Chapter 17 Father and Daughter (Ember's POV)
I was in Advanced Literature when the summons came.
"Miss Thorne?" The student aide poked her head through the doorway. "Principal Keagan needs to see you immediately."
My stomach dropped. Again? What had I done now?
Ms. Silvermoon looked up from her lecture on Gothic romance, her pale green eyes meeting mine with an expression I couldn't read. "Go ahead, Ember."
I gathered my books and followed the aide into the hallway. "Do you know what this is about?"
"No clue. But she seemed kind of... emotional? Like good emotional, not angry emotional." The aide shrugged. "Maybe you won a scholarship or something."
The walk to the administrative building felt like marching to an execution. Students scattered out of my way, the Silver Wolf effect was still in full force. I caught whispers as I passed: "There she is," "Did you hear what she did in the locker room?" "Three wolves and she didn't even have to transform."
I ignored them all and pushed through the office doors.
Mrs. Henderson looked up from her desk, and her expression was gentle in a way that immediately set off alarm bells. "Ember, honey. Principal Keagan is waiting for you. Go right in."
I knocked on the principal's door, my heart pounding.
"Come in."
Principal Keagan sat at her desk, but she wasn't alone. A man stood by the window, his back to me, hands shoved in his jacket pockets. Weathered jeans, work boots, shoulders that looked like they carried the weight of the world.
"Miss Thorne." Principal Keagan's voice was unusually soft. "Please, sit down."
"I'd rather stand." I couldn't take my eyes off the man. Something about him felt familiar in a way that made my chest ache.
"Ember." He turned around, and I saw his face.
My father's face. Older, harder, marked by scars and years I hadn't been part of. But his eyes—those were the eyes I saw in my mirror every morning, the eyes that stared back at me from old photographs Gran kept hidden in her closet.
The room tilted.
"Ember!" Principal Keagan was around her desk in seconds, catching my arm as my knees buckled. "Sit. Now."
I sat, but I couldn't stop staring at him. At the ghost who'd haunted my entire childhood, who I'd mourned without ever really knowing.
"You're dead." The words came out strangled. "You died when I was a baby."
"No." He moved closer, slowly, like approaching a spooked animal. "I'm alive. I've been alive this whole time."
"But Gran said..."
"Your grandmother thought I was dead." His voice was rough, like he'd been screaming or crying or both. "I thought you were both dead. The fire, the attack, I ran with you but when I came back..." He stopped, swallowing hard. "There was nothing left but ashes."
"You ran?" I looked up at him, trying to process what he was saying. "You ran away?"
"I was terrified. Confused. I'd just watched your mother die and I didn't understand what was happening." He crouched down so we were eye level. "I made mistakes, Ember. So many mistakes. But I never stopped thinking about you. Never stopped grieving."
Tears blurred my vision. "Where have you been?"
"Everywhere. Nowhere. Trying to make sense of what happened that night." His hand hovered near my face, like he wanted to touch me but didn't dare. "I'm sorry. God, I'm so sorry I wasn't there for you."
"I think we should give you two some privacy." Principal Keagan moved toward the door. "Ember, you're excused from classes for the rest of the day. Take all the time you need."
She left, closing the door softly behind her.
The silence that followed was deafening. I studied my father—this stranger who shared my blood—and tried to reconcile him with the hero I'd imagined as a child. The man Gran never talked about. The father who'd left a hole in my life I'd tried to fill with volleyball and perfect grades and being good enough that maybe, somehow, he'd come back.
And now he was here. Real. Alive.
"Can I hug you?" His voice broke slightly. "I understand if you don't want me to, but I haven't held you since you were three days old and I—"
I launched myself at him before he could finish.
He caught me, pulling me tight against his chest. He smelled like coffee and cheap motel soap and something underneath I couldn't quite identify. But his arms felt solid, real, and for the first time in seventeen years, I understood what having a father meant.
"I'm sorry," he kept repeating into my hair. "I'm so sorry, baby. I'm here now. I'm here."
I cried into his shirt, years of grief and longing pouring out. He held me through it, one hand in my hair, the other pressed against my back like he was afraid I'd disappear if he let go.
When the tears finally slowed, I pulled back to look at him.
He was older than the photos Gran had. Lines around his eyes and mouth that spoke of hard living. Scars on his hands and forearms visible beneath his rolled-up sleeves. And something in his expression—a hardness, a control that suggested he'd seen things that changed him.
"Tell me about you." He brushed tears from my cheeks with calloused thumbs. "What have I missed? What's your life like?"
Where did I even start? "I play volleyball. I'm a libero—the defensive specialist. We're ranked third in the state."
"Volleyball." He smiled, and it transformed his face. "Your mother played volleyball in high school. She was incredible."
