Chapter 24 The Dinner Date from Hell (Trey's POV)
They are taking too long.
I drive to the dormitories and wait outside Ember's dorm, Sage is not around thankfully.
I sat on the bench outside Ember's dorm, turning the silver card she left in the car over in my hands. She'd kept it. Despite everything I'd said, despite knowing what Grimm was, she'd kept his invitation.
The card caught the lamplight, reflecting it back in cold metallic gleams. An address. A promise of freedom. A different cage disguised as liberation.
Was she having second thoughts? About us? About choosing me over easier options?
My phone buzzed. Where are you? Need to talk NOW. I'm in my dorm.
What? How did she get here?
I pocketed the card and headed inside, taking the stairs two at a time. Ember opened the door before I could knock, her face pale and her eyes wide with barely contained panic.
"What happened?" I stepped inside, and she immediately locked the door behind me.
"My father." She paced across the small room, her hands shaking. "Trey, it's worse than we thought. So much worse."
"Slow down. Tell me what happened."
She did. Every word tumbling out... the dinner, the walk back to campus, the attack by Grimm's rogues. And then her father moving with lethal precision, killing two wolves in seconds with silver blades.
"He's The Widower," she finished, her voice cracking. "One of the most dangerous hunters in the network. And he's here hunting werewolves at Thornfield."
I sank onto her bed, processing. The Widower. I'd heard stories about him in pack meetings, warnings about a hunter who moved like a ghost and never left survivors. Who'd killed seventeen confirmed werewolves and probably more that hadn't been reported.
And he was Ember's father.
"There's more." She sat beside me, and I could smell the fear rolling off her. "I told him about the werewolf problem at school. Tried to make it sound like I was just caught in the middle. But Trey, he's been tracking it already.
"How much does he know?"
"That there are werewolves at Thornfield." She grabbed my hands. "He wants to eliminate the Alphas. Starting with you and Knox."
My wolf snarled beneath my skin, rising at the threat. "Let him try."
"Don't." Her grip tightened. "He killed those rogues in less than five seconds. They were experienced wolves, and they didn't stand a chance. You can't fight him."
"Then what do you suggest? I just wait for him to hunt me down?"
"I don't know!" Her voice broke. "But it gets worse. He wants to meet you. Tomorrow night. Dinner."
"He wants to evaluate me," I said slowly. "See if I'm human or supernatural."
"Yes." She released my hands, standing to pace again.
"I told him I loved you." She stopped pacing, turning to face me. "But he thinks if you're a werewolf, you're using those feelings to manipulate me. That all supernatural creatures are predators who prey on human emotions."
I stood, moving to cup her face. "Em, we don't have to do this. I can refuse to meet him. We can..."
"We can't." She pulled away. "If you refuse, he'll get more suspicious. He'll investigate on his own, and that ends worse for everyone. At least this way, we control the situation."
"Control?" I laughed bitterly. "The situation where I sit across from a legendary hunter while he tries to determine if I'm his next kill? That situation?"
"I know it's bad." Her silver eyes were swimming with tears. "But I can't think of another option. If we run, he hunts us. If we stay and you avoid him, he hunts you. At least meeting him gives us a chance to convince him you're human."
I wanted to argue. Wanted to tell her this was insane, that sitting down to dinner with The Widower was suicide.
But she was right. Refusing would only confirm suspicions. And a hunter like Marcus Thorne wouldn't stop until he'd eliminated what he perceived as a threat to his daughter.
"Okay." I pulled out my phone, checking the time. "When and where?"
"Tomorrow night. Six o'clock. Restaurant in town called The Copper Kettle."
"I'll be there."
She threw her arms around me, and I held her tight, breathing in her scent. Tomorrow night I'd sit across from a man who'd killed seventeen of my kind. Who'd probably researched every method of detecting and eliminating werewolves.
Who might already suspect exactly what I was.
"We'll get through this," I murmured into her hair. "Together."
