His expression remains closed, jaw set, chest heaving in slow breaths.
A wave of nausea grabs me by the throat.
I’m sorry. I’m so sorry-
“There is no need to cry, dear.” Irene pats my shoulder. “We are just chatting. Let me guess- you feel guilt because of the history between your father and Koen’s pack. Maybe you think a debt is owed. But you only know little pieces of the story. That letter you just read . . . Would you like me to tell you what happened after it was sent?”
I nod, ashamed. She’s trying to deal me into her game, and I’m allowing it. Because I need to know.
“You see, the letter was with a friend, for safekeeping. I didn’t read it until months after it was written. But Fiona . . . she died less than twenty-four hours after it was sent.” Irene’s head tilts. She and Koen regard each other in a way I don’t fully comprehend. Two people who have made impossible choices. Two people defined by what has come before them.
And then Irene smiles sweetly, and asks, “Out of curiosity, Alpha. How long have you known that you killed her mother?”
She is meant for him, but they couldn’t be more impossible.
IHOLD MY BREATH. STAY PERFECTLY STILL. MY MUSCLES COIL, AS if to keep my body from breaking open, stop my organs and blood from pouring onto the floor.
Then Koen says, “I’ve been suspecting it for a few days,” and I fall apart.
“What?” I sound reedy. Maybe that’s why Koen ignores my question. Doesn’t look at me. Continues his conversation with Irene, composed, detached, like the topic is only mildly diverting. Broken boilers. The weather. Him, killing my mother.
“And yet you didn’t tell her. How self-serving of you.”
“I wanted to be certain, before informing her that one or more of her parents were high-profile figures in a cult with a sky-high body count.”
Irene sneers. “Now you know for sure.” She points at me with a flourish. “Tell her what happened that night. The Favored would like to know, too, wouldn’t we, friends? All we had to go by were the rotting corpses.”
“Very well.” Koen takes a deep breath. Turns to me. Lifts his bound hands onto the table, leaning over his elbows, and locks eyes with me dispassionately.
Then he starts.
“Every raid that was launched against the cult, every search for those who had played a part in attacks against the Northwest,
I led. And yes, I was the one who killed Constantine. But you knew that.” He inches closer. “We found him in a ramshackle cottage up north. He knew that we had him surrounded, and sent his companions ahead to buy time. We worked our way through them. When I reached him, he was in wolf form. I forced him to shift back to human and later brought his corpse back to Northwest territory. I extracted his heart. The rest was left on a cliff for the vultures and other scavengers to feed on. This is the story- no more and no less.”
My vision is blurry, whether from tears or the fever, I’m not sure. “I don’t care about him. He deserved it. But what about . . .” I can’t think over the blood pounding in my ears. I hate it, that I feel grateful toward Irene for asking what I can’t bring myself to.
“What about Fiona, her mother? Did you kill her, too?”
At last, a flicker of hesitation. Koen’s jaw works. After a moment, he says, “I won’t lie to you. It’s possible.”
Irene scoffs. “Have you killed so many Human women that you can no longer recall them?”
“I don’t know. Did you shield Constantine with so many Human women that I lost track?”
“What- what do you mean?” I ask.
He meets my eyes again. Any trace of the anger he showed when discussing Constantine is gone. “When I said that he sent his companions ahead to buy time, Serena, I mean it. If you are certain that your mother was with Constantine that night . . .”
“We are,” Irene says.
“Then yes. I killed her.” Koen is sorry but not repentant. It’s clear in his eyes that he would go back and do it all over again. Then be sad about it all over again.
Irene nods, a bitter, satisfied smile curving her lips.
“Was it you?” I ask, trembling. “Or Jorma? Or Amanda? Or- “
“It was me, Serena.” His voice is precise. Cutting. “I am the Alpha of the Northwest. Every move, every action, every killing is sanctioned by me. My seconds are an extension of my hand. Whether I tore into your mother’s throat myself or not, I’m still her killer. Do you really need me to explain this? Do you understand your people so little? What did I tell you?”
We are not Human.
My insides twist. “What about me? Why didn’t you kill me?”
“You were not standing between me and Constantine, Serena.” For a moment, his expression flickers. Like he’s scanning my features. Cataloging them. Comparing them against an image in his head. His tone loses some of its ice. He’s remembering something, something that was lost until now. “You were hiding.”
“What?”
“In a closet. There was a Human girl with dark hair. She was skeletal and refused to talk.” He searches my features. Sandpapers the years off my face.
“W- what happened to her?”
He swallows. “I brought her to the Human social worker.”
“Was she . . . me?” I whisper.
Hesitation. “When Lowe first told me about hybrids, we immediately got in touch with Human Child Services to track down children of the cult. We were told that they were all accounted for.”
“Then how- “
“A lie. Most likely, someone examined you, realized that you were a hybrid, and alerted Governor Davenport. And after that . . . you appeared in Paris when you were about six. But the girl I turned in to Human Child Services was at least a couple of years younger than that.”
“Then, if I’m her . . . where was I during those years?”
His jaw shifts side to side. “I don’t know,” he says.
My lips tremble. It’s hard to shape the words. “How- how can you not remember whether you killed my mother? Whether you met me when I was a child?”
“Serena.” He huffs a laugh but seems as shaken as I am. “I killed so many people. I made so many orphans.”
It feels like he’s killing me, now. Like he’s carving my heart out of my chest.
“Did you ever stop to wonder if maybe they were better off among us than with Humans who would never care for them as we could?” Irene asks sharply.
Silence. Did he? He might not remember that, either.
“So you killed both my parents. And then you found me. And then you l- left me alone.”
He doesn’t flinch away or deflect. Just nods. Admits, “I did, Serena.”
I shake my head. Try to wipe at my cheeks, but it doesn’t work. There are too many tears coming.
“How do you feel, Eva?” Irene asks, odiously kind.
More Kickass Werewolf Reads
Dive into our collection of free werewolf romance novels—where fierce Alphas, daring heroines, and heart-stopping twists await. Every story burns with forbidden desire, loyalty, and destiny. Don’t wait—here’s a world where love bites hard and nothing is stronger than the call of the mate.
Leave a Reply