to hide it, but he had bloody hands. Giving up, Ash leaned against the wall. He put his head against it to remain steady.
And that was when he noticed a pop of color to his right that shouldn’t be there. It was a picture of Rebecca. The old one, the black and white one he had loved and she had hated, was gone. In its place was a full color image taken in front of a photographer's backdrop. Rebecca was all teeth and pearls and a salmon colored jumper. Her parents had paid for these pictures, when they’d found out about Penelope.
“Whilst you’ve still got your looks,” her dad had joked in his usual disgusting way. But why would someone…?
As if through divine intervention, it suddenly hit Ash. He knew who had done this, all of it. And he was shocked he hadn’t thought of it before. He was surprised she’d gone as far as hurting Easton, hurting anyone, but there was no doubt in his mind.
Genevieve. Rebecca’s ice-queen sister. It had to be.
She would never hurt Penelope, at least, he had that. He knelt down to Easton and gently touched her face, and he was about to tell her about his big breakthrough when there was a thumping knock on the door.
“Ambulance!” was called loud enough to be heard throughout the house.
The paramedics were surprised when Ash didn’t get into the ambulance with Easton.
“Don’t contaminate any evidence,” one tall thin man said, slamming the door after the stretcher. “The cops will want those clothes later. These things are often domestics.”
Ash was about to shout at the streak of a paramedic when another—a pack member, one of Rory Sullivan’s boys—winked at him. The Sullivan boy quickly rested a hand on Ash’s shoulder as he walked around to jump in the front of the ambulance.
“We’ll take care of her, boss,” he said, “and whoever did this.” And he disappeared into the passenger seat. Despite everything that was happening, Ash smiled at this. So he hadn’t been completely abandoned.
Genevieve and who knew who else had been responsible for this whole fiasco. For hurting the people he loved most in the world. For the second time in as many days, a blind rage boiled up in Ash. Again, he pushed it down. He was going to talk to Rebecca’s family. For now, he was just going to talk to them.
It wasn’t a long drive. The old Sitka family lived on the outskirts of the old part of town in a huge house, one wing of which belonged to Genevieve. It had been an auspicious match, everyone had said, Rebecca and the new alpha.
Ash parked outside the house’s gates, assuming he would have to make a quick exit. He put an arm through the metal bars and pressed the lock release b
utton. The latch clicked open. He hadn’t been bashing on the door long when a window opened.
“Yoo-hoo!” It was Genevieve’s voice. Ash looked up.
“If you don’t let me in, Genevieve, I will smash this three-hundred-year-old glass you’re so proud of!”
Genevieve looked genuinely shocked at this, as though she was unaware she had done anything wrong. She looked so much like her sister that it was unnerving, though Genevieve wore more elaborate makeup and dyed her hair a shade darker. You’d think they were twins without it.
“Don’t you dare touch that glass!” Genevieve called in a shrill voice. She dipped inside her lair, and there was some muffled discussion. Finally, her pale face popped out again. It was so absurd it would be funny if it wasn’t so awful. “The filthy animal pissed inside again,” she told him. “Sandra is just cleaning it up, and then she’ll be down to greet you.”
The head disappeared. The window closed. This was a fever dream. And Sandra, could she mean…? Surely not.
He could hear Genevieve screeching even through the glass. “The trash downstairs, Sandra! You just cannot get the staff.”
Whenever they had visited Rebecca’s parents, Ash had understood his girlfriend a little more. No wonder she could be uptight, coming from this. She’d had to have been to survive it, to make sure she wasn’t another insane sister with her own wing.
Ash was about to bang on the door again, maybe smash the stupid, discolored glass and reach in to unlock it, when there was noise from the hallway. The door opened, and there, indeed, was Sandra. She looked tired. Sick, maybe.
“What the hell?” Ash asked. “Sandra why are y—? You still had my damn key. I hope she paid you pretty damn well for this.”
Sandra looked like she was having a lot of trouble looking up to meet his eyes.
“She… she did… she does… Ash, I needed the money. My boys… college, and, well, Tim got in some trouble. And since they’ve been shifting—”
Ash had pushed past Sandra and was heading for the grand staircase. His stomach flipped as he mounted the stairs. He was seeing Easton lying broken on another set.
Sandra was following him at almost a run. “I knew I could look after her, Ash! And I thought, if I don’t help, someone else will, you know, someone who doesn’t know Pen! I wasn’t expecting the cat, of course. Very allergic.”
Stopping suddenly, Ash turned around.
“Can you hear yourself, Sandra?” he yelled. “You kidnapped my daughter and may have… may…” He trailed off and took a shaking breath. “Easton is seriously hurt.”
Sandra had almost hurried into him and reeled backward. Unsteadily, she was looking up at him. “She’s just a human, Ash. How can she be expected to give Penelope everything she needs?”
“Well said!” came Genevieve's voice from behind them. She was leaning against the doorframe of the room from where she had been sticking her head out of the window. She was holding a very confused looking Penelope awkwardly on her side, not even really resting her on a hip.
Penelope put her hands out to her father. “Daddy!”
“Not now,” Genevieve said to Penelope, looking annoyed. Then she turned to Ash. “Doesn’t listen to instructions well, does she?”
“Genevieve,” Ash sighed, “she’s not even two…” Genevieve was looking at her manicured nails.
“I could read at two. And recite Homer.” She looked at Ash, who was rolling his eyes despite himself. Her gaze was piercing. It often knocked him sideways, seeing his wife’s eyes but wrong… full of cold light instead of warm. “Just give up your pet human,” she said. “And everything goes back to normal.”
