She doesn’t correct me. Doesn’t pull away or remind me that she’s not my anything. Just shakes her head and lets out a nervous giggle.
“Let me find you some pants before we continue this conversation.”
She disappears into her bedroom and returns a moment later with a pair of grey sweatpants. They’re too short and too tight across the thighs, but they cover what needs covering. I tug them on and follow her downstairs.
The kitchen is a mess. Broken glass covers the floor beneath the window he used to get in, and muddy footprints track across the tile. I guide Fern to the living room instead and settle her on the couch before going back to clean up.
By the time I finish sweeping the glass into a dustpan and boarding up the window with a piece of plywood I find in the shed, Dylan has reached out through the bond. They picked up the trail. It leads toward the eastern border, away from town. They’re following it now.
I relay the update to Fern as I join her on the couch. She’s curled into the corner with her knees drawn up to her chest, looking smaller than I’ve ever seen her.
“They’ll find him,” I promise.
“And if they don’t?”
“Then we’ll keep looking until we do. He’s not getting away with this. Not after tonight.”
She nods, but I can see the doubt in her eyes. The fear. This isn’t the first time Robbie has found her, and some part of her believes it won’t be the last.
“Can I ask you something?” I question. “About him. About your past.”
She picks at a loose thread on her pajama pants. “What do you want to know?”
“How did you end up with someone like that? You’re smart, Fern. You’re a therapist, for God’s sake. You know all the warning signs. How did he get his hooks into you?”
For a long moment, she doesn’t answer. I wait.
“My father,” she finally answers. “After my mother died when I was twelve, he just checked out. Stopped coming to school events, stopped asking about my day, stopped caring about anything except his work. I spent my teenage years trying to earn his approval, and nothing I did was ever good enough.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. It is what it is.” She shrugs, but I can see the old hurt beneath the surface. “The point is, by the time I met Robbie, I was desperate for someone to tell me I mattered. He was charming and attentive, and he made me feel like the center of his universe. I didn’t realize until much later that all that attention was just another form of control.”
“The charming ones are always the most dangerous.”
“Spoken from experience?”
“In a way.” I lean back against the couch. “My mother used to say my father could charm the birds out of the trees.Everyone loved him. He was funny, charismatic, the life of every pack gathering. But when they were alone…”
Fern presses her lips together before she asks, “He hurt her?”
“Not physically. But he had a way of making her feel small. Worthless. Like nothing she did would ever measure up.” I keep my eyes on the ceiling. “She stayed with him anyway. Convinced herself that things would get better. They never did.”
“What happened to them?”
“Hunters. A group of humans who figured out what we were. They caught my father alone in the woods one night and put three silver bullets in his chest. My mother found him the next morning.”
Fern’s hand finds mine. She doesn’t say anything, just threads her fingers through mine and holds on.
“She lasted about six months after that,” I continue. “The healers said it was her heart. The grief just ate her alive. She couldn’t survive without him, even though being with him was killing her slowly anyway.”
“Connor, I’m so sorry.”
“I was fifteen. Nic’s family took me in after that. Raised me like one of their own. That’s why I’m the way I am, I guess. Overprotective. Overbearing. I watched my mother destroy herself over a man who didn’t deserve her devotion, and I swore I’d never let anyone I cared about suffer like that.”
“So you push too hard. Try to control everything.”
“Yeah.” I let out a humorless laugh. “Ironic, isn’t it? I’m so afraid of becoming my father that I end up acting just like him.”
