Chapter 63 63
LOGAN’S POV
Someone with a grudge against Nightshade? It didn't seem so to me.
“No, Stefan,” I shook my head slowly. “He didn’t seem political. He seemed like an ass who just butted in to play hero. To impress the damsel.” The thought made my blood boil.
“And you,” Stefan said, his tone deceptively light, “probably looked like a rabbit running off with your tail between your legs instead of staying to challenge him. Like a true future Alpha would.”
My head snapped up. I glared at him, the amber glow returning to my eyes. He met my gaze, unflinching, then a slow chuckle escaped him.
“I was kidding. Wrong time, I know.”
“Pull a stunt like that again,” I warned, my voice low, “and I won’t mind thrashing you, stitches or no stitches.” The threat was hollow, and we both knew it. I had little strength left for another fight.
He just smirked, unperturbed, and began tidying up – placing the used needle in a small sharps container, wrapping up the soiled gauze, and returning everything to the white metal first aid box.
“So,” he said, clicking the box shut. “What now? You’re patched up. For now.”
I pushed myself to my feet, my body protesting every movement. I stepped over the dried blood smears on the floor and went to the mirror above my dresser. The reflection was a mess. Pale face, bruised jaw, the neat line of stitches on my neck standing out starkly against my skin. But beneath the damage, a cold, clear purpose was hardening.
“I need to gain my father’s trust,” I said, my voice flat. “I have to do anything—anything—to make him see me as capable. As worthy of being the next Alpha of this pack. That has always been the goal.”
“That has always been the goal,” Stefan agreed, leaning against the doorframe of the bathroom. “But you’ve lost control of a key piece. Arielle. And for some reason, your father seems to have an interest in her. Wants her tracked. I don’t know why, but it makes her valuable.”
“I need to have her back,” I said, the decision solidifying as I spoke. “Under my thumb. Where she belongs.” I turned from the mirror. “I saw her leave Seal College today. Find out for certain if she’s attending.”
Stefan gave a slow, knowing nod. “Well, she is. To confirm that suspicion is exactly why I suggested you go there today. I figured she might attend the freshman orientation.”
“Are you sure?” The hope was a dangerous flare in my chest.
“Yes.” He didn’t elaborate. Instead, he pulled his phone from his pocket, swiped a few times, and held it out to me. “Verified intel.”
On the screen was a digital document—a list. The header read: Seal College - Incoming Freshman Roster, Fall Semester. My eyes scanned the names, my heart beating faster. And there, near the bottom, it was.
Arielle Reynolds.
A headshot was attached. It was her school photo from last year. She was looking slightly away from the camera, a small, polite smile on her lips that didn’t reach her eyes. She looked beautiful. Innocent. Mine.
A slow, predatory smirk spread across my bruised face. The pain faded into the background, replaced by the thrill of a new plan.
“Good,” I breathed, my eyes locked on her image. I looked up at Stefan. “Stefan, you have to arrange this for me. I’ll be attending the same college.”
I walked to my desk and took the envelope from Seal College. My mother had given it to me last year after working out my admission process, asking me to attend the college but I had refused. I stared at the embossed crest, my knuckles white.
Stefan shook his head. “It’s no use, Logan,” he said, his voice quiet. “I had actually tried the main office, the admissions head, even the dean’s assistant. They all said the same thing. Admission is closed. The final roster was locked recently.”
I didn’t look up from the letter.
“You said you didn’t want to attend Seal College before,” he reminded.
“Well, I saw no reason to then.” A pause. “But now I do.”
Finally, I lifted my gaze to him. His expression was earnest, a practical concern in his eyes that had nothing to do with my real reasons. “Well, it’s going to be hard…”
“Find a way,” I said, the words coming out flat and cold. “Like you always do, Stef.”
He held my look for a long moment, his eyes searching my face. Then he gave a slow, single nod—that trusting, dependable look he’d had since we were kids, assuming my orders were for some greater good. Without another word, he pushed off the doorframe and walked off, his footsteps fading down the hall.
I tossed the envelope onto my desk and turned to the window, watching the grey clouds smother the woods. A few minutes later, the door to my room opened again. I gritted my teeth, assuming it was my mother circling back with more of her cloying, motherly concern, all soft words and prying eyes.
“You should just leave me, okay?!” I snapped toward the door, my voice sharp with irritation. “You’re annoying me.”
No response. No gentle sigh. Instead, a strong, familiar scent cut through the air—old leather, pine, and the sharp, clean smell of dominant alpha. It hit the back of my throat. My spine straightened before my mind fully caught up. I spun around.
He was just inside the door, already closed behind him. My father. Alpha. He was still in his patrol clothes, his dark coat damp at the shoulders from the mist outside. His eyes scanned my face, then traveled down my frame, missing nothing.
I bowed my head instantly, the motion stiff from the ache in my side. “Father. Welcome back.”
He walked up to me, quietly. Each step was measured, filling the space between us with a heavy silence. He stopped an arm’s length away.
“I didn’t know it was you,” I said, the words rushing out. “You were not around.”
A faint, humorless smile touched his lips. “You learnt I was likely to return late,” he said, his voice a low rumble, “so you got yourself looking all wrecked, right?”
His eyes, like flint, caught on the edge of the bandage peeking from under the sleeve of my t-shirt, then flicked to the larger dressing on the side of my neck. Before I could even dare to shape a lie in my mind, he asked, “Who was it?”
Our gaze locked. I forced myself to hold it. “I don’t know him, Father. He was stronger. He just attacked me in the woods.”
He got closer, so close I could feel the chill coming off his coat. His hand came up, not to my shoulder, but to my neck. His fingers, cold and strong, found the edge of the medical tape. In one swift, merciless motion, he ripped the dressing off.
I clenched my teeth, a hiss of air escaping them as the adhesive tore at my skin. He tilted my head to the side, examining the ragged, slowly healing wound—the puncture marks still an angry red. He looked at it with pure disgust and scoffed.
“You’re infuriatingly weak.”
He let go of my chin and threw the crumpled dressing onto the floor. He turned to leave, his message delivered.
“I’ll get her, Father.”
He stopped. Looked back over his shoulder. His expression was blank. “What?”
“The girl. Arielle. I got to know she’ll be attending Seal College. I’ll use the medium to win her back.”
He was silent, seeming to ponder it. Then a smirk, thin and cruel, spread across his face. “I don’t care if you win her back. So forget it.” He took a step closer, his presence pushing the air from the room, making his next words sink into me like a weight. “Just make life hard for her there.” Another step. His voice dropped to a near whisper, laced with venom. “Got it? Serena’s daughter shouldn’t enjoy a day of peace there.”
I nodded, the movement tight. “Copy that, Alpha.”
He gave a single, approving nod. Then his hand shot out and took hold of my injured arm, his fingers digging directly into the bruised, swollen flesh beneath the fabric. He pressed hard. A white-hot bolt of pain shot up to my shoulder and I stiffened, swallowing a yelp.
“And be discreet about it,” he said, his grip unrelenting, “or you face the fall. Alone.”
The pain was a bright, screaming thing. My vision swam. “Okay… Father,” I muttered, the words strained, almost breaking under the pressure of his hand.
His lips curved into a sickening smile.