Bitter Truth

by Heather Hildenbrand

  “Sheridan, tell them,” Dad said to her when they’d gone.

  “All right,” she said quietly. And then to me, “I can show you where it came from. But I can’t help you cure her. Only Owen can do that.”

  Owen’s features changed only to register quick surprise as he read between all the lines. “Me,” he said slowly, his eyes narrowing in suspicion at Sheridan. “How?”

  She sighed. “There’s a lot to explain. Come on. Let’s get Charlie home.” She glanced at me and then at Dad. “I’ll find Blaine. He can explain this better than I can,” she added before melting into the crowd.

  Dad nodded, moving in beside me to take my elbow. I yanked it away, suddenly untrusting of the two of them. Something about their expressions … the secrets hidden there…“Do as Sheridan says,” Dad said quietly. “We need to explain some things.”

  I stood, still suspicious but willing to hear her out—for now. Owen lifted Charlie easily in his arms and led the way. I stayed close beside him all the way home, for once willing to align myself with my greatest enemy.

  “Let’s go,” I said. No one stopped us as we marched out.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Charlie

  My throat burned. My chest felt like a bubbling volcano. Any second, my skin would crack under the pressure and fissures of blood, thick as lava, would pour from me. I tried to cough but my windpipe felt too full of something—or too swollen—to expel anything. I could feel the burning work its way into my organs and bones. My ribs hurt. I imagined them cracking as they cooked inside me.

  I doubled over, clutching my sides. I coughed again, but no sound came. I was gagging. I wanted to throw up. Maybe it would dispel whatever this was from my system and give me some peace. I heaved harder; nothing came up.

  The fire inside me burned holes right through my vision. Black spots danced and then took over completely as the party around me disappeared. I tried to reach for Owen. I managed to hand him the cup—a silent message—but then my arm fell limp. I couldn’t see him. I couldn’t speak. I couldn’t even hear through the lava burning inside my eardrums.

  Exhausted and burning, I crumpled into a heap.

  I knew the pack was watching, but the pain made it impossible to care any longer. Even my wolf had receded, content to watch and wait from the far corners of my mind. The only thing I felt was the burning. And a clawing bitterness at everything my life had become.

  As the darkness stole over me, I thought of Owen. Of all the things I would lose when I’d gone. A future, a family, a place to belong. Because I had no doubt there would be no coming back from whatever was happening to me. I wasn’t sure what exactly had been in that cup but I knew one thing for certain.

  This is what it felt like to die.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Regan

  The moment I walked into Charlie’s room, Dad and Carter trailing behind me, I knew Charlie hadn’t improved. Sheridan had finished outlining the plan while we’d gathered the necessary medical supplies from the first aid kit downstairs. It had been five—maybe ten—minutes since I’d let Owen carry Charlie away from me and lay her in bed, but I’d still thought that maybe…

  But no, any hope I’d had of Charlie beating the poisoned flower on her own vanished.

  That meant it was time for Plan B.

  I’d already tried arguing. Sheridan had made it more than clear arguing was no use. That field of bitterroot she’d shown me had been monitored for months by her and my father. Even Charlie knew about it, according to Owen. Everyone but me. Sheridan had hoped by leaving it there, the killer would come back and they’d find out who had planted it there. But no one had been spotted. Then, her and Dad had plotted a way to draw out the killer another way and forge a peace with the vampires at the same time. She was convinced they weren’t responsible for any of it. I still wasn’t so sure, but everything she said brought back Valentino’s claims. That the problem, all along, had been inside my own pack.

  While we grabbed medical supplies for Owen, Sheridan confirmed Valentino’s version of our history—how Blaine had tried to make peace with Thill’s parents before they’d attacked and then again with the pack when we’d settled here, but Thill wouldn’t relent in the midst of his grief all those years ago … To know Mom and Dad and Sheridan and even Thill hadn’t told us the whole truth—was an even harder pill to swallow.

