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“It’s fine,” I interrupt, reaffirming that I don’t want him to feel guilty for bringing it up. This is my reality now, I need to deal with the pack situation. "I’ll be able to mourn properly once I find my father’s killer. Until then, I just need this closure, and I’ll be good."
He huffs out a breath, yet stays silent, simply nodding in defeat. He knows he won’t be able to win in an argument against me.
“Vivian was right though—” he pauses at my narrowed glare “—about not needing to do this alone.” He chuckles, shaking his head in amusement at my overreaction before his face sobers again.
“I need to do this alone.” I hold his stare, showing him the steadfast determination in my gaze. His shoulders slump in defeat, knowing I won’t be deterred.
The car comes to a stop, and I look out the window at the wind whipping through the branches of the willow tree and the stone pillar beyond.
“I can wait,” he offers as a last ditch attempt. I shake my head giving him a small smile.
“You know I need to run,” I offer softly while the driver comes to pull my door open.
“I know, just stay safe.” He pleads with wide eyes. He purses his lips, glancing around, before he adds, “And call me if you need anything.”
“Thanks, Monte.” I clasp his hand then step out of the car.
The wind swirls around me, the first signs of a storm approaching over the horizon, and the cool air chills me to my bones, yet I barely feel it. There is a comforting feeling of this special place, calling to me, welcoming me into its warm embrace.
Sounds of the car pulling away behind me keep me in the present, its tires kicking up rocks from the gravel road. I glance over the cliff at the waves below increasing in speed with each moment I peer down, crashing against the jagged sheet of rock protruding from the edge.
I turn towards the pillar of stone and the intricate carving chiseled into it. The matching gold urn awaits us there, secured behind a plexiglass compartment.
“Hi, Mom.” I whisper the words into the silent clearing, and let the tears I’ve been holding back finally flow freely down my cheeks.
Chapter Two
Skylar
Mykneesgiveout,the weight of my emotions suffocating me. I pull in a ragged breath, feeling my lungs expand, yet the unbearable pressure still remains. The full impact of my reality barrels down on me.
It’s a crushing blow to my chest as I look down, my father’s urn still clasped tightly there. I can’t move my eyes away, barely feeling its weight pressed against me, the cool of metal through my shirt. The tears are constant now, as I let go of the emotions I had to hold close to my heart. The wind whistles through the willow branches above me, the only witness to my emotional release.He’s really gone. My father, the last of the family I once knew, is gone.
I look up at the large marble stone before me. Blinking away the tears still clouding my vision, I wipe a hand over my face in an attempt to make out the words carved into it.
Lillian Draven, Loving mother, and wife. Stolen from this earth much too soon.
My father’s inscription is already carved into the stone beside hers.
Godric Draven, Devoted father and husband to Lillian, died of a broken heart.
The tears start up again at the words my father ordered inscribed years ago. Despite his marriage to Vivian, if it wasn’t for me, I have no doubt in my mind my dad would have followed my mom into the afterlife. The cold-hearted killer, only soft and sweet to her, to his mate.
I place the urn down, clutching the damp soil beneath me. The moist earth soaks into the knees of my black linen pants. My fingers dig into the dirt, needing to feel the energy and power of nature with me.
The clumps of soil crumble in the palms of my hands, embedding under my fingernails. Sobs rack my chest, the loss piercing my heart like a dagger.
I close my eyes as one of my most cherished memories flits through my mind, as clearly as if it were playing out on a screen before me.
Her long white dress billowed out around her as she swayed her hips to one of the many one-hit-wonder pop bands of the early 2000’s that boomed out from the speaker. The room smelled of the pancakes that sizzled in the frying pan—the buttery scent tickled my nose and made my stomach rumble.
She gasped in surprise, my father’s hands wrapped around her waist. With the lightest tug, he spun her, making her drop the spatula poised in her hand. Her gasp quickly devolved into a fit of giggles, and she leaned against him to keep herself upright.
I bounded over to them, my uncoordinated legs propelling me forward and tripping over themselves in my excitement to join in, but I ended up sprawled on the kitchen floor. My face collided with the cool tiles, and pain radiated up the side of my head. I cried out, tears springing to my eyes.
My mother rushed over, stooping down to scoop me up into her warm arms. Her hand tilted my cheek up, checking it over, before she cradled my small face into her chest.
“You’ll be okay, sunshine,” she said, smoothing a hand over my hair, and humming to the tune still playing over the radio. The vibrations relaxed me and took my mind off of the pounding pain that blossomed in my cheek. My dad sat down beside us, wrapping one arm around her waist while the other cupped my swollen face, lightly pressing a bag of ice to it.
