Chapter 72 Scars, Whispers, and Murder Mysteries
Xander
"What happened to you?" I ask as soon as I take in the scars marring his chest and the whole of his back. They don't look old or fresh, but they are no doubt deliberate.
Max looks down at himself as if just seeing them for the first time, and shrugs. "Rogue attack a long time ago, nothing I couldn't handle myself," he answers, looking away to avoid eye contact - a subconscious action he does when he's hiding something, and Max's never been a very good liar.
"That looks too serious to be one, Max."
He is silent for a few moments, but still holds my gaze steady, jaw tightening when he responds, "I said it was handled already. Let's get to it already."
He's never used that tone with me. There'll be time to discuss this further. I'm not just going to be quiet about it.
I drop the conversation for now and get into position. Max's shoulders dropping in relief as he also takes a stance.
This is our routine every morning at dawn. We train, we combat, just until the sun rises and people trickle out. It's the best way for me to release all the clutters in my head - even if I don't necessarily have to these days, thanks to a certain redhead.
A ghost of a smile plays on my lips but is wiped off immediately once Max swings at me, half of his body rotating to the left and a glaring sight of the scars have me growling without warning.
Who would dare to do this to him?
He raises an eyebrow at me and I shake my head to clear it.
The second my fingers graze the marks by accident, I hear Trey's voice, grating and cynical, "Be ready, son of Liora, because chaos is about to be unleashed into your world."
I stumble back.
What's happening?
"You think you know who killed her?" Sean's voice also whispers, echoing faintly in my mind.
"Xanny? Are you alright?" Max comes to me, placing a hand on my shoulder but I jerk back from him on instinct. His brows furrow in confusion, and I don't feel any different.
"Should we reschedule? Nessa's shift must've taken a toll on you," he continues.
Oh, he has no idea how wrong he is about that. Her shift had been days ago and even though I had been about to lose my mind that night, the bond that snapped in place after was like no other feeling I'd ever experienced. But right now, the feelings are far from positive.
"Yes, let's try this again tomorrow." He looks like there's something he wants to say, like it's just on the tip of his tongue. I wait, and watch him. Silently urging him to speak out but a moment passes and I realize I won't be hearing those words today.
Max has been more agitated, and a little too quiet these past few days. I'm well aware we're all dealing with something one way or the other in silence but there's been a transformation that's gone through him but it's it's been affecting his behavior - he's more paranoid, skeptical and nervous than he's ever been.
I only hope it all has nothing to do with 'him'.
Fragments of memories swirl and fight for control in my head for the rest of the day. More hushed whispers of Sean and Trey, taunting and mocking, determined to bring me shame and disgrace of my leadership, but I refuse to cower to ghosts.
There's no coincidence to all that's starting happening, and that's why I'm currently in my private office with Max and opening a reinvestigation on what had transpired on the night we lost my mother and my sister.
Starting from the secret archives accessible only to the Royal family, we look through old testimonies - reports from various witnesses - from the night, stacked on the small table situated in the centre of the room.
I try to draw up anything relevant from my memories which has unexpectedly surfaced months ago, but they seem to be unreliable at the moment.
I'll just have to rely on my instincts then.
Most of the witnesses had testified the same thing - none of them had noticed any unusual activity at the mansion that night. All entries and exits were closely monitored, and the guests were verified.
All, except one man named Oliver. He had been a gamma at the time, but he had been accused of treason and only after so many trials, had be been pardoned but he was removed from his position as gamma of the pack.
"Oliver..." I trail off.
"Hm?" Max hums beside me, looking over my shoulders to take a peek at what I'm doing.
"Oliver had been the only one to say something different about that night, but the next year after his removal, he claimed he had only been coaxed into saying that," I observe. There's something suspicious about his testimony.
Original statement: I had been on my usual patrol that night when I notice a figure completely dressed in black coming out of the mansion in a hurry. I raised my gun, ready to shoot but something stopped my in my tracks when I saw him. His eyes were unnatural with black veins stretching around it.
He looked to be in a hurry, but I noticed his hair was a shaggy brown, and he had the crown princess in his arms.
Revised statement: I never saw anything that night, I don't even remember it. I was forced into making a false statement and I sincerely apologize for misleading you.
"The two statements probably have elements of truth in them," I finally say after reading them for the third time.
"What do you mean?"
"I believe he actually saw what he described but the culprit found out - or maybe an accomplice and if something greater than his position was at stake, he probably didn't have much of a choice."
"And what would that stake be?"
"His family," I clench my fingers at the thought. People actually stoop that low, just to get what they want.
I stand up abruptly, almost startling him in the process. The murders, the rumors, the challenge, the testimonies - these are all someone's grand, elaborate scheme with an ominous goal, something isn't aligning here and it's time to bring all the pieces of the puzzle together once and for all.
"We go to him in tomorrow. No one must know about it," I tell Max.
"Well understood, Alpha," he replies.
But by the fourth day, we were two hours too late. Oliver was found dead in the woods outside pack territory, his neck snapped at a brutal angle, and body bruised. It was concluded to be a rogue attack, since his family had reported him missing a few times.
I stare at the body, rage-filled down to my veins.
The timing's too precise. Someone's trying to clean up loose ends.
"Someone's watching us," Max murmur beside me.
I agree, and in the shadows somewhere, someone's smiling like they just won the lottery...