by Noelle Marie
Besides, no amount of anger could bring them back – could save Boone and Rose Blackwood and Fiona Thatcher from their fate.
The only person that I could still save was Wisp.
I froze, my brain suddenly comprehending that Wisp – tiny, innocent Wisp – was soon going to be married off to the son of the man who, if Abram was to be believed – and I had no reason not to believe him – had killed my parents, had been responsible for abducting countless young bearers and selling them off to the highest bidder.
Sweet Wisp who Abram insisted was a bearer herself.
Terror grabbed hold of my heart and squeezed.
“Wisp,” I muttered, wrenching myself from my thoughts and grabbing Abram by the collar of his shirt. I shook him. “We have to get her back. We have to get her back now.”
Abram had the nerve to scoff at me, shoving my hands away and staring at me like I was the fuck-up so drenched in guilt that I’d spent the better half of two decades roaming around the woods as a goddamn bear. “Are you deaf?” he demanded. “Did you hear nothing I just said? This girl, your Wisp, is betrothed to a Vanderbilt. Not just any Vanderbilt, either, but the son of the man who killed your parents, my wife – who left his mark on the door to ensure we knew who was responsible and as a warning to stay far, far away.”
“I don’t care,” I spat. “Everything you just told me about those girls, the fire… Abram, Wisp is a bearer,” I said, stressing the last word, like he somehow didn’t understand the danger she was in – the danger I had put her in.
Abram snorted. “Oh, so now you believe me.”
I fought the urge to barrel my fist into his teeth. “So what then?” I demanded. “You don’t care that the sweet, little fool leaving you muffins in the middle of the woods is about to be sold to the fucking king of bearer trafficking?” I demanded.
Something like guilt flashed in Abram’s eyes, but it disappeared just as quickly. He shrugged. “Prince, actually. And for all I know, she’s a willing bride.”
What little patience I had left for the man across from me withered away at the callous comment, the type of white-hot anger that had him awakening pouring into my belly. “I don’t have time for this,” I grit out between clenched teeth, ignoring the sensation of his claws ripping into my insides as he fought to be freed. “I don’t care how you do it, but get Wisp’s address for me. Now. I don’t give a shit if you come with me.”
But Abram just shook his head. “No.”
He roared. “No?” I repeated, voice deceptively calm. “What do you mean ‘no’?”
Abram snorted. “I mean that I’m not going to let you kill yourself. That’s the only thing that giving you her address would accomplish.”
I sneered. “You say that like you actually care.”
Abram rolled his tense shoulders. “Of course I care,” he muttered, the words barely audible, even to my ears.
I stared in disbelief. “Could have fooled me. I can count the number of times I’ve seen you since my parents’ deaths on two hands, and half of those sightings have happened this week.”
“How could I possibly face you when I shared responsibility for what happened, huh?” Abram demanded. He shook his head, steadfastly refusing to meet my eyes. “Besides, I’ve tried to look out for you, in my own way, throughout the years,” he added quietly.
Right.
I snorted. “No. All you’ve been doing is hiding out in the woods like a sniveling coward.” I paused before adding, voice purposely snide, “I wonder what Fiona would think if she could see you now.”
Abram’s entire body stiffened and his eyes flashed black, but I didn’t regret the comment, not even a little. “Don’t,” he choked – a warning.
A warning I blew right past. “What?” I asked. “Scared she would be ashamed that her supposedly loving husband spent the past seventeen years holed up out here like a scared rabbit instead of avenging her like the fucking fearsome predator he’s supposed to be?”
I was prepared for Abram’s reaction, and I had already braced myself for the way I knew he would grab me. I didn’t even wince when his fingers, slowly sharpening into claws, tore right through the fabric of my shirt and pressed into skin. “Shut your mouth!” he bellowed, his entire face red, his eyes pitch black. “Shut it right now!”
