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Because, oh, yes, I have some very strong feelings. The sixteen-year-old child is the one responsible for the death of Morgan, an adult who was failed by her family.
Surely, it’s not the adults in her life or the huge pack that was meant to protect her, it was her brother—brothers—a mere child.
It’s so easy to blame Ryan and Ethan, so easy to throw them to the wolves and let them be the spearhead of any revenge plots. Why should they take accountability for failing to protect her? Why should they admit that the biggest fault lies with them for putting their daughter in the position where she needed to run away?
Because, of course, the fact that the adults in her life are trying to mate her off to an old man isn’t the problem. It’s the sixteen-year-old twin boys who should’ve protected her.
There’s something wrong with these people.
“Are you saying that Henry thinks Ryan was the one to kill Morgan?” Topher asks dryly. I can’t get a read on Topher, not properly, even with the bond. He’s mostly blank, his anger and annoyance covering up anything less intense.
But I don’t think he believes what his father’s are telling him.
“Yes,” George says.
Ryan is the most loving man I’ve ever met. He was kind and sweet, and I refuse to believe he killed a woman—killed his sister.
Not on purpose.
And any accidental death is not his to be blamed for. He, and even my guys, were children. They’re not to blame for this.
“There’s too much evidence to ignore,” Edward continues. His voice shakes slightly, an edge of unease to it.
“Did he apologise for blaming our pack then, since he’s found the culprit?” Ben asks, his words smarmy and full of the same mocking that he feels.
“Not in so many words,” Charles says, shaking his head.
“But we’re sure Ryan had a hand in her death, and that’s enough for us,” George says. “This wasn’t about reconnecting with them but about avenging Morgan and fixing a very big problem.”
Is there any evidence of Ryan’s supposed murder? They’re so quick to admit to theirs, so where’s the proof of Ryan’s?
“There’s not enough female wolves being born,” Charles explains to me, once again using the patronising tone like I’m stupid. “Losing one in a vicious attack was a horrendous loss for our family.”
Fury rages inside me, but I don’t bother saying something to attempt to change their minds. They’re unhappy at losing a female wolf-born Wolfe. Not at losing family members, but at the value Morgan carried for being a woman.
These are people who tried to kill Ryan rather than calling the police or whatever sort of law enforcement they have. They decided to handle it themselves.
They think so highly of themselves that it actually makes me sick to be in their presence, breathing in the same air as them, as we sit in their house. And, even worse, is the fact that my daughter—my wolf-born daughter—is here with us.
She’s sitting amongst the people that tried to kill her dad. Sure, they weren’t successful, but that doesn’t mean that Henry didn’t have other plans in the pipelines. For all I know, he was the one to organise the successful hit on Ryan.
I wanted to know the truth. I wanted answers on how my fiancé died. I wanted to know everything they did, and then make sure that I got justice.
But they didn’t actually kill him, and I’m not sure what to do from here. My mates will, and I trust that they’ll handle it.
In the meantime, Julie and her mates have information me and the guys could use, information that could help figure things out about Ryan and help us keep custody of our daughter. This is all I want from them.
Seb places his hand on my thigh and squeezes gently. He’s so focused right now, his green eyes locked on Phoebe, but every time his nostrils flare, I know he’s categorising the scents in the room.
He’s keeping track in the way he can . I can imagine he has some strong feelings on the scent neutraliser, and I’m curious as to what they are.
But we won’t air that here in front of their parents.
“Nobody argues that it was a terrible loss,” Alex says. “But what evidence do you have that he was involved?”
“Do you remember the foundation Howling Hope? Morgan was working with them as one of their volunteers, remember?” George asks.
My blood runs cold, and I hope that nobody on their side notices the change in my behaviour. She worked at my mother’s company?
