What did he learn? How did he learn it?
Why didn’t he tell Evaline?
What was the point in keeping secrets from her when in the end, he still drugged me?
“I don’t know what to do about him, with him,” I confess. There is no right or wrong answers. All I have are choices, one option over another and none of them are appealing.
“Let him out of the stables,” I scoff at Duke’s suggestion. Is the detective crazy? “He’s remorseful. Right now, he wants to help so I say let him.”
I shake my head and repeat what I said to my father to Duke. “I can’t trust him.”
“I’m not saying trust him but he loves you; he knows he screwed up. If you let him, he can help you. He might not know what else he knows.” I sigh with Duke’s logic. Why does he always have to sound so reasonable, as if he understands the nature of men better than I do?
“I’ll talk to him again,” I agree. Duke stands up with a nod before turning to leave, then pauses.
“He betrayed you and that sucks, but he risked everything to save you. That says something,” he finishes and leaves, shutting the door behind himself.
“But what?” I ask the empty room, not really expecting an answer because Everett is the only one who can tell me.
37
Twisting my wedding ring around my finger, I hesitate to pull it off. It has never occurred to me that I would have to remove the band for any other reason than routine cleaning.
I need to remove it now.
Inhaling, I withdraw the gold band with a fluid twist and soft tug. It rests in my palm, out of place, alone and growing colder by the second. The sad fact is, it doesn’t belong on my finger.
It never did.
Everett isn’t my husband; he never was.
David, acting as the Vârcolaci alpha, signed the papers that validated Everett’s marriage but because he wasn’t alpha, the marriage contract and peace treaty are void. Everett Right officially never existed since we never actually married. He never stopped being a Dawson.
Setting the ring on my desk, I stare at it before shaking my head and standing. There is no use dwelling on what doesn’t matter. Considering everything that has happened, it is probably for the best that we aren’t married.
Somehow, the betrayal feels . . . less because he isn’t my husband.
Everett is simply a means to an end, as I was for him.
My heart is heavy as I leave my office. Finding Arnoux sitting at the top of the stairs, his chin resting in his palms, does nothing for my mood. He looks as war weary as I feel and as my father appeared upon visiting me earlier. Everett’s deception is taking a toll on everyone.
“I have lived most of my life in war,” he speaks when I stop behind him. “I thought I would die in peace, but it appears that is not the case.”
“You are a long way from death,” I reassure him, stepping around his aging body.
“Closer than you are to peace,” he remarks, his voice losing the softness it held only moments ago. The statement is meant to wound and it does. The point he is trying to make is clear.
My father failed at achieving peace and I will be no different.
At least we are trying—which is more than some of our ancestors can say.
“Dick,” Lilith’s voice interrupts the chill that has fallen between Arnoux and me. Looking over his shoulder, he finds my sister extending a handful of erotically-shaped gummies. My lips twitch; Arnoux looks disgusted. Shoving to his feet, he pushes past me and disappears down the stairs. I laugh softly, taking one of the gummies.
“He’s going to tell Father of your shameful behavior,” I warn my sister.
She shrugs, popping one of the gummy dicks into her mouth as I do the same.
“What is he going to do, spank me?” she questions, speaking with her mouth full. I roll my eyes at the very mention of physical punishment. Our father would never. He has never resorted to violence to teach us a lesson. The man has more effective ways of making us obey—like sending our mother after us.
She has never raised a hand to us in anger but her tongue is as sharp as any sword.
“Duke might,” I tease her.
Her cheeks color a new shade of pink. “I won’t protest.”
I shake my head, taking some more gummies from her and continue toward the stables.
Everett is sitting on his cot, looking down at this hands when I round the corner. He glances up, his eyes swimming, before looking down at his hands once again. His shoulders slump and his chin touches his chest. He is so . . . defeated. I almost feel sorry for him.
“I told Duke everything I know,” he mutters, his voice dry.
“Did you know our marriage is invalid because it is David who signed as your family head?” I press my lips together. That is not what I wanted to say. I don’t know what I wanted to say to be honest but that wasn’t it. Who cares if our marriage isn’t valid?
“What?” Everett rises to his feet, a frown pulling at his lips. He generally sounds confused.
“We aren’t married,” I repeat. He shakes his head. “You are not my husband.”
I officially never had one.
“Yes, I am,” he declares, grasping the bars. “We are married.” We said our vows, we signed the necessary papers, but they weren't valid. The last five months of our lives counted for nothing from a legal standpoint. We had simply been . . . roommates who fucked on occasion.
“Evaline didn’t approve of the marriage. Legally, we aren’t husbands.”
In order for our marriage to be legal, the head of our respective houses had to sign as witnesses, agreeing to a union that would have united our families into one house to be ruled equally by the two oldest children of the newest generation—our future child and Oliver’s, since he was supposed to be the Vârcolaci alpha.
David isn’t head and Oliver wasn’t even in the running as future alpha.
“I . . . ” Everett opens and closes his mouth, seeking words to fill the growing silence but none come. We stand together, letting the information sink in. It claws under my skin, burrows deep into my bones and seeks out the place my soul resides.