Thane, who’d been largely forgotten about by the both of us, but who had been watching us intently throughout our entire conversation – growled threatening at Abram, the hair on his back standing on end.
We both ignored him.
I grinned. “You’re pathetic,” I said, realizing that I was about to send him over the edge, but also knowing it had to be done. “I bet her dying wish was that she’d never even met you.”
That was it.
The malicious comment served it’s intended purpose, and Abram’s face twisted, his features contorting into something animal as a half-cry, half-roar escaped his mouth.
The bear, already lurking in wait beneath my skin, reacted. Bones cracked, tendons twisted, and he emerged.
Abram and I had both fully shifted by the time he launched himself at me, claws digging into my hide as he threw me down the porch steps. I managed to push myself back up onto my hind legs before he charged again.
Thane howled from the porch as we battled like the wild animals we were, jagged claws tearing into fur and flesh alike, and sharp teeth snapping threateningly as we shoved at each other. Pent-up rage and frustration had me sinking my pearly whites into his meaty shoulder, and the adrenaline pumping through my veins ensured that I hardly felt the way his claws tore a hole through my ear in retaliation.
All the while, we roared.
When I managed to embed my claws into Abram’s snout, I yowled my satisfaction.
But then, right when I thought I was gaining an edge on him, Abram managed to throw me to the ground with a sudden burst of strength.
A moment later, he had me pinned.
His jaws snapped wildly at me as he loomed over my prone form, and I thrashed in an attempt to escape them. A flicker of fear shot down my spine when I realized that instead of aiming for my muscle-bound shoulder or even the more sensitive flesh of my snout, he was going for my jugular.
For the first time since our fight had begun – for the first time ever, really – I worried Abram might kill me. (And if that happened, a voice pointed out, who would save Wisp?)
Unfortunately, Abram the bear was huge, his monstrous animal form even larger than my own. I had no chance against him restrained to the ground as I was. As far as I could tell, the only possibility I had of getting out of the predicament I found myself in relatively unscathed was appealing to Abram’s more human side. And the only way to do that was…
Even as a bear, I grimaced.
Abram bellowed from where he hovered over me, spittle landing on my face, and going against every instinct I had, I forced myself to transform back into my human body.
The claws that slashed into my chest ensured that I immediately regretted the decision. I braced myself for Abram’s teeth to follow – for the sensation of his sharp incisors ripping into my neck – when miraculously… Abram froze. Something like recognition sparked in his dark eyes.
For a moment, we were both still.
Then, slowly but surely, Abram the bear disappeared, fading away until it was Abram the human kneeling over me. He rolled off of me as soon as he was physically able, resting his hands against his knees as he caught his breath.
Thane was there a second later, whimpering sympathetically as he nosed the scratches on my chest. For a long time, it was silent save for the sound of our harsh breathing and the dog’s whining.
After I managed to calm my racing heart, I slowly pushed myself into a sitting position, wiping indifferently at the blood running down my chest.
It was only a flesh wound and would heal completely in a matter of days. To be honest, though, it could have been a gaping gash, and I hardly would have felt it circumstances being what they were
.
Flesh wound or not, Abram glanced at the bloody scratches with something resembling regret before standing and begrudgingly offering me a hand up.
Thane growled warningly at the hand, but I took it, brushing the grass off my legs as I stood. “So, are you going to help me or what?” I rasped when it became clear Abram wasn’t going to say anything.
For a moment, he was silent. Then Abram sighed – a resigned sound. “You’re really determined to do this, aren’t you?” he asked.
I shrugged. “I would rather be dead than knowingly let Wisp suffer.” It was nothing but the truth.
Abram nodded, like he’d expected that answer, but remained frowning, like he didn’t like it. “Fine,” he muttered, “I’ll help. But only because someone has to stop you from getting yourself killed like…”
He froze, both of us realizing what he had been about to say.
“Like my father,” I finished for him after a tense moment.
Abram swallowed. “Like your father,” he agreed, eyes losing some of their focus as his gaze glided away to the surrounding woods.
