Chapter 245
Cassian's POV
"Can you not make him take me?"
Sarah's voice slices through the mind link like nails on a chalkboard.
"If I had that superpower, Sarah, believe me, I would use it."
The words come out sharper than I intend, but I don't have the energy to soften them. I don't have the energy for much of anything these days except pretending. Pretending I'm fine. Pretending this charade with Sarah means something. Pretending my heart isn't being slowly ripped apart with every day that passes without Elowen.
"No. I will see you there in twenty." Sarah's reply crackles with anger and disappointment, that particular tone she uses when she's not getting her way.
I pinch the bridge of my nose, already feeling the headache forming behind my eyes. This woman is exhausting. Everything about this situation is exhausting.
"Bring your gold card."
The command comes through like a slap, and then she's gone, cutting the link with all the finesse of a sledgehammer. The sudden silence in my head should be a relief, but it's not. It just leaves more room for the thoughts I've been trying to drown out.
I lean back in my driver's seat, rubbing my temples. This isn't Sarah's fault—not really. She's just a pawn in this fucked-up game, same as the rest of us. But God, does she make everything harder. Her constant demands, her need for attention, her complete inability to read a room or understand that I'm barely holding it together.
I pull out of the parking lot with mechanical precision. Left turn. Merge onto the main road. Check mirrors. All the motions I've done a thousand times, my body on autopilot while my mind spirals.
And just like that, the thoughts I've been fighting come flooding in like a tsunami.
Elowen.
Her name echoes through every corner of my consciousness, a constant ache that never dulls. The way she used to look at me, those amber eyes warm with trust and love. The sound of her laugh, bright and uninhibited. The feel of her body pressed against mine, fitting perfectly like she was made for us.
Made for us.
The bitter irony twists in my gut. She was made for us, our true mate, our other half—and we destroyed her. We had to. For her safety, for the cubs, for a future we might not even get to be part of.
Casper's drowning in it, I know he is. I can feel it through our twin bond, even when he tries to shut me out. He's in that bar right now, probably on his fifth or sixth drink, trying to numb the pain that never stops. At least he's honest about his suffering. At least he doesn't have to pretend to be functional.
But I can't fall apart. Not like him. Someone has to keep the pack running, someone has to deal with the Alphas and the politics and all the bullshit that comes with being heirs to the Thornwood legacy. Someone has to hold the line.
Even when that line is cutting me to ribbons from the inside out.
My hands tighten on the steering wheel as I pull into the mall parking lot. The lot is half-empty—it's a Wednesday afternoon, after all. I find a spot near the entrance and kill the engine, but I don't move. Can't move. Just sit there, staring at nothing, trying to breathe through the crushing weight on my chest.
That's when I feel it—the familiar probe of my father's mind against mine, trying to establish a link.
No.
I don't want to deal with him right now. I can't. Not on top of everything else. Not after what I learned about what he did to Casper, the lies he's been telling us our entire lives. The way he made a deal with a demon to give my brother a wolf just to preserve the family's precious legacy.
Without hesitation, I slam my mental shields down and lock them tight. It takes effort—he's the Alpha, after all, and his authority runs deep—but I manage it. In private matters, in my own damn time, I don't owe him shit. Not anymore.
I bite down on my lower lip, hard enough to taste copper. The pain helps, gives me something to focus on besides the storm raging inside my head. My hands move to the steering wheel again, rubbing back and forth across the leather in a rhythmic motion that's probably pathetic but I don't care.
It's only Wednesday afternoon.
The thought hits me like a punch. It's only Wednesday afternoon, and already this week has been a nightmare. Dealing with pack politics without Casper. Fielding questions about our "new mate" that make me want to rip someone's throat out. Pretending everything is fine when nothing—absolutely fucking nothing—is fine.
My phone buzzes on the passenger seat.
I glare at it like it's personally offended me. The screen lights up with a text notification, and I see the contact name I programmed in months ago when the truth about my father started coming out: Sperm Donor.