  But I saw the way Owen looked at Charlie—the way he was staring down at her now as he stood over her—and I knew it wasn’t as black and white, good and evil, as I’d made it out to be.

  Owen, at least, was innocent.

  Sheridan was too, though I wasn’t sure I was happy about it if it meant we were still looking for the traitor. “I can’t believe you thought it was me!” she’d shrieked, her painted lips parted in shock and indignation as we’d grabbed gauze from downstairs.

  “The evidence suggested someone from the pack,” I said.

  “But me?” She’d glared, but there’d been more surprise than anger followed by a sharpness that felt as if she was sizing me up somehow. And then we’d hurried back upstairs to join the others.

  I shot her a look now, my brow arched in a thousand unasked questions we hadn’t had time for. I intended to get answers to them all. But first we had to save Charlie.

  I tried my best to ignore the fear and uncertainty at what we were about to do. Images of my Mom, pale and deathly still, swam in front of me until Charlie’s face was replaced with my mother’s among the white bedclothes.

  I hovered at the foot of the bed, watching as Owen bent over Charlie’s still form. Carter came up beside me and took my hand, squeezing it. Dad and Sheridan filled in around us. The rest of the elders hovered in the hall, none daring to step inside but too curious to leave. I wasn’t sure if they’d all been informed of what we were about to do, but no one said a word about Owen being here. Blaine was downstairs, a respectful distance in a house full of his enemies, but I knew he could be in this room faster than I could blink if he wanted to. Gretchen Rossi had refused to walk inside the front door.

  “Dad, this isn’t a good idea,” I said, trying one last time to make him see reason.

  But he only whipped his head back and looked at me with more secrets behind his veiled gaze. “It will work,” he said, his voice tired.

  “How do you know?” I asked, but instead of a challenge, my words sounded like a plea for help. For hope.

  “Because it worked for your mom,” he replied, and his voice went hoarse. He blinked and looked away.

  I grabbed his arm and shook it. “What are you talking about? How do you—?”

  “It happened before you were born,” he said and his eyes swept the room. He lowered his voice, probably so the others in the hall wouldn’t hear. “She had a vampire … friend. Valentino,” he said and my eyes widened.

  “You knew about…?” I couldn’t finish it.

  Dad’s mouth was grim. “Yes,” he said simply and I let it go. Carter squeezed my hand but I didn’t react. I wasn’t about to interrupt. I needed to hear it all. “Just before Myra became alpha there was opposition. Someone tried to poison her.”

  “Bitterroot?” I asked.

  Dad nodded. “Valentino intercepted it before they could slip it to her. He saved her. We never told anyone outside the council about it. The knowledge of their … relationship would have only strengthened those rising against her.” His voice was hoarse by the time he’d finished.

  “And that’s why the fighting continued. We never had peace because you couldn’t tell anyone who had saved Mom,” I said, thinking back to everything Valentino had said about their affair all those years ago. How Mom had been hurt when someone found out. Someone from the council had outed them—but if it wasn’t Sheridan, then who?

  “We won’t be able to keep this from getting out,” I said grimly, nodding at Charlie’s still form.

  Dad didn’t answer, but he didn’t need to. We both knew that doing this, saving Charlie, wasn’t som
ething we could hide a second time. My stomach churned at what would happen if we failed. Or what it would mean for our pack if Owen actually succeeded. That wasn’t a thought I could finish.

  “Ready?” Dad asked Owen.

  Owen nodded and lowered himself until he sat perched at Charlie’s bedside. I gripped Carter’s hand, mine already clammy and slick, and held my breath. Owen never faltered or even slowed as he leaned down to Charlie’s exposed neck. I caught sight of a quick flash of elongated fangs and then he angled away and sank them into Charlie’s neck. I steeled my shoulders as he locked onto her vein and watched, eyes wide in frozen horror and twisted hope—as he sucked what little life my sister had left down his undead throat.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Charlie

  I woke up with the lead weight of dread pinning me to the bed. My eyes opened on the blank ceiling above, and I realized I was in my bedroom—alive, whole, and alone. That wasn't what had me feeling as miserable as if I had woken up from a nightmare, even though my sleep had been deep and dreamless.