I was awful at this – this whole expressing emotion thing – and I didn’t know what to say. But I had to say something, so I opened my mouth anyway. “It wasn’t your fault, you know,” I managed to force out after a few seconds, and I wondered if the words rang as hollow to him as they always did to me whenever anyone had the nerve to lay them on me. “His either,” I added, referring to my father. “You… you were only trying to help.”
It was as close to an offering of forgiveness as I would probably ever be able to manage, and I hoped it was enough.
Abram closed his eyes – almost like he was savoring the words – before the bunched muscles of his shoulders loosened a little. A moment later, he snapped his eyes back open.
“We’ll get her back,” he said. There was no need to clarify who he was talking about.
He declared it so fiercely that for the first time, I could honestly believe it. Before I could feel even a hint of relief, however, Abram continued talking. “But we have to be smart about it.” He turned to face me. “If her father’s home address really can’t be found on common search engines, I’m sure he’s paranoid enough to have a fence, cameras, and who knows what else set up around the house to keep intruders out.” Or, as I was beginning to suspect, to keep Wisp in. “You can’t just break down the door and rescue her; it’s too risky. We’ll have to find a different way in the house. It… it may take some time.”
I stiffened. “Time?” I demanded incredulously. “We don’t have time.”
“We don’t have a choice in the matter,” Abram immediately shot back. “If we go in unprepared, we could end up in prison or worse.”
Dead was what he meant.
“Who would help your little mate then, huh?”
I was so upset by the prospect of waiting that I didn’t even object to him calling Wisp my mate. My entire fucking being rebelled against the idea of waiting to get her. And yet, I couldn’t deny that Abram’s logic was sound. Especially if Wisp’s father was in league with the Vanderbilts.
“What’s your plan then?” I asked tightly.
Abram’s gaze once again drifted, but instead of vacancy lurking in his eyes, I could see the cogs turning behind them. “We’ll have to get Wisp’s father to invite us in,” he said eventually.
I scoffed. “And how exactly do you propose we do that? Pose as telegram delivery?” I offered sarcastically.
Abram grunted, shaking his head. “You said that Wisp’s father – What’s his name again? Cornelius? – is a senator. Is he running for re-election this fall?”
I could pretty much recite the interviews Wisp’s father had given the press regarding her disappearance verbatim by then and knew that he was. I nodded. “Yeah, so?”
Abram looked pleased by the answer, a wicked grin pulling at the corner of his mouth. “How do you feel about making a private donation to his campaign?”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
“I’m not your daughter, am I?”
* * *
Cornelius’s face metamorphosed through an impressive rainbow of colors. His ashen cheeks first turned red, then a purplish-blue, then slowly returned to their original pasty white before he finally managed to speak. “Wh-what-?” he sputtered. “I mean, h-how-… what in the world are you talking about?” he eventually spat.
“Well-”
But before I could even begin to answer, he was talking again. “And don’t think I didn’t notice how you haven’t answered my question, young lady. What, exactly, do you think you’re doing in here?” he demanded, repeating his earlier inquisition. “I know for a fact that Marianne told you to stay far away from this room.”
While Cornelius’s anger at my disobedience was sincere enough, I couldn’t help but think it was also a convenient excuse to try to distract me from the real issue here: namely, my parentage.
I took a deep breath before deciding honesty was best. “You’re right,” I admitted. “Marianne requested that I leave this space alone.” I bit my lip. “But I guess I was just too curious for my own good.” I gestured at the picture frame on the nightstand. “There are so many photos of her spread throughout the house – of my mother, I mean – but you never talk about her. And no matter how hard I try, I can’t seem to conjure up any memories of her, either – any memories of anything.” (Until tonight, that was, but Cornelius didn’t need to know that.) “I don’t know, I guess I just thought that by coming in here, I might feel closer to her, or maybe even remember something.” (Or, you know, find a clue as to why you and Felix are so fixated on marrying me off to Graham Vanderbilt.)
