I lift my eyes and Koen is there, blocking the light from filtering through the doorway.

There are more than half a dozen people in the room, but his gaze falls on me instantly, like I’m the center of mass of his universe. The violence of his relief is so strong, I don’t think anyone in the room is immune to it. Irene herself recoils, before collecting herself and adding, “We sent our location early this morning. It took you much longer than we expected to get here.”

Koen steps inside. He’s drenched in rainwater, hands tied in front of his body. His forearms and neck are smeared with blood, green swirled with red. Some of it trickles slowly down his temple, where it mats his thick hair. Just below, a deep cut dissects his right cheekbone. He’s wearing a black shirt and black pants, which makes it impossible to tell whether he was injured in any vital spot.

I can’t believe he came alone. After what he said about his mother, he made the same mistake. He’s so outnumbered, even he can’t make it out of this.

And yet his smirk and “Thank you for having me” fill me with some temporary optimism, even after three more Weres walk inside behind him. It’s Jess and her two friends, clearly proud to be delivering the Alpha of the Northwest. They bend their heads to Irene. When she invites Koen to take a seat, the younger man pushes him and sends him staggering forward.

The boy gets to gloat for about three seconds. Then Koen spins around, uses his bound hands to deliver a hook, and trips him with his foot.

Every Were in the room takes an attack stance, ready to intervene, but Koen barely notices. “Tell your boyfriends to get their hands off me,” he orders Irene, not even winded.

“Alpha.” She clicks her tongue. “Are you in the position to make demands?”

Koen’s response is a glance toward the boy who’s currently in fetal position on the floor, holding his bleeding jaw.

“Point taken.” Irene chuckles, and pulls a chair back for Koen. She’s a spider, willing to bide her time for a juicy reward, and I want to warn him, but my mouth won’t open.

“I see your bitchboys are eager to step up to the plate,” he says, glancing at the male Weres’ obvious arousal.

“They are ready to be of service, yes. Would you like some tea, Alpha?”

“That would be lovely. Chai, two sugars.”

“Nele? Do we have . . . No? No chai, unfortunately. Can we offer you anything else?”

Koen sits back. “Lady, fuck you and your tea.”

“Oh, there is no need for such hostility,” Irene chides. “I have greatly enjoyed my time with your friend.”

“Bully for you. My mate, though, doesn’t seem to enjoy your company. She’s crying, and smells like she’s in distress.”

I lift a hand up to my cheek. It’s slick with tears.

“You and I have never met, have we?” Irene asks Koen, sizing him up as she returns to her chair.

“We both know that one of us wouldn’t be here if we had.”

“That’s likely correct. Our families wouldn’t have approved of a friendship between us, would they? Oh, how rude of me— I haven’t even introduced myself. My name is Irene. I believe you were acquainted with my brother, Constantine.” Her smile is polite, even gracious. Too gracious. From my seat, I can see the clench of her right hand in her lap, visceral white-knuckled hatred in her fist. “Ah, I see from your expression that you had no idea.”

“We had a list of his siblings, and you weren’t on it. If I’d known that any of Constantine’s relatives stuck around, we’d have met much earlier.”

“Yes. Well, these days I cannot avoid a leadership role, but I used to fly under the radar. I was very young, and the spotlights weren’t for me. Then . . . you know what happened.” She turns to me. Before I can lurch away, her palm covers mine. “But how can I complain, now that I am reunited with my niece. Family must stick together, mustn’t it? It’s what her father would have wanted.”

Koen walked into this room bound and beaten, but now is the first time I pick up any real tension from him. And all at once, I can no longer ignore the truths that have been drilling at the walls of my skull for the last few hours.

My father killed Koen’s mother.

My father killed Koen’s father.

My father killed thousands of Weres, including Brenna’s, Amanda’s, Saul’s, and Jorma’s families.

My father is the reason Koen was forced to become Alpha at fifteen.

My father.

“Koen, I— ” Am not sure what to do. Don’t know what to say. Am sorry. Will make amends. There’s no good way to finish this sentence. I stare at him, willing him to meet my eyes.

When he does, the black of his gaze holds absolutely nothing.

Say something. Say something. Please, Koen, say something.

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?”

CHAPTER 30

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.