Dark Veil (The Society Series Book 3)

by Mason Sabre

  “We have to leave, don’t we?” she asked when he let her go. “We have to try to get away.”

  “There isn’t another way.” He slid his hand down to her abdomen—his child was in there. He couldn’t feel the swell of it yet, but he could feel it. This child, as well as Gemma and Phoenix, were his sole purpose in life. “You and this life in here mean everything to me. I would leave and walk all the way to Exile if I had to.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Apprehension was not a feeling that Stephen liked to feel. It put him on edge and the voices in his mind grew louder and more jumbled, making him feel like he was going crazy. He tried to focus, to shield the parts of his mind that were threatening to tip into chaos. He couldn’t lose it … not now.

  He shifted in his seat, but he couldn’t get into a position that was comfortable. His tiger inside demanded out—demanded it go and protect the young wolf that it had somehow become bonded to. He couldn’t fathom the connection amongst them all—Stephen was inexplicably linked to Cade and Gemma on a psychic level, and through that link, he had bonded with Phoenix the moment Cade had. He couldn’t explain it, but it was there, as was his tiger’s violent need to protect the boy. The boy was walking into danger, and they both knew it. Yet, it wasn’t a danger that Stephen or his tiger could do anything to protect him from—it was one that had the power to break his heart and soul. One that was regrettably necessary to give him the closure that he needed.

  Agitated, Stephen sat in the car waiting, tension rolling off him in waves. Fuck, this had been a bad idea—such a bad idea. He had taken off his seatbelt and put the car into park so that he could jump out if the need arose, but that was all he could do … sit, wait and listen as Phoenix made his way from the car to the house he had once lived in. He wound the window down enough so that he could hear more clearly what that asshole of a father would say to his son.

  Stephen was sure that Cade would kill him if he found out he had brought Phoenix here. All logic told Stephen that Cade would be right—Phoenix was about to get his heart shattered. His father would reject him, Stephen was certain of that, but the hurt in the boy’s eyes had told Stephen that he needed this. It was the only way for Phoenix to let go of his past and accept his new life. There was a big, gaping hole inside him at the moment, and while confronting his father today would not fill the void, it would help him tend to the painful wound at last and gradually let it close.

  Stephen rubbed his eyes and face and rolled his shoulders to try to push out some of the stiffness in them. God, he was tired—he had driven miles to get here in good time and his back ached in a way that told him he badly needed to shift and sleep. But they were in Human lands ... to shift here would mean he could be shot on sight. They wouldn’t ask any questions—just another dead Other for them, that would be all that mattered.

  He pulled the papers from the glove box for the tenth time and checked them. Cade, Gemma and Phoenix’s faces greeted him, but the names matching the pictures were those of Sam, Anne and Nathan Brooke. It had cost him a small fortune for these, but it was worth it—the alternate as Cade and Gemma took their chances in the straylands. Anger surged through him, the unfairness and unethicality that sometimes existed in the world of Others infuriating him. Gemma and Cade would be lucky if they made it to the end of day one.

  It had been three days since they had left the safety of the Society. Stephen and Phoenix had travelled to Manchester and delivered the information to the Council there. They had shown them what to look for and asked them to check any bodies that were found in the same fashion. So far, it didn’t seem they had any. That either meant that the area hadn't been hit, which was highly unlikely, or that they just hadn't got there yet. There was, of course, the other possibility, that the Council there just didn’t give a shit.

  Cade and Gemma had gone to Liverpool and done the same. Stephen didn’t know how that one had gone yet. He hadn't spoken to them since, but the plan was that they crossed the Mersey and then headed towards the ferries that would take them to the Islands.

  Stephen’s job was to get the papers and then meet them. They would hide out in a cheap bed and breakfast that had been rented for a week under a false name. Stephen could afford a day’s delay. It was a long drive there and back, but if it gave the boy closure, it was worth it.

  This might be his last chance.

