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Crazy.
“No,” Atticus says, and I deflate. “She was a tiger. But she was part of a pack, since she was adopted by two wolves. So, Cev and I had lots of arguments about this. I was adamant that she should be part of a pride. She’s a tiger, and she’d be better off surrounded by cats.”
I purse my lips, but don’t comment.
“It was stupid. I just didn’t want to lose my brother, and, ultimately, I lost him anyway. Fuck, I didn’t even know she was pregnant. We weren’t on the best of terms, and that was because I wasn’t handling things properly—neither of us were. I knew we were having hunter issues, my focus was split… when he left, I thought that was where he went.
“I got people to look into it, of course, I did, but he cut contact with me. My lion couldn’t reach his, and, even now, I don’t understand how that could happen.” Atticus’s voice sounds so far away right now, as if he’s living in the past rather than right here. It’s worrying, and I hate that he had all of this on his plate when I then added onto it.
All because I was so tunnel-visioned on myself.
“But his mate was from a little pack. A tiny fucking pack.” He throws his head back into the chair, bouncing it back and forth on the stand before spinning to face me. “I just presumed that’s where he went.” I can see his left fist clenching and unclenching, and I presume his right one is doing the same.
He’s opening and closing his mouth, trying to speak, but not really sure what to say.
“She was murdered in front of him.”
Holy fuck.
His watery eyes meet mine, the ocean blue colouring looking darker in the light, and I hate seeing him this way. “She was murdered in front of him whilst pregnant with his baby.”
He shakes his head and gives me a grim smile.
“And I was already up a height, finding this out. Finding out that he’s somehow part of these hunters, that he’s now the leader of them, according to Voss. I reached out,” Atticus says, and I gasp.
He’s braver than I am. I don’t think I could.
“I reached out and asked what happened, and he told me.” He runs his hand through his hair, tugging it ever so slightly as he meets my eyes with a crazed look in his. “Fuck, I don’t even know how he’s still alive.”
“Could it be like Devoss?” I ask quietly. Atticus tilts his head in confusion. “When he said if I died, he’d hunt everybody down and then join me.”
I say it really quickly because the words leave a bitter taste in my mouth, but Atticus hears them. He nods thoughtfully.
“Maybe. Maybe he’s taking them out from within. I’d like to believe that. But then I get thrown back to all the times my dad told me about the darkness within Cevon—about how he wasn’t a great brother, a good person. My dad was convinced that there was something twisted inside of Cevon,” Atticus says.
I frown, but quickly smooth out my features. What kind of father would say that?
But, then again, can I really judge when I know very little of what happened with their life?
Atticus looks around the room and sighs.
“I negotiated with Kennedy so that you would get certain things if he wanted my help,” he says.
“Like what?” I ask.
“Do you want to know?” Atticus asks. I nod slowly, and he obliges even though he doesn’t seem happy about it. “So much happened to you, with that horrible, shitty pack, that you were part of. And I’m not happy about it. So I told them, absolutely, I would help, but you needed anything that you used to have. Anything that belonged to you, we want.”
“You did?”
He nods. “You shouldn’t have had to leave in the first place. But to leave with nothing?” He shakes his head. “I can’t stand it. They had no right to take your things from you. They took your pack, your home, and I can’t get those things back. But your belongings? If they still have anything that is yours, I told Kennedy I wanted it.”
“Did they keep any of my things?” I ask, a little bit of hope within me.
Atticus sighs. “Kennedy said he can’t guarantee it. He had all these bullshit excuses, and said they likely threw it all out. But I’ve not then chased that up.”
He grabs the notepad on his desk and jots something down before giving me his full attention.
“Not to make it an excuse, but with everything that’s happened, I’ve not made it a priority. For that, I truly am sorry,” he says, and the sincerity rings true in his tone. “I’ll get Orson to touch base and find out what’s happening.”