"Gran never talks about her."
"Your grandmother blames me for what happened. She's not wrong." He sat back on his heels. "Tell me more. Friends? Hobbies? Boyfriend?"
Heat flooded my cheeks at the last word. "Sort of. It's complicated."
"Complicated how?"
"His name is Trey. He's the quarterback. We're..." How did I explain a supernatural mate bond to my newly-returned father? "We're figuring things out."
"Does he treat you well?"
"Yes." The answer came easily. Whatever else was true about Trey, he'd never been cruel. "He's protective. Maybe too protective sometimes."
"Good." Marcus's expression darkened slightly. "You need someone watching out for you at this school."
The shift in his tone made me pause. "What do you mean?"
"Nothing specific. Just that boarding schools can be dangerous places. Lot of kids from different backgrounds, competing interests." He stood, moving back to the window. "Have you had any problems? Anyone bothering you?"
I thought about the cafeteria incident, the forced transformation attempt, Knox's ultimatum to Trey. "Nothing I can't handle."
"You shouldn't have to handle anything alone." He turned back to me. "That's what fathers are for. Protection. Support. Making sure their daughters are safe."
Something about the way he said "safe" sent a chill down my spine. But I pushed it aside, focusing on the miracle of having him here.
"Where have you been?" I asked. "All these years. What have you been doing?"
He hesitated. "Working. Moving around. I couldn't stay in one place after... after what happened. Felt like I was running from ghosts."
"What kind of work?"
"Security. Investigation. Whatever paid the bills." Another pause. "Nothing interesting. Nothing worth talking about when I could be learning about you instead."
The deflection was smooth, but I felt it. He was hiding something.
"How did you find me?" I pressed. "How did you know I was here?"
"I was passing through the area. Saw the school, decided to check public records on a whim." His smile was sad. "Thought maybe I'd find information about your mother's family. Never expected to find you."
He was lying.
"Marcus." I used his first name deliberately, testing how it felt. "Why do I get the feeling you're not telling me everything?"
"Because seventeen years is a long time, and we're strangers trying to figure out how to be family." He moved closer, sitting in the chair across from mine. "I want to know you, Ember. Want to be part of your life if you'll let me. But I also know I have no right to demand anything after abandoning you."
"You didn't abandon me. You thought I was dead."
"I still left you at that fire station instead of keeping you with me. That was a choice, and it was the wrong one." His hands clenched into fists. "I was scared and broken and I made a terrible decision. But I'm here now. And if you're willing to give me a chance, I'll spend the rest of my life making up for lost time."
I wanted to believe him. Wanted to embrace this reunion without suspicion or fear. But something my wolf was whispering warnings I couldn't ignore.
"I want that too," I said carefully. "But we need to take this slow. Get to know each other. Build trust."
"Of course. Whatever pace you need." He pulled out his phone. "Give me your number? We can text, call, meet for coffee. I'm staying at the Whispering Pines Motel until I figure out my next move."
We exchanged numbers, and I felt the weight of this moment. My father. Alive. Wanting to be in my life.
"I should get back to campus." I stood, and he stood with me. "But maybe we could have dinner? Tomorrow night?"
"I'd like that." His smile was genuine, warm. "There's a diner in town. Nothing fancy, but the food's decent."
"Sounds perfect."
He pulled me into another hug, and this time I relaxed into it. Tried to memorize the feeling of his arms around me, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat.
That's when I smelled it.
Beneath the coffee and soap, beneath the cologne he'd probably applied this morning, there was something else. Something that made my wolf surge forward in instinctive terror.
Gun oil.
And underneath it all, a bitter herbal scent I'd encountered in Ms. Silvermoon's archive: wolfsbane.
My father smelled like weapons designed to kill werewolves.
I went rigid in his arms, my breath catching.
"Ember?" He pulled back, studying my face. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing." The lie came automatically. "Just emotional. This is a lot to process."
"I know. Take your time." He released me, and I stepped back, putting distance between us. "Tomorrow night, six o'clock at the diner?"
"Six o'clock." I forced a smile. "I'll be there."
"Ember." He caught my hand as I moved toward the door. "Whatever you're dealing with at this school—problems with other students, pressure from teachers, anything—you can tell me. I'm here to help."
I looked at his hand holding mine. Saw the calluses from holding weapons. The scars that spoke of violence. The controlled strength of someone trained to kill.
"I know," I whispered. "Thank you."
I pulled my hand free and left his office, walking fast through the administrative building. Mrs. Henderson called out something I didn't hear. I just kept walking, my mind racing.
My father was alive. My father was a hunter. My father had been tracking supernatural activity to this school.
Which meant he was either here to protect me from werewolves, or he was here to kill them.
Possibly including me.