Chapter 144

Nathan

In the dim light of the living room, I lay sprawled on the couch, dozing lightly when a familiar scent suddenly overwhelmed me—Olivia’s wolf.

The sensation was too strong, too intimate, and I felt myself involuntarily shifting, a growl threatening to form deep within my chest.

Olivia was near. Without conscious thought, I pulled her close, wrapping my arms around her like a lifeline. Her familiar warmth soothed the uneasy stirrings of my wolf, and for a moment, everything felt right.

But as I held her close, a moment of lucidity washed over me.

My mother’s untimely death, the mysteries surrounding her uncharacteristic venture out to Edward’s Gulch, her voicemail, and my father’s strange behavior with Jenifer, were plastered in my mind.

The realization that there were still pieces of the puzzle missing, unanswered questions about my mother's fate, haunted me.

“I need to go,” I whispered into Olivia's hair. She didn’t stir. She had already fallen asleep in my arms.

I took a deep breath and gently eased Olivia onto the couch, making sure she was comfortable before moving. My heart raced, the weight of the decisions I was about to make pressing down on me.

The Alpha Council building, an imposing structure at the heart of our territory, stood dark and silent against the golden morning sky as I approached it. As an Alpha's son, I had been in and out of that building countless times.

But this morning, breaking in on a weekend when no one was around, I felt like a stranger.

I used my knowledge of the place to bypass security measures. The rush of adrenaline kept my senses sharp as I moved stealthily towards my father’s office. It was a gamble, but I had a gut feeling that the answers I sought would be found within those walls.

His office door yielded with a soft click, and I found myself surrounded by the familiar scent of my father. I quickly went to his desk, rifling through papers and drawers, searching for anything that might lead me to the truth about my mother’s death.

Then I found it—a letter, sealed with the familiar handwriting of my mother. The seal was broken, but the name on the envelope wasn’t my father’s.

It was addressed to me.

I carefully opened the envelope and slid the letter out, my hands trembling.

I skimmed the contents, my eyes widening with each sentence. It was a desperate plea, a mother’s last words to her son. The implications were chilling.

My mother had feared she would be murdered. She didn’t outright state it, but the letter's subtext was clear. And the fact that it had been hidden away in my father’s desk spoke volumes.

With the letter securely in my pocket, my thoughts turned to the official reports surrounding her death. They had said it was an accident, that she had fallen and hit her head. But could it be true? My mother was too skilled, too nimble to have simply tripped and died.

She never, in a million years, would have willingly gone to Edward’s Gulch; not unless she was forced to go. And now that I had seen that letter, I knew that there was a growing chance that maybe… maybe she didn’t go of her own accord after all.

I headed to the morgue, the weight of dread growing heavier with each step. The night-shift mortician, a man known for his unscrupulous nature, was my only hope.

It was still early enough in the morning that he was here, but the end of his shift would be closing in soon. I had to act quickly before he left and was replaced by the other, much more stoic and formidable, mortician.

Without preamble, I pulled out a wad of cash.

“I want to see the photos of my mother's body,” I said, flipping through the cash as I counted out several hundred-dollar bills right in his line of sight. “And I don’t want anyone else to know about this.”

His beady eyes glanced greedily at the money, any semblance of professional ethics vanishing in an instant. Instantly, he rose from his seat like Pavlov’s dog.

“Come with me.”

He led me to a room filled with monitors. With a few clicks, the images appeared. My mother, lifeless, her beauty marred by the cruel hand of death. I felt sick seeing the blueish green pallor of her deathly skin, the gauntness of her cheeks.

“She laid in the water for a few days,” the mortician explained, pointing to a spot on her cheek that had begun to bubble and fester from the moisture. “Sorry.”

I shook my head, averting my gaze away from that area. I couldn’t bear to look at it. To imagine my poor mother sitting all alone at the bottom of a ravine, her body discarded and left for the carrion, made me sick.

The mortician scrolled through more pictures. As I looked at her, the official story seemed plausible, at first. The gash on her head, the angle of her fall—all of it seemed to point to a tragic accident.

But then I saw it.

“Wait,” I said, holding up my hand. “Go back.”

The mortician made a face, but did as I asked. I leaned forward in my seat, peering at her wrists. “Zoom in.”

There it was. Bruises on her wrists. The telltale signs of a struggle. Like someone had held her, shook her. They were purple and shapeless, but I couldn’t imagine anything else that would cause that.

“This wasn’t an accident,” I muttered.

The mortician, sensing the shift in my demeanor, shuffled uncomfortably. “Look, I just show the photos. What you do with the information is your business.”

Just then, the bell on the front door of the morgue tinkled pleasantly, a surprising sound in such a sickly place.

“Jon?” a male voice called out. “I brought donuts and coffee. Hello?”

The mortician who was helping me quickly shut off the computer, silently putting a finger to his lips while holding his other hand out. Sighing, I plopped the wad of cash into his hand.

I then left the morgue through the back door, unseen, the images of my mother’s corpse forever burned into my mind. The cold truth settled in—I was embroiled in a mystery that ran deeper and darker than I could have ever imagined.

I had to do some research, though, since my time in the morgue had already been exhausted. And so, keeping my hood up so as to keep away from prying eyes, I marched over to the library to do some studying of my own. I began with books on anatomy, on bodily trauma.

I then moved to books on body decomposition, but nothing involving spontaneous bruising—particularly around the wrists—caught my attention. It soon became clear to me that those bruises really were inflicted before her death.

Someone had taken her to Edward’s Gulch. I was sure of it. There was a struggle, and maybe… Maybe someone pushed her at the end of it.

Maybe it was my father.

By the time I returned home, the sun was rising, painting the horizon with hues of gold and orange. I had been gone all day and all night. How had that even happened?

Exhaustion weighed heavily on me, both physically and emotionally. Olivia caught me just as I burst in through the door. Before I knew it, I was asleep, and the last thing I saw was her worried face looking down at me.

…

I awoke to the quiet of the night.

The house was still, too still. I yawned and stretched as I sat up, still dressed in my clothes; that was when I spotted it.

My mom’s letter on the floor. It had fallen out of my pocket, but… I had it so tightly in there. Unless someone tampered with it.

As if on instinct, I sprang to my feet and ran to the window. A quick glance outside confirmed my worst fear. Olivia’s car was gone. My heart raced, every instinct telling me that something was amiss.

I tried calling her cellphone, but each ring taunted me with its unanswered echo. Panic clawed at me. With the dangers lurking around every corner and the mysteries of my family unfolding, I couldn't bear the thought of Olivia being caught up in it.

Gathering my strength, I knew I had to find her, to protect her. There was no time to waste. Whatever was happening, I was about to be thrown into the heart of it, and I hoped I would be in time to shield Olivia from the impending storm.

And I think I had a pretty good idea as to where she went.