Cornelius’s outrage seemed to fizzle away a little at my explanation. “Yes, well,” he muttered after a moment, “I suppose your transgression can be forgiven this once,” he conceded. “Although, for future reference, it might become you to know that your tenacious curiosity drove your mother absolutely up the wall when… well, when she was still with us.” He cleared his throat. “Now, Sloane, dear, I simply must insist you scamper off to bed.” He waved me forward from where he stood in the doorway. “Come.”
If I had any self-preservation instincts at all, I would have listened. But with Cornelius’s conversation with Felix still fresh in my mind and Vanessa’s words still burning a hole through my brain – “We never should have taken you.” – I just couldn’t bring myself to obey.
“Not until you answer my question.”
Cornelius stiffened, honest surprise flashing in his eyes at my daring, but I forced myself to keep speaking, anyway. “Tell me,” I demanded frankly, “am I really your daughter… or not?”
Cornelius stared, and if he were a less dignified individual, I imagined his mouth would have been agape, his chin bobbing up and down at my nerve. “Where in the world did you get such an idea in your head?” he finally asked after he recovered from his disbelief.
I furrowed my brow, having expected a simple “Why, of course you’re my daughter!” or something similar to have come tumbling out of his mouth.
“It’s a couple things, I guess,” I said. “I mean, for one, I can’t help but notice that I don’t really look like either of you,” I pointed out.
“Don’t be daft, dear.” Cornelius dismissed my concern with a wave of his hand. “A lot of kids don’t look like their parents.”
I frowned. “Okay,” I allowed, “but why aren’t there any baby pictures of me?”
Cornelius scoffed. “Nonsense! Of course there are baby pictures. Your mother was diligent about recording all your milestones. Why, there’s a photo album cataloguing all of your birthdays lying around here somewhere.”
“I have it already, actually,” I revealed cautiously. “Marianne gave it to me,” I added, hoping I wasn’t getting her into trouble. “And while you’re right about it containing pictures of all my birthdays, there aren’t any photos of me under six or seven months old.”
Cornelius pursed his lips. “Yes,
well,” he floundered. “I’m sure there are more pictures lying around the house somewhere. I suppose you’ll be asking me for your birth certificate next,” he added sarcastically.
I pressed my lips together. “Well?”
Cornelius scowled, his white mustache growing crooked as his face once again began to approach the color purple. “I’ve had quite enough of this nonsense, young lady,” he admonished before taking two hasty steps forward and wrapping his fingers around my elbow in a commanding grip. “Now, come,” he demanded. “I said it’s time for bed.”
His tone left absolutely no room for argument. And yet…
“But you still haven’t answered my question!” I protested, yanking my arm out of his grasp. “It’s simple. Am I really your daughter or not?”
A muscle in Cornelius’s jaw twitched, and he took yet another step forward. “Now, listen here, Sloane,” he said, wagging his finger under my nose, “I don’t know who told you such a thing-”
Your wife, I wanted to say, but dug my teeth into the sensitive flesh of my inner cheek in order to stop myself. (After all, despite all evidence to the contrary, I wasn’t suicidal.)
“-but I’m through discussing this with you.”
But he still wouldn’t answer my question. A sinking feeling in my belly, however, told me I already knew the answer.
“After all your mother and I have done for you,” he continued to rage, “that you would dare suggest-”
“But she’s not my mother, is she?” The words spilled out of my mouth unthinkingly, and before they’d even finished ringing in my ears, I knew that saying them had been a mistake.
Smack!
The memory of the sting of Vanessa’s weak slap was nothing compared to the forcefulness of Cornelius’s blow. The back-handed hit threw me off balance, and I landed hard on my butt, the dull thud my bottom made as it connected with the carpet resounding through the room.
I tasted blood, and bringing a shaky hand to my mouth confirmed that my bottom lip was split in half.