  Phoenix had wanted to stop at the cemetery first, and Stephen could tell the boy had needed to pluck up the courage to ask him if he’d mind. In response, Stephen had made a stop at a flower shop and given him money to go buy some flowers. With a shocked but deeply grateful expression on his face, Phoenix had awkwardly stuffed the money into his pocket without looking at Stephen and returned a few minutes later clutching a bouquet of red roses—his mother’s favourite, he had murmured.

  Once outside the cemetery, Stephen offered to go in with him, but Phoenix had said it was something he would like to do alone. Although he had never lost anyone that close to him, Stephen understood his need to be alone in this moment.

  Phoenix had been red-faced when he came back to the car, but Stephen had said nothing about it. If he needed to cry for his mother, then he could cry all he liked. There was no shame in it, nor did it make him weak.

  He tried to keep an eye on him now as he approached his old family home, having purposely parked in a position that would give him the advantage of being able to see the front door.

  Phoenix walked to the house but didn’t enter the small driveway at first. Rather, he stood at the gate and stared at the house that had once been his home—once been his safe place. The garden was overgrown now, the sight of it tearing at Phoenix’s chest. His mother’s flowers, all dead … just like her. He supposed that no one bothered to care for them now that she was gone. Even the white cladding around the bay window was dull and lifeless, his mother’s tender care missing. It had come away in places, and his dad hadn't made any effort to patch it up. Sadness filled him, his mother’s absence flaring bright in the dereliction.

  He glanced up at the window that was once his room and was surprised to see there were no curtains hanging in there. It was just a window—empty. Maybe all of his possessions had been thrown out, just as he had been.

  “Eric?” The sound of the small, careful voice behind him startled him. He turned slowly, heart pounding in his chest as he came face to face with a little boy with eyes much like his mother’s. Phoenix could only stare at his brother at first, his mind having gone blank. He was taller than he remembered, but other than that, he looked just the same.

  “Grant?” Phoenix’s voice came out gruff, the emotion in him threatening to overwhelm him. He hadn’t seen his brother in two years, when he had been six and Phoenix had been barely fourteen.

  The younger boy’s smile grew wide, and he raced to Phoenix, arms flung open. Phoenix kneeled and caught him in a tight embrace, almost toppling over from the force of the collision. Grant clung to his big brother, his scrawny arms wrapped tightly around his neck. Phoenix wasn’t the skinny kid that he had been when his father had thrown him out, lean muscle now defining his young body and strength abnormal for any Human child. Phoenix was grateful for Stephen’s mother’s concoction—disgusting as it may taste, it had done miracles to build up his body. His brother seemed weak, however, and not because he was only eight. Despite the strength in his embrace, Phoenix felt that if he squeezed too tight, he could break his little body.

  “I thought you were dead,” he said tremulously. “Dad said you were …”

  Phoenix tensed. “Dad told you that?”

  Grant nodded vigorously into his neck. “He said that you ran away, and then he heard you had died because you were too sad about Mum.”

  Dead? Did his father really believe that? Or was it all just lies he had made up? You’re dead to me. Those had been his father’s parting words to him. Maybe he had kept that up ... maybe he had meant it.

  Phoenix disentangled his brother’s thin arms from around hi
s neck and gently held him in front of him. “He didn’t look for me?”

  “He said you’d come home when you were ready. Jenny asked lots of times, but then Dad would shout at her. He said you were gone ...” Grant stopped abruptly, breathless. “Is it really you?”

  Phoenix smiled. “Yeah, it’s really me. Except they call me …”

  “Eric …” Stephen called from a few feet away, cutting Phoenix off. He had got out of the car and was walking over to them. Phoenix frowned—it sounded strange to hear Stephen saying his real name.

  Seeing Grant’s eyes grow wide as he stared at Stephen approaching, Phoenix quickly said, “This is my friend, Stephen.” Stephen was a big man—tall, muscled and dangerous-looking. He didn’t want his little brother getting scared.

  Grant’s head tilted all the way back and his eyes grew wide as he looked up at the man towering over him. “Are you Other?” he asked without fear.

  Stephen smiled and bent down to the young boy. He let his eyes shift ever so slightly so that the green glittered with flecks of gold.

