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“So, enlighten me, Killian. Enlighten me because I can’t wrap my head around the fact that my baby brother killed a man—”
“Killed a hunter,” I corrected.
“Who was still a man! Hunter or not, he was still a man! Wolf or not, we are still men!”
“I know!” My voice rose, laced with anger despite how hard I fucking tried to hold it back. Fighting with Declan wasn’t how I wanted to start my fucking morning. “I know what he was, okay! Is that what you want to fucking hear? I know! I have to keep telling myself he was a fucking hunter. I can’t go down the other fucking road.”
I couldn’t think about the lawyer from Boston with a Great Dane and a corner brownstone full of plants. It became too fucking real when I traveled down that road. Instead, I focused on the monster inside the man and what that meant for me and the pack.
“He knew shit, Declan,” I continued. “Not even five fucking minutes into talking to me, and he knew what pack I belonged to, what part of the country we lived in, and more.”
“But you said he didn’t hunt,” my brother said.
“His family were fucking hunters. God only knows how many hunter friends he had.” I pushed my hand through my hair in frustration. “What if he talked? What if he did talk? Who fucking knows if he did? I couldn’t risk it—not any more than I did while trying to figure out how best to handle the situation.”
“You can’t just kill someone to protect the pack. Fuck, we have a literal rule that says you shouldn’t! I don’t even know what to fucking do with that one. I want to protect your dumbass, but I also want to honor our pack laws. I don’t know what the fuck I’m supposed to do! You should’ve—”
“Would you have fucking risked Raven’s life on the off chance he wouldn’t say something?” I demanded.
“That’s not fair, and you know that,” Declan growled.
“Would you risk your wife’s life on a chance?” I repeated. I’d make him fucking answer if I had to.
“No, I wouldn’t, and you fucking know that,” he replied. “I’m selfish, and I know it. I’m not about to apologize for wanting to keep her safe.”
“My point—”
“I wasn’t fucking finished,” he snapped over me. “I also know that I’d do everything in my fucking power to make sure it never got to that point. I’d fucking kill a man to protect her if I absolutely had to, but I wouldn’t go out of my way to preemptively do that.”
“That’s the difference between you and me,” I said. We would never see eye-to-eye on this. Grabbing my boots, I shoved them on and stood. “I’m not waiting around for the bad shit to happen. I’ll do whatever the fuck it takes to protect the people I care about—the pack, our family, you. I don’t care what the fucking cost is. And even if that cost is your respect for me.”
“And what if the cost is that you started a feud with another hunter? What if you’re the reason the hunter is here?”
It was a thought I’d had—one I hated to even entertain.
“Then I’ll kill this one too.”
“What the hell happened to you?” he asked quietly. “What the hell made you so cold?”
“The world showed me just how fucking cruel she could be,” I said. As I stormed away, I called over my shoulder, “No one is safe in this world, Declan. You either do whatever it takes to survive or you let her eat you alive.”
Chapter 52
Genevieve
Everything was a fucking mess—if I took a page out of Killian’s language book.
Trying to avoid the Byrnes and the pack per my father’s request was exhausting and emotionally draining. Instead of sitting down and talking to Nolan about everything, I sent him an extremely detailed email breaking down all of his social media habits, his team information, his release information, and more so he had everything in a single spot. I included all of his notes and my official resignation letter from working for both of his businesses. As soon as the email was sent, I logged out of my computer and shut it down. I couldn’t bear the thought of his reply. He’d understand but at what cost?
And trying to get things together without running into anyone was a feat that had me visiting neighboring towns for things like boxes and left me on the verge of tears. Or maybe the tears were for my lost curls, sacrificed to chemical straightening because straight hair was more presentable. Or maybe it was the fact that I was missing Charlotte’s funeral—a woman I admired and called a friend.
Or maybe it was the painful realization that I couldn't maintain this way of life. It was too much, and Cedar Harbor was so small. Moving away would be easier.
The thought was ideal for letting go and moving on. But some things I wasn’t ready to let go of. I clung to them because I didn’t know what else to hold on to.
I was giving Killian the house. My lawyer would give him all the paperwork he needed to sign. I just had to get the few things I was allowed to bring back to my father’s home and donate the rest. Which was how I ended up lugging boxes down my drive to my back door when I saw the door broken.
I froze. The doorknob was gone. Just gone as if butchered right out of the wood. What the heck?