When it settles, like a small elephant upon me, I exhale softly.
“I’m not your . . . husband.” Stepping away from the bars, Everett sinks on the edge of the cot. Clasping his hands together, he peers up at me with dull eyes. The life simply seems to fade out of him. “What is to become of me now?”
Pulling the keys to his cell from my pocket, I unlock his door. “You won’t be allowed to leave the estate until after Evaline is dealt with. While here, you’ll be guarded at all times. One mishap, Everett, and it won’t be a cell you spend eternity in. Am I clear?” I question.
He swallows as I hold the door open.
“Thanos—”
“You’re going to tell me about Evaline’s operations—the ones you know about. You’ll draw maps, give us names and do whatever else may be necessary. If I feel as if you are playing games or lying . . . Arnoux has some ideas on how to make you cooperate.” Everett pales, making the dark circles under his eyes stand out. “We are expected to attend dinner.”
“Dinner?” Everett squeaks.
“Yes. After you shower and dress, we will join the others. Come along.” I turn and after a moment, he follows.
The walk to the estate is silent aside from the mutters from those who watch our progression. The district heads’ whispers are like gunshots, screaming loud despite the fact they try to hide their concerns—concerns I will hear about later in greater detail—with their hushed tones.
“Do you think you’ll ever forgive me?” Everett inquires, turning to face me after we enter the room we’ve shared for the past nearly half a year. I sigh.
“Besides the obvious lies . . . what else is there?” How long could the list really be?
“The obvious lies . . . ” Everett mumbles before shaking his head.
“I know David is a violent man. He abused you,
I don’t doubt. Evaline—”
“She has father’s temperament,” Everett interrupts, sitting on the edge of the bed and drawing the blankets around his shoulders. They drape around his body, shielding him from my view. “Mother is kind, when she can afford to be. My other sisters moved out years ago. That is when Father started to lose his power.
“Evaline saw his hold was slipping so she bided her time, she waited for the right moment and it came last summer. She took her position the old way—by blood. It was vicious. She was . . . Anyway, a couple days later, Oliver challenged her.”
I feel as if this is the story he gave Duke. I don’t mind the first-hand account.
“She didn’t even give him a warning. He issued his challenge and she attacked. She embraced the animal in us, I suppose. Oliver fought hard, though, and she rewarded him.” She made him her beta. He is second in the pack only to her. Should she fall, he would rule. “We all fell in line.”
I shake my head as I inspect him.
“I want you to know, I didn’t lie about everything,” Everett says, wrapping his arms around his middle. I shove one of my hands into my hair, exhaling heavily.
“Which parts were true?” I ask.
“I really do love you.” My heart squeezes. His eyes fill with tears and I look away.
“It isn’t enough.”
Why can’t anyone understand that if love was enough, we wouldn’t be in this predicament?
“I know,” Everett mutters. I shake my head, looking back to him. He turns away, his tears spilling over. Unlike before, his tears are not loud or violent. Everett does not shake or tremble. Now, he cries silently as he stands and undresses so he can shower.
I check my watch. Dinner is less than an hour away. It will not be a warm meal, filled with comfort and happiness. Tonight, dinner will be an inhospitable affair Everett must endure.
The first of many such dinners, I am sure.
38
At thirty-one, being sent to bed by your mother while your father and siblings watch and snicker behind their palms is embarrassing. That doesn’t stop mine from shooing me to bed shortly after dinner—which Everett declined to join everyone for. She goes so far as to threaten to tuck me in if I don’t lay down of my own volition and get some rest, so I do the wise thing and obey.
Laying in the dark, feet away from Everett, I can’t sleep because I can’t get comfortable. My body is restless, my mind in the same state as one thought chases another as dogs do cats.
There is still so much that needs to be done.
It has only been twelve days since things have gone to hell.
It has only been two hundred and eighty-eight hours since things have gone to hell.
In less than two weeks, my whole life has been turned upside down and inside out.
Things aren’t improving either. Every move I make, every option I choose, seems to be the wrong move and the wrong choice.
Sending the district heads home last Friday felt like the right move, at the time. They are needed to oversee the operations across the city thus needed in their own homes—zones.
Now that two of them have been murdered, it doesn’t feel like such a wise move.
It feels as if I marched them off to the slaughter.
Maybe I did.
My fingers twist into my pillowcase as my heart pounds.
I can still hear the frantic nature of Samuel's voice as he called for reinforcements that had come half an hour too late to save him, to save his wife and two sons. Their youngest daughter, a ten-year-old named Rebekah—who everyone affectionately calls Bex—survived the assault.
Now, the orphan—the first created by Evaline’s war, victimized by Everett’s betrayal—walks around the estate, a ghost of her former self—haunted by nightmares, monsters only she can fight because they aren’t real enough for me to strangle the life from.
Every time I see the child, my heart hurts for her. There is no replacing what she has lost. All we can do is support her in this difficult time, shower her in love and hope one day, it is enough to make her smile even if we can never fill the hole in her heart created by the death of her parents and older siblings.
