There’s a weight to her last sentence, some deeper ramification that’s not immediately clear.
“Is it okay if I go through?”
“Of course.”
My footsteps sound too loud, echoing as I slowly make my way toward the alpha’s room. The door faces me from where it stands at the end of the hall, taller than the others, reaching up to the ceiling. I can’t believe how close we came to losing our leader, how close Jasp came to losing his ... The thought is too terrible. So I shut it out.
I knock gently and open the door.
It’s dark inside, the navy curtains pulled almost all the way across the impressive east-facing windows, except for a slit in the middle where pale light streams in like the page of a book, half turned. Jericho’s bed sits beneath a towering headboard, his sheets dark and muted. His body, large and still beneath them. His eyes are closed. Even from this distance I can see how swollen the skin is around his eyes and jaw, the scratches, the bruises, the teeth marks.
Jasper is sitting in a modern armchair, the back and arms a single curving feature. His head is bowed, his hair falling overhis eyes. He looks up ever so slightly and the exhaustion on his face breaks me.
“Hey,” I say, kneeling beside the chair and taking his hands in mine. “Are you okay? How are you holding up?”
“I should have stopped them,” he says darkly, his voice weak, breaking like a teenager’s. “I should have known something was wrong. I should have—”
“No,” I say firmly, placing a hand on the side of his face to comfort him but also to make sure he’s looking in my eyes when I tell him, “this isn’t your fault. Don’t go down that track. It was them.”
Jasper’s face crumples in a way I’ve never seen. “What if he doesn’t make it? I can’t ... not again.”
I don’t know what to say. There’s nothing to say. Instead, I simply pull Jasper into me and hold him as tightly as I can. We stay this way for a while, not saying anything, just being together, facing this horrible moment as a single unit, then suddenly there’s a knock at the door.
We turn as Salazar pokes his head through.
“Sir,” he says, addressing Jasper way more formally than I’m used to. “She’s here.”
Jasper pulls away and with great effort hoists himself up from his chair.
“Who’s here?” I ask. But Jasper doesn’t answer, he trudges to the door, following Salazar back through the hall and into the living room. I trail them, wondering whose arrival could have dragged Jasper’s focus away from his dad.
Back in the living room the sofas are no longer vacant. Instead, a woman with permed gray hair, wearing an expensive-looking pantsuit in bottle green is sitting, wringing her wrinkled hands in her lap. On either side of her are two of Jericho’s gamma wolves, soldiers in plain clothes, blue jeans, and black T-shirts. How could a small, older woman need this much beefcake to accompany her?
Salazar waits a step behind Jasper as he approaches the woman.
“Mrs. Bridgers,” he says, and suddenly I realize who she is. I’ve seen her before, only she looks about ten years older than the last time I laid eyes on her. This is Walter Bridgers’s wife, Clayton’s mother. I’m suddenly glad for the heightened security presence. “Where is your husband?”
She shakes her head, her curls bouncing. “I don’t know. He left me almost a year ago. I have no idea of his current whereabouts.”
Jasper takes a tiny step forward, gritting his teeth and growling. “Don’t lie to me.”
I notice Salazar keeping an eye on Jasper’s proximity to Mrs. Bridgers, like he’s ready to step in should Jasper lose control and lash out.
“I’m not lying,” Mrs. Bridgers snaps, then recoils as if she’s made a mistake. Clearly, she’s not used to being spoken to like a prisoner, especially by someone as young as Jasper—who she probably knew as a child, considering her son and him were besties until, well, recently. But she also knows she doesn’t have a leg to stand on. “Jasper, you have to understand, when Walter left he told me very little of what he was planning, except ...” She trails off, perhaps scared to say more.
“Except what?” Jasper presses. “The wolves who invaded our territory, who infiltrated our packhouse, who attacked our people and left our alpha for dead told us they were sent by your husband. The same man who tried to have me killed just last year. As his mate you are the closest person to him. Speak or you will be prosecuted as a traitor.”
Mrs. Bridgers lifts her chin, injecting her tone with a rebellious sort of indignation. “I am no traitor to this pack.” Onlythe tremble in her voice betrays her fear. “I love this pack; I have served my pack and my alpha my whole life. Walter and I weren’t so close—at least, not of late. For the last five or so years it was like we were living in different worlds. He was in the city for the most part and I stayed at our house in the Hamptons. I knew little of the goings-on in his life, especially when it came to his businesses. Yes, I knew he had aspirations of rising to some greater power and yes, he wasn’t shy about his distaste for how your father ran things.”
Jasper grinds his teeth so hard I can hear them squeaking.
“But I didn’t know he was planning all this,” she continues. “I would never have supported these actions. Never have turned against my own pack. My family have been Elite Pack wolves for centuries. This pack is my life. My husband may be a traitor, but I am not.”
Jasper pauses, placing a hand over his eyes, as if he’s trying to think.
“Jasper, darling, remember when you used to come to the house over summer break. I’d bake peanut butter cookies and you and Clayton would—”
Jasper starts up, letting his hand drop. “Don’t bring him into this.”