  “Wow,” the young boy breathed, mesmerised by what he saw. This was Humans before they learnt to hate everything.

  “Grant, Get away from them.” The order was barked from an older man—much older. Phoenix froze. “Move … now.” He approached them at a brisk pace and yanked the young boy away. Stephen put his hands up in surrender to show that he meant no harm.

  “Dad. It’s …”

  “It’s no one,” he cut him off, dragging the poor boy back towards the house.

  “But it’s Eric. Look, Dad ... he isn’t dead,” he shouted excitedly as he tried to prise his dad’s grasp form him.

  His father’s stony stare fell on Phoenix, his eyes piercing with a hatred that burnt his flesh. “This isn’t Eric. This is a monster.” he spat hatefully. “Eric is dead.”

  “Dad …”

  “Get back in the house.”

  “But …”

  The man glared down at Grant.

  “Grant, it’s okay,” Phoenix said to him. “Go.” He didn’t want to get him into any more trouble than he probably already was. “I’ll see you again,” he said with a smile. Even from where he was standing, Phoenix could smell the putrid stench of alcohol coming from his father. It was a mixture of fresh and stale booze—the kind of smell that men got when they drank so much that they sweated it out of every pore.

  His father took a step forward, his face twisted with hatred. “Like hell you will.” He pointed towards the door. “Get back in the house now, Grant.”

  “But Dad …” Grant pouted.

  “Don’t push me on this.” The man’s words came out slurred and Phoenix realised his father was drunk. Grant needed to go inside so they didn’t anger their father any more.

  Grant’s stare jumped from his father to Phoenix, his will to defy his father clearly evident in his eyes. With determination on his boyish face, he didn’t go into the house like he had been told, but instead, went to Phoenix and wrapped his arms around him. “I’m glad you’re not dead,” he whispered.

  Phoenix hugged him back tight and pressed his lips onto his brother’s head.

  “Let go of him,” his father growled, and Phoenix wasn’t quite sure which son he was talking to. He set hard eyes on Phoenix. “Why are you here?”

  Guilt-ridden about all that had transpired in the past, the death of his mother and his role in it, Phoenix’s stare wavered, unable to look at his father. “I came to see you …” he croaked.

  His father’s face contorted with anger. “We don’t want you here,” he snarled. “We don’t want to see you. Now let go of my son.”

  Before Phoenix could take a step back, their father lunged and grabbed for Grant. His brother’s arms flailed as he was yanked back and his father backhanded him across the face, knocking him down. Phoenix shot forward, but Stephen grabbed him and stopped him, his face an inscrutable mask. His eyes darted to his brother—Grant’s face was red, his eyes wet as he fought to hold in his tears.

  “Get in the house now.” The small boy stumbled back to the house at his father’s command, his head down. When his father turned icy eyes back to him, Phoenix felt the full force of all his hatred. “What did you think? Did you really think that you could just come here? Saunter in after what you did?”

  Phoenix’s heart sank. “I …”

  His dad moved closer and Stephen slapped a hand against the man’s chest. “Back off,” he growled. Phoenix’s father glared down at Stephen’s hand as if it were something disgusting that had dared to touch him.

  “You …” he pointed at Phoenix accusingly, “you’re one of them. You’re …” His words faded as he staggered to the side and forgot what he was trying to say. “Get out of here. Fucking Other shit bastards.” He shoved at Stephen’s hand, and Stephen let him knock it away.

  Phoenix put his hand up. “Dad …”

  “Don’t you call me Dad, you filthy monster.” He lifted his hand to hit Phoenix, but Stephen had grabbed him by the throat and pinned him to the side of the house before he could get anywhere near him. Plaster crumbled to the ground from the force with which he shoved him against the wall.

  “Don’t you fucking dare,” Stephen growled. The man stared back at him, his eyes burning with pure hatred.

  “He is my son. I can do whatever I damn well please.”

  “Stephen … don’t ...” Phoenix pleaded hoarsely from behind him.

  Stephen stared at the man with menace. “You need to clean your shit up. If I ever fucking find out you’ve been hitting your child again, I will be back.”

