Page 293 of Awakened

“Send someone to bring him up here,” I demand.

“He’s in the cells,” Gav replies, frowning in confusion. “We’ll just go down there.”

I shake my head in denial before he finishes speaking. My answer is swift.

“No. I won’t go down there. Not now.”

Gav still looks confused, and Soren scoffs obnoxiously. He’s kept quiet so far, but just having him to lean on has been a relief.

I should have been able to lean on my Pack, and Soren’s Pack now too, even if neither of us quite understands how. Regardless, we’re connected and always will be, thanks to Idril.

“We’re not going down to the cells where you put our Mate for days when she was sick from being Alpha Commanded nearly to death,” Soren informs him, speaking slowly and clearly like he’s pointing out something obvious to a child. Another thing I like about him—he has no problem calling people out on their shit.

“Send someone to retrieve the quack, like Caelan already suggested.”

Gav grinds his molars, then quickly realizes we’re not fucking around and inclines his head.

Ten minutes later, the doors are swinging open, and two Bastards walk in, holding Doctor Cecil Albertson between them.

He looks very different from the male I last saw in the basement of Varenthrall’s estate. That man looked harried and torn, but this one looks a thousand times worse, absolutely wracked with guilt and fear.

He’s a Beta, but I can still sense his distress. It’s pouring from him, wafting through the room. The faint scent of linen would normally be soothing, but not now. Now it’s burnt and twisted, only adding to the obnoxious scent of decay.

“In that chair,” Gav says, pointing to the Bastards who brought him up. I incline my head in greeting as they throw the old man into the solid oak chair at the end of the table, then leave as quickly as they’d come.

Albertson’s breathing is labored. His whole body shakes, making the cuffs rattle against the armrests, the sound grating and loud in the heavy atmosphere of the room.

He doesn’t look like a doctor anymore, that’s for certain. Hell, he barely looks like a man. With shoulders curled inward and his long, bushy beard in desperate need of a trim, he looks like he’s been locked in a cell for much longer than a few hours.

He refuses to look up, only moving to push his glasses up his nose, just for them to slide back down not ten seconds later. Finally, Gavran stands and takes a few controlled, deliberate steps toward Albertson. The Beta flinches, and his shoulders somehow curl forward even further. Once he’s closer, Gav leans back against the table and folds his arms over his chest.

“Doctor Albertson. You’re going to tell us why you showed up at our gates with a box leaking blood. Let’s start there.”

Albertson visibly tenses, and he finally looks up, eyes darting past Gavran and landing on the box sitting on the table. His eyes plead as he finally focuses on Gav, and he licks his lips before answering.

“I—I didn’t have a choice. I’d been trying to leave for weeks, but there was no safe way. When Varenthrall sent me with the box, I knew this was my only chance to get out. He told me to deliver it personally.”

“Why?” Gav pushes, keeping his tone even and controlled.

“He’s become increasingly erratic since he discovered Annalise’s death,” the Doctor hesitates and glances up, scanning the room and gauging our reactions. With a sigh, he pushes his glasses back up the bridge of his nose with his cuffed hands.

“I suppose I should have known you were already aware of her. I hope Idril didn’t have to witness her mother like that.”

“Don’t say her fucking name.”

The threat comes from across the table, and my head snaps up in shock to find Daxen glaring menacingly at the Doctor. The look he’s leveling at Albertson is fucking terrifying, and even the most skeptical part of me has to admit there’s no pretending that level of anger.

Soren and I exchange an uneasy glance. Even Vae looks startled by Daxen’s reaction.

Gav moves closer, blocking Albertson’s view of Dax. Probably smart, considering the guy’s about three shades lighter than he was thirty seconds ago.

Tilting his head to the side, Gav decides to take advantage of how thrown off Albertson is by Dax’s threat.

“Whose head is in the box?”

His eyes squeeze shut and his lips thin into a grim line. “It’s Mara. The Varenthrall’s head of household staff. She and Idril were…not close, but Mara was probably the closest thing Idril had to a friend in that house.”

I know what it looks like when someone’s expecting to be hit. Hell, anyone would recognize Alberton’s reaction when he flinches back, and it’s so reminiscent of Idril that I find myself unwillingly softening toward the guy.