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Chapter 89: Questions
Lucas's Perspective
I set Milo down inside my room, letting him sniff around while Jenny hovered at my shoulder like a proud parent on the first day of school. He padded cautiously across the rug, ears twitching, eyes bright but wary—still half-wild, still testing this new place.
I crouched low, catching his gaze, and let the red bleed faintly into my irises. Not a threat, just a signal, a thread of silent communication between us. You're safe. This is your den now.
Milo's tense body loosened almost instantly. He exhaled, circled once near the far corner, and flopped down as though he had already claimed the spot for himself.
Jenny's jaw dropped. "How did you do that? He's… he's actually listening to you. Like a perfectly trained dog."
"He is smart," I murmured, scratching behind Milo's ears. He thumped his tail once in response. "He just seems to understands me."
Jenny narrowed her eyes like I'd just cheated on some unwritten rule of bonding. "Unfair. I've been trying for weeks and he still runs from me if I sneeze."
I smirked. "Maybe you should work on your sneezing."
She swatted my arm, but I stood and motioned for one of the house staff to bring up two bowls. A moment later, I had them filled—water in one, food in the other. But before I slid the food over, I knelt again and held the pill in my palm under Milo's nose.
He sniffed it, wrinkled his muzzle, and gave a low huff that was basically a no thanks.
I met his eyes and gave a slow, deliberate nod.
He hesitated, then opened his mouth and took the pill without another sound, as though my approval was the only condition he needed.
Jenny's eyes nearly popped out of her head. "You're kidding me. He just—ate it. He never eats directly from my hands, and he just… listens to you?"
I didn't answer, just slid the food bowl to Milo. He dug in immediately, eating like he hadn't seen a proper meal in weeks. Jenny crouched down beside him, watching with wide-eyed wonder as if the sight of him eating was the greatest thing she'd ever witnessed.
My phone buzzed. I pulled it out and glanced at the screen.
Isaac: Need to talk. Can you meet me?
I locked the phone, slid it back into my pocket, and stood. "I've got to head out for a bit," I told Jenny. "If Susan asks, tell her I'll be back before dinner. And don't stay here too long—he needs rest after today."
Jenny pouted but nodded, already stroking Milo's fur. "Fine. But don't be surprised if he likes me better by the time you get back."
I raised a brow. "Good luck with that."
Milo continued eating his food, not the least bit interested in our conversation.
The cemetery was hushed when I arrived, cloaked in the kind of silence that doesn't just fill your ears—it settles into your chest, heavy and unshakable, like the weight of something left unsaid. The wind barely stirred the trees lining the edge of the graveyard, and even the birds seemed to have gone quiet, as if the whole place was holding its breath.
He stood a few yards ahead, leaning against the base of a timeworn angel statue, its stone wings chipped at the edges, the face weathered by decades of rain and time. His arms were crossed tightly over his chest, jaw tense, eyes fixed on nothing in particular. He looked like someone who'd been arguing with himself for hours—locked in an internal fight he couldn't quite win.
I didn't need to ask what this was about. I already knew.
"Malia told me about Allison," he started, straight to the point. "And her family."
I sighed, nodding once. "She told you about hunters during training, right?"
"Yeah." Isaac shifted uneasily, his voice caught between confusion and frustration. "According to Malia, shapeshifters and hunters are… on the same side. That's what she said. But when she talked about the Argents, it was different. Like I should be afraid of them. Like I should stay as far away from Allison and her family as possible."
"It's complicated," I said quietly.
Isaac frowned. "So which is it? Are they allies or enemies?"
"Neither." I met his gaze. "The hunters aren't our enemies. I was raised by one. But… the Argents and the Hales?" I shook my head. "That's different. Tense doesn't even begin to cover it."
"Why?" Isaac pressed.
I looked out at the rows of headstones, letting the weight of it settle before answering. "Six years ago, Gerard Argent, his hunters and most of the Hale pack worked together to put down something corrupted. A creature that needed killing. They succeeded. But no one survived that night. Not the hunters. Not the Hales."
His expression darkened, a line forming between his brows. "So you're saying they died fighting together?"
I shook my head slowly. "That's what the official story would like people to believe. But the truth is murkier than that. Wolfsbane was found on the Hale bodies. Hunter bodies looked like they were ripped apart by werewolf claws." I let the words hang there.
"It took a lot of digging to piece even that much together." I said, softer now. "A lot of whispers, records that didn't match up, things people didn't want to talk about. But beyond that? No one alive really knows what happened out there. Maybe no one ever will."
Isaac looked away, his mouth pressed into a tight line, but the storm in his eyes was obvious. He didn't speak, but the questions—dozens of them—were etched all over his face. Questions I couldn't answer. Questions no one could.
The cemetery felt colder somehow. The kind of chill that sinks into your bones when the past refuses to stay buried.