I’m not. Not really. But when has that ever mattered?
“Was anyone else hurt?” I ask, already knowing the answer. Knowing that there’s no way Fairhaven escaped unscathed amidst the carnage of the Lunar Ball.
“One of Trinity’s fathers is in critical condition,” Hawthorn says quietly. “But three Soldiers are dead because of him. He fought bravely, but Mai isn’t sure yet if he’ll live. He’s being transferred to a hospital on the mainland as we speak.”
Saints, what that pack has been through. My heart breaks for them. For the justice they’ll never receive. For the daughter they’ll have to bury.
Just another dead omega.
We climb the steps up to the headmaster’s manor in silence, and I steel myself. I’ll need every last scrap of strength I have left to make it through my conversation with Mattis.
Only, when I’m shown into the manor’s study, it isn’t Mattis sitting behind Headmaster Langford’s desk at all, but an alpha who looks to be in his late twenties. He’s a handsome alpha—and looks like he knows it—with honey-blond hair and eyes the color of amber, tall and lean, though not quite so much as Ian is.
He offers his hand but it’s then that I catch the other alpha in the room.
My father.
I don’t accept the mage inspector’s hand. Instead, I bare my neck to him, looking away as tears sting my eyes.
“There’s my brave daughter,” my father says, but the warmth in his voice doesn’t match the cold calculation in his blue eyes. “I’m so glad to see you well, Juniper. Dreadful business, all of it.”
I nod numbly. Dreadful business? Two people are dead, and another may not survive. Saints, the suffering of their packs is unimaginable.
“Royal Detective Inspector Graeme Miller.”
I startle at the inspector’s accent—he’s British, not American or Canadian. What’s a Royal Detective Inspector doing all the way overseas in Fairhaven? The young detective looks especially harried, like he hasn’t slept.
Did he come all the way from London just last night, as soon as news of the tragedy spread beyond Fairhaven’s walls? Or has he been overseas longer than that?
“Miss Rose, you have my thanks. You were among those closest to the victim when she shot herself.”
“A victim? That girl nearly shot another omega!” my father protests, voice hard. He says it so easily, like he’s been preparing for just this moment all night long.
“Under duress,” I say quietly.
My father sets his hand on my knee, squeezing hard enough that the tips of his fingers dig into my skin, but he’s cordial when he speaks to the detective inspector. “My daughter must be mistaken. You know omegas are often confused during times of great trauma, and I’m certain my daughter is deeply traumatized after last night’s display of depravity.”
I know my father well enough to know the order that weaves through those words. I’m to lie to the inspector.
The detective inspector studies me for a moment. “You were dancing with one Andrew Radcliffe at the Lunar Ball last night. What’s your relationship with Mr. Radcliffe?”
I duck my head because I can’t force a girlish blush. “He’s somewhat of a suitor. He protected me during the attack. I’m very lucky to have been dancing with him at the time. I was so very frightened.”
“I see,” the detective inspector says, flipping through a few pages of notes and jotting something down. “I understand you’ve spoken to local law enforcement—” he says the words with disdain “—about him before. Has he bothered you previously?”
I swallow hard. My father is asking me to lie about the alpha who tried to rape me. He gives my knee a painful squeeze and I just barely bite back my whimper.
“A misunderstanding,” I demure.
“And your accusation that he was behind Trinity Wells’ disappearance?”
My father clears his throat sharply. “Hysterics, no doubt, Detective Inspector. Omegas are such impressionable creatures.”
But the detective inspector doesn’t seem to think so.
“Another misunderstanding,” I lie. “It’s evident to me now that the Soldiers of Saint Aldous took her, and Miss Cassidy as well.”
“And you don’t believe there’s any tie between Mr. Radcliffe and the Soldiers?”