But even as I said it, I wondered if I was lying.
I arrived ten minutes early, wearing the most human outfit I could assemble: khakis, button-down shirt, nice jacket. Nothing that screamed supernatural or threatening. Just a normal teenage boy meeting his girlfriend's father.
My phone buzzed. Text from Knox: You're insane. Call me if you need extraction.
I didn't respond. What would I say? That I was about to have dinner with a legendary hunter who wanted to evaluate whether I was worth killing?
Ember arrived five minutes later with Marcus Thorne.
He looked ordinary.
But the way he moved marked him as dangerous to anyone paying attention.
And the way his eyes assessed me in those first three seconds told me he was very much paying attention.
"Trey." Ember's voice was too bright, too forced. "This is my father, Marcus. Dad, this is Trey Jarred."
I extended my hand, and Marcus took it. His grip was firm. Establishing dominance.
My wolf didn't like it. Wanted to squeeze back, to show this human exactly who he was challenging.
But I forced myself to return the handshake with appropriate pressure and release at the socially acceptable moment.
"Mr. Thorne. It's good to meet you."
"Please, call me Marcus." His smile didn't reach his eyes. "Shall we?"
The hostess led us to a table near the back.
Hunter tactics.
We sat, and I made sure to take the chair across from Marcus rather than beside Ember. Better to face the threat head-on.
"So, Trey." Marcus opened his menu but kept his eyes on me. "Ember tells me you're the quarterback. That's quite an accomplishment at a school like Thornfield."
"I've been lucky. Good team, good coaching."
"Luck." He set down the menu. "I don't think luck has much to do with it. Athletic ability at that level takes dedication. Training. Natural talent."
The emphasis on "natural" wasn't subtle.
"I work hard," I said carefully. "But yeah, genetics help. My father was athletic too."
"Your father. Tell me about him."
Here we go. "Damien Jarred. Businessman. Runs a consulting firm based in Portland."
"What kind of consulting?"
"Corporate restructuring. Helping struggling companies find new leadership." All true, if you replaced "companies" with "packs."
"Interesting." Marcus leaned back as the waiter appeared to take drink orders. "And your mother?"
"Died when I was young. Cancer."
Ember's hand found mine under the table, squeezing gently. Offering support.
"I'm sorry to hear that." Marcus's expression softened slightly. "Losing a parent young is difficult."
"It was." I squeezed Ember's hand back. "But my father did his best. Made sure I had what I needed."
"And what did you need?"
The question felt loaded. "Stability. Structure. A sense of family."
"Family's important." The waiter returned with waters, and Marcus waited until he left before continuing. "Ember mentioned your family has certain expectations. Plans for your future that don't include her."
I glanced at Ember, who looked like she wanted to disappear under the table. "They have traditional views. Want me to follow a specific career path. Take over the family business eventually."
"And dating my daughter interferes with that?"
"They think I should focus on academics and athletics right now. Not get distracted by relationships." I met his eyes steadily. "They're wrong."
Marcus leaned forward. "You're what, eighteen? Still have college ahead of you, your whole life to figure out. Maybe they're just concerned you're too young to be this serious about anyone."
"With respect, sir, I know what I want. And what I want is to be with Ember."
Under the table, Ember's grip tightened. Not gentle support anymore... desperate warning. Her nails dug into my palm hard enough that if I were human, it would have drawn blood.
"That's sweet." Marcus's tone suggested it was anything but. "But feelings change. Especially at your age. What seems like true love now might look different in a year. Two years. When you're facing real adult responsibilities and consequences."
"I'm aware of the consequences." My wolf pushed closer to the surface, bristling at this human questioning my claim. "I'm not a child, Marcus. I know what commitment means."
"Do you?" His eyes narrowed slightly. "Because from where I'm sitting, you look like a teenage boy who's gotten in over his head. Caught between family expectations and a girl who's become more complicated than you bargained for."
"Dad." Ember's voice was strained. "That's not fair."