  “It is none of your business ….”

  Stephen’s grip tightened around his throat and his father gasped as he struggled to take in breaths. “I am making it my business. Hit the children again and I will make you regret the day you were born.”

  Phoenix grabbed hold of his wrist. “Please, let him go, Stephen.” For a moment, Phoenix thought he wouldn’t listen, but then he released him abruptly, giving him one final shove against the wall as he did. His father’s hand flew to his throat, coughing and choking as he wheezed for air.

  “You don’t deserve either of those boys.” Stephen pointed a threatening finger at him. “You’re nothing but a fucking drunk.”

  “I’m sorry,” Phoenix said to his father. “I just thought … just that … maybe you’d looked for me.”

  “Why would I look for you,” he hissed, rubbing at his throat and keeping one eye on Stephen.

  Stephen muttered something unflattering about Humans and pulled Phoenix towards the gate. Phoenix glanced back at his brother and stopped, forcing Stephen to stop with him. Grant was standing hiding by the door, watching his brother walk away. “You can come with me if you want to,” he called out to him.

  Grant glanced over to their father, but his father was too focused on Stephen to be bothered with him. Grant shook his head slowly, the fear in his eyes clear. Phoenix’s heart sank, knowing he was leaving his little brother in the hands of their cruel father.

  Phoenix stood still at the gate for a few seconds—he saw his father for the first time, really saw him. He was nothing more than a pathetic drunk and a bully ... not the father he had known or grown up with. Maybe he was dead to him, too. He wasn’t something to fear any more—he was something to pity. Stephen had proved that. Phoenix walked back past him to Grant and wrapped his arms around him one last time before leaving. “The offer is always open,” he whispered to him. “I’ll always be here for you.” He squeezed him tightly before letting him go. He turned to their father, who stood there gritting his teeth at the brotherly embrace. His eyes kept shooting to Stephen, fear flickering in their depths. Phoenix stared at him without fear this time. “If you ever lay another hand on him, I will take him away from you and you will never see us again.”

  Without waiting for a response, Phoenix turned and walked back to the car, shoulders pulled back. He didn’t spare his father another look—he wasn’t going to le
t him see the hurt he had caused.

  Stephen followed Phoenix to the car, fury coursing red and hot through his veins. Humans. He could never understand them—never understand how they could do things like this. It didn’t matter how loving they were to their children; they could change in a matter of a heartbeat.

  Funny … it was Others who had been christened monsters.

  Chapter Twelve

  If there was any place in the world that Gemma loved to be, it was lying beside Cade with his arm around her and her leg resting across his. It was the place that felt the most right. She snuggled against him, revelling in the warmth of his hard, naked body beside hers. This was the first time they had managed to be alone since she had told him that she was pregnant. Her lips curved into a smile as she thought about how gentle and protective he had been with her when they had made love during the night. He had made her feel safe—like nothing could harm her or the baby.

  According to the digital clock on the bedside table, it was five in the morning— too early to get up yet. They still had a couple of hours before they had to meet Stephen, who would be bringing their papers. Gemma tried not to think about it so much. The more she did, the harder and more impossible it seemed to become. It still wasn’t real yet—more like a dream than something they could actually do. Could they do it? Could they really leave?

  She thought about her mother the most. Surely Emily had dreams of her own about her grandchildren and when they would come. Gemma was sure as hell that they didn’t involve secrets and her daughter running away. It wasn’t meant to be like this—it was supposed to be a magical time, when a mother passed down the lessons she had learnt to her daughter to prepare her for the pregnancy and the birth. Gemma hated the idea that she would miss all that. A sudden longing for her mother filled her—she would miss her so much. She would miss her dad, too. He might be the Alpha, he might be head of the Council, but inside, he was still her dad. She remembered how he would play with her when she was young; he hadn’t always been so serious. Maybe the years as leader had done that to him, or maybe she just had never really recovered from her parent-hating teenage years. It made her face flush sometimes when she thought back to the way she had acted. God knows what had been going through her mind back then, though Stephen had been far worse. Maybe their dad had just got hard to it all.