  I had been poisoned.

  Whoever had been tiptoeing around with their threats these last weeks had finally made a real move. Whatever had been in that cup was meant to kill me. I hadn’t even had time to shift before the poison had taken me under. And with everyone watching. For some reason, that made it all so much worse. My pack would never see me as strong enough to lead now.

  Not even if I won tomorrow.

  I sat up, dazed and aching at all my joints, but then stiffened as I realized my room was lit with sunlight streaming through the far window. It already was tomorrow!

  I threw the covers back, hurrying for the door, but halted as my feet hit the cold hardwood and winced. Had I hit my neck on something? I remember falling at the party, unable to stand any longer against the burning. Maybe I’d pulled a muscle.

  But when I put my hand to my neck, the tender spot didn't feel like a wrenched muscle. It felt like the tenderness of a healing wound.

  Weirder and weirder.

  Getting out of bed more slowly this time, I slipped a robe on over my shoulders and cinched it tight before making my way to the door.

  I opened it hoping for someone there to give me some answers. I’d even take Brent at this point—anyone to explain what had happened to me. And how much I’d missed. Would they consider my illness a forfeit? Cancel the last test? Or would they wait until I’d recovered?

  But there was only one figure waiting for me in the hall. And it was the last person I expected. Lane was sitting on a bureau playing with her cell phone. A woman’s voice trickled softly out of the speaker, the volume too low for me to make out the words. Lane smiled at the screen but it was a hardened gesture. “I’ll call you after,” Lane said quietly.

  Underneath my feet, the floor creaked. Lane’s head whipped up. When she saw me, she jumped to her feet and clicked the phone off.

  “Charlie! You're okay!” she exclaimed.

  “In a manner of speaking,” I said, grimacing at the way my head pounded to the beat of her voice. “Who were you talking to?”

  “Oh.” Lane’s expression was unreadable beneath her contorted scar. “My mom.”

  I tilted my head, my thoughts still too fuzzy to concentrate properly. “Have I met her?” I asked.

  Lane shook her head. “No. She doesn’t live with the pack,” she said. Her tone made it clear more questions were not welcome.

  I nodded. Beyond us, the house seemed weirdly quiet. There were no distant vibrations of feet on the floor above me, no voices drifting through the walls, no recent scents of the pack. I frowned. “What's going on? Where is everyone?”

  Lane shrugged before dusting her hair out of her eyes. “They're probably at the wedding. It should be over soon. Don't worry.”

  My heart might have actually stopped beating.

  “The wedding?” I asked, voice rising to nearly a shriek.

  “Uh, yeah.” Lane blinked at me. “You've been asleep for three days, Charlie. We didn’t think you’d even wake up. The rules state that if one sibling isn’t physically able to stand for the test before the next moon cycle, you forfeit.” She shrugged like it didn’t matter to her one way or another. “They couldn't put it off any longer.”

  I smothered another cry with my hands, trying to slow the beating of my heart as my mind whirled with what she had just told me. I knew the blood treaty stipulated a wedding as soon as possible after the competition, but the competition wasn’t over. I’d been poisoned!

  And I realized now, I hadn't really contemplated the horror of Owen getting married to someone else—to Regan, my sister, of all people—and what that would feel like being left behind.

  But Regan hated vampires. She wouldn't do it.

  And Owen—Owen wouldn't do it, either. He loved me. He’d told me so.

  But even as I thought those things, trying to comfort myself, I knew that they weren’t enough. Of course they would both go through with it. We had a blood pact, and if Regan had won, she’d fulfill her responsibilities. The two of them may have loathed each other, but their sense of duty was too powerful to turn their backs on. Duty before desire, Regan had told me.

  They would get married, and they would force smiles through the entire thing. I just couldn't let it happen.

  “You look like you're still feeling kind of terrible,” Lane said, taking my arm and leading me back inside my room. “You should sit before you fall down.”

