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“She’s fine,” Steph says, tightening her grip on my hand. “She got up and talked to you, remember?”
“Oh, yeah,” I say, some of the tension draining out of me. “She called me…something. I can’t remember.”
“A Grundelier.”
Jesse’s deep voice rings in my ears, and my conversation with Bernadette floods back to me. The Grundelier coven created the werewolves. Only they can exert complete control over the creatures in the way I did. Which means…I’m of their blood.
“It shouldn’t be possible,” Steph says, pulling me from my thoughts.
“What?” I ask.
“That you’re a Grundelier. The bloodline supposedly died out over a hundred years ago. No births were documented after eighteen-thirty-three, and the last of the line died in nineteen-sixteen.”
“Which means I’m not one of them,” I say, my voice laced with equal parts disappointment and hope.
I want to know who I am. Where I come from. But I also don’t know if I want to be linked to the coven that created the means to destroy the man I love. My mate. Wait––
“I’m afraid you are,” Steph says apologetically, cutting off my train of thought. “Even if that display of dominance over the werewolves weren’t proof enough, Aunt Bernie tested your blood while you were out. You are a Grundelier, Eden.”
“But…” I say, looking back at Jesse, “what about our mate-bond? How can we be mates if I’m a Grundelier witch? We should be enemies, right?”
“I don’t know, Eden,” he says softly. “But I do know you’re my mate, and I love you. This revelation doesn’t change that.”
Some of the dread coursing through my veins diminishes at his words. Without realizing it, I was harboring some deep-seated fear that Jesse would denounce our bond now that he knows my ancestors were the ones who created the species that killed his father…and countless others.
I stiffen once more. “Erik? Leif?”
“They’re fine,” he says with a shallow nod. “We lost four of the staff during the attack, but Erik and Leif got the others into a secure room before anyone else was bitten.”
“Oh, good. You’re awake.”
I look up to see Bernadette striding into the room with a tray loaded down with three cups with saucers and a steaming carafe. Setting it down on the table before us, she begins to pour, and the tantalizing scent of coffee wafts up my nose.
“I know you prefer coffee to tea, dear,” she says, handing me the first cup.
“Thank you,” I murmur, lifting the cup to my face and inhaling deeply.
“Now,” Bernadette says, taking a seat in a chair adjacent to the couch, “I’m sure you have questions.”
“So many, I don’t know where to begin,” I admit, careful not to spill my coffee as Jesse pulls me back against his chest.
“I will answer as many as I can,” she says kindly.
“Steph said the Grundeliers died out over a century ago. If that’s so, how is it possible I’m one of them?”
“It seems as though the family wanted everyone to believe the line died with Bethany Grundelier. She was said to have died childless, and was an only child, herself. Or so the historical documents tell us. That was obviously untrue. She must have given birth in secret and hid the child away. She was quite the recluse when she died.”
“Why would she do that?” I ask. “Why would she keep her child a secret?”
Bernadette shrugs delicately. “I don’t know. Perhaps the answer lies with the father of that child. Bethany never married, and in those times––even in the magical community––sex outside of marriage was not only frowned upon, but reviled. Her child would have been an outcast, shunned and despised.”
“That sucks,” Steph says, earning a frown from Bernadette.
“If it’s true,” I say, pulling her attention back to me.
“It is. I’ve confirmed it, dear,” she says gently.
I swallow thickly. “What does that mean for me?”