Rolling over, seeking a more suitable sleeping position, I am confronted by blue eyes. Everett drops his gaze, pulling the blanket around his shoulders. We share a bedroom, a bathroom and most of our meals together, but not much else. Mason watches him most of the time which allows me to focus on other issues.
The less I see him, the less I hurt—which I prefer. I have been taken over by a sort of numbness—a welcome reprieve from the burning anger or cold depression that normally distracts me from the day to day tasks that go into supporting the war effort.
“Happy birthday,” I say after a moment.
Everett burst into tears. Turning away, he buries his head in his pillow and weeps.
I squeeze my eyes closed. Lately when he cries, he does it when no one is around.
The signs are always easy to read on his face. “Everett—”
“Excuse me,” he rasps, climbing out of bed and rushing into the bathroom. The door slams behind him. I debate with myself for a couple of minutes before tossing the covers away and getting up. Going to the bathroom door, I rest my head against the wood as soft whimpers penetrate the wood.
“Everett,” I call, giving a soft knock but there is no answer. “Open the door,” I urge him but still there is no response. Grasping the knob, it turns under my hand. Pushing inwards, I pause at the sight of a familiar wolf curled up on the floor.
He whines into his stomach and appears not to hear me.
Reaching out, I sink my fingers into his fur as I kneel. It is the first time I have touched him since punching him—a well-deserved hit for what he did but something I regret because it has never been in my nature to react with violence first.
Everett freezes under my touch, his whole body seeming to turn to stone.
“I didn’t mean to make you cry,” I mutter. It wasn’t my intention to upset him at all when I wished him a happy birthday. “I’m sorry.” He whines again, tucking his snout tighter into his body. “Come back to bed; I know the floor isn’t comfortable.” He doesn’t move, maybe preferring the cold floor to the chill of our shared bed. “Please, Everett.”
He still shows no intentions of moving.
“You don’t have to shift,” I bargain.
Seconds pass before he uncurls and we both rise to our feet. Pressing my fingers into his fur, I drag them down his back before turning away.
Leaving the bathroom behind me, he pauses at the foot of the bed as I situate myself under the blanket. After I am comfortable, he joins me. The mattress dips under his weight as he settles. There is no way to avoid touching him considering his size so I push my fingers back into his fur and pet him as I have not done since everything went so . . . wrong.
“You know, I’ll be thirty-two soon; come the New Year, in fact,” I whisper. He already knows—or at least I think he does—I was born a minute ‘til midnight. Not even that really.
My mother often says if I had waited just a couple more seconds—ten or fifteen at the most—I would have been born on January 1st instead of December 31st.
Turning, Everett presses his head into my chest. My fingers push through his fur still.
He is as soft as I remember.
“Shift back, любимый. Tonight, we will pretend like the past doesn’t matter.” I wait and after a brief moment, a man is pressing against me where a wolf once was. He is small and warm against my chest, no different from that first night we fell asleep together.
Everything is different between us now, though.
“I can’t pretend like the past doesn’t matter,” Everett mutters, his voice soft and broken, “and I don’t want to do that either. Just,” he pauses and I wait, “for tonight, can you pretend like you still love me?”
My soul goes cold. Everett curls into himself, squeezing his eyes close.
Goosebumps—
the little chills people get when jumping into a stream on a hot day—erupt across my arms and dance over my shoulder blades before trekking down my spine.
My toes curl as he withdraws further.
“Never mind. That’s ridiculous; I’m being ridiculous. I’m just tired. Goodnight, Thanos.” Rolling away, he tucks himself under the blankets.
“Everett—”
“It’s okay,” he rushes to assure me but I can hear in his voice, it’s not. “I understand. You don’t have to explain. I’m not your husband,” his voice cracks as he speaks but he carries on. “Why the hell would you love me, anyway? There isn’t anything about me worth lov—”
“Stop,” I demand, unwilling to listen to his self-deprecating speech. “I am angry; I am hurt,” I admit. These two things are not secrets. Anyone with eyes can tell my emotions have been on a roller coaster since the moment I realized the wine was drugged. “Neither of those things change the fact I do love you.”
I close my eyes and softly inhale. “I wouldn’t feel so much of what I do if I didn’t love you.”
“It just isn’t enough,” he repeats back to me the words I said not long ago.
I sigh, reaching out and touching his shoulder. He doesn’t flinch but I know he isn’t comfortable with my touch as his spine stiffens.
“Let me hold you for a little, Everett. We can forget how broken we are for a little. In the morning . . . we can have breakfast. Just us.”
I love him. Doesn’t that count for something, despite everything?
“Just us?” he asks, rolling to face me and I nod.
“We can have pancakes.” He hesitates before reaching out. Grasping his hand, I pull him toward my chest. It takes a moment for us to settle together but when we do, I exhale.
“I love you, too,” Everett mutters into my chest. “I know what I’ve done; I know it’s not what you do to the person you love. I am so sorry, Athanasios.”
What am I supposed to say to that?
How can I just accept his apology?
What will not accepting it accomplish?
After The I Do Page 24