Page 70 of Fool Moon First Aid

The alpha exhales a sigh heavy enough to stir the dust motes dancing in the slanting light, pinching the bridge of his nose as if to wring patience from the thin air. “Natalie, your exit, if you please.”

“But, Alpha, I’m as good as family,” Natalie protests, her tone holding entitlement and bitterness. “And it’s no secret that the hunters came for Ava. Just watch—she’ll be the end of us all.”

“Out.” His command is a low growl, the kind that vibrates the windows. “This is not a debate, Natalie. Leave. I wish to speak with my sons.”

As Natalie makes her grand departure, her teeth gnashing loud enough to suggest sparks might fly, she casts a venomous glance my way, her eyes brimming with a cold malice that sends a shiver down my spine.

She’s up to something, I can feel it. Shaking off the chill, I seek out my pack’s eyes after sending the thought out to them. Poor Brody is completely knocked out.

Natalie’s exit seems to lift a veil from the room, shifting the atmosphere from charged to a blend of uneasy anticipation and simmering questions. Alpha Hughes, embodying the silent strength of ancient oaks, stands with a gravitas that commands attention, his gaze flitting between Ethan and me. He seems to be sifting through a mental labyrinth, his brows knitting together in concentration, before he parts the silence with his deep, resonant voice.

“Boys,” he intones, the word alone slicing through the tension with the weight of unsaid fears. “This issue with Ava—it’s like we’re navigating a maze without a map. There’s more here that we are missing. The pieces just aren’t aligning.”

Ethan and I exchange a glance, our silent communication crackling with the electric buzz of shared concern and curiosity. “What are you thinking, Father?” Ethan questions.

“I poked around Ava’s past?—”

Ethan interrupts, “She’s clean.”

“That’s the thing—she’s too clean. She is the definition of a good girl,” he counters, his gaze drifting to the window, where the night presses against the glass like a dark, curious creature. He settles into the couch, dropping his guard momentarily. “Her family history… What do we really know?”

Ethan and I lock eyes, the weight of his question anchoring us. “Her mother was murdered, and her father…” The anger that surges from Ethan is a tangible force. “He isn’t exactly winning any awards for fatherhood.”

“And his story?” Father probes, sinking back into the couch. His fingers tap silently on the armchair as he thinks.

“Entangled with the Puritas church,” Ethan replies, each word carefully measured. The air thickens with the unsaid, becoming a heavy cloak of implications.

Secrets have a way of festering. I silently push Ethan toward honesty.

With a nod, Ethan unveils the bombshell. “He’s plotting to marry her to Elijah Castellon.”

Father’s reaction is immediate—a derisive snort. “Wonderful.” His voice cuts through the air with sharp sarcasm. “So the plot thickens, and Natalie might have a point.” He straightens, the layers of his usual stoicism parting to reveal a trace of concern. “If hunters dared to breach our sanctuary, then it implies…” He trails off, the implication hanging in the air like a heavy fog.

“Implies what?” Ethan’s voice is a growl, a warning rumble.

“It implies they were coming for one of their own,” Father finishes, the statement landing with the weight of an ominous prophecy.

Ethan and I leap to our feet, our growls mingling and echoing off the ancient family portraits lining the walls, as if even our ancestors are taken aback. “Excuse me, Father,” Ethan begins, his voice a low rumble. “You’re treading dangerously close to accusing my mate of betrayal.”

“Sit your asses back down, both of you,” he orders, rising up tall like an unmovable mountain of authority. “I haven’t labeled anyone here as a hunter.”

“Ah, but the insinuation couldn’t be clearer,” Ethan retorts, the edge in his voice sharp enough to slice through steel.

“I hinted,” Father concedes with a nod, his demeanor calm, “that there is more here than meets the eye.”

“Then spell it out for us, Father. She can’t be a saint and a sinner,” Ethan challenges, standing like a warrior in his own right.

“The world, my son, is painted in shades of gray,” he intones.

I can’t resist jumping in. “Could you clarify?” My hand drifts to my chest, attempting to smooth out the ache building there.

The alpha continues, “I surmise that her father’s dalliance with the Puritas Umbra might be more, uh, intimate than we realized, especially if he is?—”

“A preacher for one of their ministries,” I interject, slicing through the mounting tension, only to catch a sharp look from Ethan. With a nonchalant shrug, I dodge his icy look. “Ava was more than open about what she knows about her father.”

“Perhaps she herself was kept in the dark,” the alpha suggests, his tone wrapping Ava’s innocence in a protective cloak, yet a silent alarm rings. If it turns out she was playing us, well, that’s a plot twist we’re not ready for. “I’m tasking you three with a deep dive into her father’s history.”

“I thought you wanted us to expose the Puritas Umbra’s puppet master?” Ethan’s body language screams defiance, and his skepticism is palpable.

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