“No,” Ash said. “Easton is my mate, not anyone’s pet. And my daughter and I love her.” He took a step forward. Genevieve took one back. Then she screeched. Suddenly, a fat gray cat ran out from behind Genevieve. Thinking on his feet, Ash dashed forwards. He grabbed his daughter from Genevieve's unsure arms and hoofed it to the top of the stairs. There, he turned and looked back at the two women.
“I’d get the hell out of here while you can,” he said. “If you don’t, you’ll be here when some of the biggest, meanest members of the pack arrive. And they will not show you the mercy I have. I never want to see either of you or your families again. Is that clear.” Ash waited for an answer, but none came. “I said, is that clear?!”
Penelope was playing with his hair again, curling it around a finger. It wasn’t dignified, but it showed him she was okay.
Sandra nodded. Genevieve whipped around, disappeared into the room she was in front of, and slammed the door. She’d definitely heard him, then. The last thing Ash did was turn around and call the cat.
“Come on, Pickles… Come on now…” Talk about not dignified. He made his way out of the big iron gates with a fat gray cat in one arm and a babbling two-year-old in the other.
18
Ash
The cat seemed okay sleeping in the back of the car, so Ash just left him there, one of the windows a little cracked. He took Penelope and headed into the hospital, completely nonplussed by the place. He was almost running up and down corridors, able to read the signs but unsure what most of it meant. This was not where shifters went for medical treatment.
Finally, though, beside a sign that read ICU, he almost literally ran into Helena.
“Thank God,” he said. “Easton, where’s Easton?”
“Ash!” Helena put a hand on his arm. “You’re shaking like a leaf… and she needs changing.” She put her hands out for Penelope, and Ash pulled her closer to him and stepped back. “Woah,” Helena said, “you look like a frightened deer! Ash, Easton is in there, the intensive care unit. Let me take you to her, okay? And then I’ll change Pen for you. We have diapers in pediatrics. Would that be okay?” Dry mouthed, Ash nodded. He was shaking. He hadn’t realized.
It was a terrifying ward. Beeping, tubes, a lot of monitors, and hanging bags of various fluids. Ash could hear his breath swooshing through his head, drying out his mouth even more.
“Is she…?” He tried to ask a question but let out only a choked croak.
Helena pulled back a curtain, and there Easton was. There was a tube down her throat and a machine pumping up and down. Bruises were beginning to bloom almost black all over her. Ash stepped back.
“Eassy?” Penelope said, questioning, her hands out. Ash pulled the curtain back.
“She shouldn’t see…” He handed his daughter to Helena, who took her and held her close.
“I agree,” Helena said. “But Ash, it might be the last time she gets to see her. There’s, uh, there’s not a lot of hope. Not like this, anyway.”
Ash felt as though the life was draining from him.
“Do you have…?” He made a gesture like writing. Helena nodded and used one hand to pull a pen and pad from her pocket. Ash leaned the pad on one shaking hand and wrote an address with the other. “Rory, he’s a paramedic here?”
Helena nodded. “There’s a few of yours…”
“Good,” Ash said and handed her the paper. “They’re to go to this address. Do whatever they see fit. Let them know they abducted Pen, too. I never want to see those families again, and if I do, I’ll rip them to shreds myself. Apart from that, I don’t care what happens.”
Helena could clearly see how serious he was. She nodded once, pocketing the address.
“Ash,” she said, “I’m going to go and do these things, okay? And when I get back, I need a decision from you. We can turn Easton, and it will be dangerous, and she still may not make it. Or we can leave her, and there’s almost no chance she’ll make it. And if she does… that wasn’t just a knock to the head. She broke her neck in two places, her brain is swollen. She might not be Easton anymore.”
Ash blinked back tears. Now he nodded. “Can you call my sister to get Penelope?”
“Sure,” Helena said. “In fact, you call her, that way you can talk to her, yeah? I’ll be playing with Pen in the nurses’ lounge.” Helena was
about to turn and leave when Ash called her back.
“Will it hurt?”
Helena chewed her bottom lip and nodded.
“Is she in pain now?”
Helena shrugged. “Probably not. She’s probably not there, Ash. Her soul is, somewhere in there, but she isn’t.”
“Okay,” Ash said, and he slipped through the curtain. Once he was in there, he made no attempt not to cry. He let the warm, salty tears run down his face, making the neck of his shirt soaking wet. He wanted to take Easton’s hand, but there were drips in both of them. He made do with stroking her fingers, but as he did so, he noticed his shirt sleeves were still covered in blood. He had disinfected his hands, but not his shirt.
With shaking fingers, he unbuttoned it, pulled it off, snapping the buttons off the cuff, and threw it into a corner. Now he could touch her. He laid his fingers over hers. He kissed a small section of her face that didn’t have breathing apparatus or medical tape of stitches obscuring it.
“I’m so, so sorry,” he wept over her. “I should have taken you seriously… You were scared, and I wouldn’t let you tell me that. This was all so much for you, and you took it all so well, and… I love you so much, Easton. Making love to you, it was like… it was one of the best moments of my life. And I want to do it every single day. Wake up next to you every day and see you sleepy, warm, and happy. I have never felt so perfectly right with the world as I do with you by my side, and by Pen’s side. I want to keep doing that. I want to, but I can’t… This shouldn’t be my choice…”
Ash took a breath, wiping away some of his tears. “Look, just get better, okay? Show some miraculous signs of improvement. Open your eyes… I want to see your lovely blue eyes, Easton. That’s all I want right now…”