  But I shoved her arm aside and planted my feet. “Where is the wedding happening? When does it start?” The words spilled from my mouth in a rush.

  “It started ten minutes ago down in the back-acre.” She jerked her chin toward the window. “I volunteered to stay up here and listen for you—”

  I was out the door before she could finish, running down the hall. “Where are you going? You’re in a bathrobe!” Lane yelled out behind me.

  I looked down. I had completely forgotten. But there was no time. I had a wedding to stop and a killer to face. And I knew just where I’d find both.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Regan

  Wedding music filled the air. It was a light, pleasant instrumental number—a traditional wedding march that werewolves had used in our family for centuries. Every note felt like having another rock piled onto my chest. It sounded so much more like a funeral processional to me.

  After getting dressed at the house in this itchy, lacy monstrosity and being walked down to the clearing by Dad, I was now alone in the bridal tent, waiting for my cue. The bustle of hairdressers, makeup artists, and florists was all gone. The moment was serene in comparison to everything that had been happening around me all morning. For the past three days, really. But I couldn't relax, knowing that Dad would arrive at any moment to walk me down the aisle, where Thill would be binding me in unholy matrimony to one of the undead.

  And Charlie was … well, no one really knew what Charlie was. Not dead but not alive either. My mind flashed back to that awful moment at the party and my stomach knotted. Bitterroot was lethal—the fact that someone had brought it into a den of wolves was bad enough. But when Owen had shown me that grove of it in the woods … And Valentino had admitted he’d known of it since last year when he’d discovered my mother there. This conspiracy went back a year. And still, none of us knew who was responsible.

  When we did, someone was going to pay.

  The problem was who.

  And Dad seemed even less inclined to fill me in now than he had with Mom’s murder investigation. He’d told me the same thing Sheridan had after the party that night. Everything they’d done had been to draw out the killer. He’d admitted to believing it was someone from our side, but beyond that, I couldn’t get a straight answer out of any of them. All that was left was to marry Owen. I needed access to both camps. And I needed authority. Finding the guilty party was clearly up to me, though I had my suspicions.

  Leaning out the back of my tent, I studied the gathering crowd: werewolv
es on one side, vampires on the other. The ceremony was meant to unite our people, bind us together as family and allies, but the audience had still segregated itself.

  I could see the sleek black forms of the Rossis sitting up front, on Owen’s side. Soon, I would have to stare into his cold face and walk toward him, bouquet and all, for the sake of the pack. The thought of it sickened me. I wasn't sure which part was worse—that I would be marrying a vampire, or marrying the guy my sister thought she was in love with.

  The sound of someone entering my tent from the flap behind me made my heart gutter to a stop in my chest. Time to go.

  “Regan.”

  Ducking back into the tent, the world spun around me when I saw Carter standing in front of me in his tuxedo. He was one of the ushers helping to seat people, so he was in full formal wear: a black jacket, vest, and slacks. He looked incredible.

  I wanted to tell him so. I wanted to tell him a thousand different things, but none of them mattered nor should they be said. Not when I was about to marry the vampire prince. I choked back a cry and fisted my hands, opting for anger instead of anguish.

  “What are you doing here?” I hissed.

  He stared, his eyes roaming up and down the length of me. He looked awed. “Regan, that dress …. You look beautiful.”

  I ignored his words, but not without a pang through my gut. I didn’t want to be beautiful. Not for this. For once, I wanted to be the plain one, to let Charlie and her soft beauty have the spotlight. For a split second, I wanted her to have this, the wedding, the ceremony, the chance to be with the guy she loved. But that was the sister in me. The alpha, the werewolf pack leader, knew it had to be me.

  “Regan, are you okay?”

  I shook free of my thoughts. It was better not to think at a time like this. “My dad will be here any minute, Carter. You can’t be here.”

  Carter’s expression softened and he stepped closer. “Regan, for one second, let’s stop being all about the rules. Stop pushing me away.”