"I'm just being honest." He didn't look away from me. "Trey seems like a good kid. But good kids make mistakes. Get involved in situations they don't fully understand. I want to make sure he understands what he's getting into with you."
"And what am I getting into?" I kept my voice level despite my wolf's snarling.
"A girl with a complicated family history. A father who's just returned after seventeen years." He paused. "Have you noticed anything unusual at Thornfield, Trey? Any students who seem... off?"
There it was. The real interrogation.
"Off how?" I asked carefully.
Marcus picked up his water glass, studying me over the rim. "The kind of athleticism that goes beyond normal teenage capability."
"We're all pretty competitive." I shrugged. "But that's what happens at elite schools. The best of the best."
"Is that all it is? Competition?"
Ember's nails were definitely breaking skin now. I could feel blood welling under the table.
"What else would it be?" I met his gaze, refusing to look away first.
"That's what I'm trying to figure out." He set down the glass. "See, I've been hearing stories. Rumors about students at Thornfield who aren't quite human. Who use their supernatural advantages to dominate academically and athletically."
"Supernatural." I made my voice skeptical. "Like what, vampires? Werewolves?"
"Exactly like that."
The table went silent. Ember's hand was shaking in mine, her grip so tight I could feel bones grinding together.
"That's..." I forced a laugh. "That's crazy. Supernatural creatures aren't real."
Marcus leaned back, his expression unreadable. "You seem very certain about that."
"Because it's common sense. Werewolves are myths. Stories to scare kids."
"Stories based on truth. I've seen things, Trey. Things that would make you question everything you think you know about the world. And I've seen those things at your school."
"Then maybe you should talk to the administration instead of interrogating me."
"Maybe I'm talking to exactly who I need to talk to." His eyes were cold now, assessing. "You're close to Ember. You'd know if something supernatural was happening around her. If she was in danger."
"She's not in danger from me."
"I didn't say she was." But his expression suggested otherwise. "I'm just trying to understand the situation. Make sure my daughter is safe. Any good father would do the same."
The waiter returned to take our orders, and the conversation shifted to safer territory. But the damage was done. Marcus suspected something, and every word out of my mouth was being analyzed for tells.
Every question was a test. Every answer evaluated for inconsistencies.
"Excuse me." Marcus stood suddenly. "I need to use the restroom. You two behave while I'm gone."
The moment he was out of sight, Ember leaned across the table, her voice urgent and terrified.
"He knows. I don't know how, but he knows something's wrong."
"We don't know that for sure..."
"Trey, he asked about supernatural creatures. About students who aren't human. That's not normal father-meets-boyfriend conversation." Her silver eyes were wide with fear. "He's testing you. Looking for reactions. Trying to figure out if you're a threat."
"Then I'll keep playing human." I squeezed her hand gently, trying to calm her. "We just need to get through dinner. Then we go back to campus and figure out our next move."
"What if there is no next move? What if he's already decided you're dangerous?" She pulled her hand away, running it through her hair. "Trey, he killed those rogues in seconds. If he thinks you're a werewolf..."
"He won't." I reached for her hand again, but she pulled back.
"You don't know that. You didn't see him. The way he moved, the certainty in his eyes when he said all werewolves are monsters." Her voice cracked. "If he finds out about you, about us, he'll kill you without hesitation. And I can't—I can't watch that happen."
"You won't have to."
"How can you promise that?"
"Because I'm not going to let some human hunter tear us apart." The words came out with more edge than I intended. "I don't care who he is or what he's done. He doesn't get to decide whether I live or die based on what I am."
"He's my father."
"And I'm your mate." I lowered my voice as a couple walked past our table. "That means something, Em. That bond we share, it's not just supernatural politics. It's real. And I'll be damned if I let anyone destroy that. Even The Widower himself."
She stared at me, tears building in her eyes. "What if you have to choose? Between fighting him and protecting me?"
"Then I choose you. Every time."
"Even if it means killing my father?"