When We Were Mates (Demetra and Emris) novel Chapter 9

9

Emris.

My knuckles are white around the phone. “She called herself Miss Pride. I want you to find out who she is at once!” I snarl into the receiver.

The door clicks open and Silver walks in.

“Who are you telling that?” he asks.

I slam the phone down. “A fucking detective!”

Regan slinks in next. “You should have just ripped the glasses from her face.”

Silver sighs. “Moons, now why would he do that? That would bring up a war between him and Slade.”

“Yet, a war already exists between our packs already.” Regan counters, but his eyes are on me, hungry for my reaction. “Wait, Emris…why are you acting upset in the first place? Is it because Alpha Ronin has a daughter? Or is it because the daughter looks like the housekeeper you used to keep around? You kicked her out, don’t you remember?”

My hand goes to my forehead, pressing against the sudden, violent ache, Idiots. They have no idea she was my mate. I buried that truth so deep and let them think Demetra was just a stray I’d tired of. They can’t comprehend the magnitude of this.

“I just want to know.” I lie.

But Regan’s eyes light up with a lewd understanding. He points a finger at me and starts chuckling.

“Wait… were you sleeping with her?” He sees the truth I’m not saying and runs with it. “You must have been, right? Mom found her bra in your room. Don’t tell me-”

“Stop making shit up.” Silver hisses.

I tune them out. My hands find the solid edge of my desk and I grip until the wood groans. I stare into the middle distance, thinking. It cannot be Demetra. My wolf is screaming that it is, but my mind… my logic rebels. If it is Demetra, how can she be called Miss Pride? Her blood is common. Her mother was from the Black Covenant pack and my mom said she slept around.

Plús, this woman that wore glasses had a daughter. The girl looked almost Milo’s age. The harder I try to force the pieces together, the more they shatter.

The phone rings again and snatch it up.

“Is she really his daughter?”

“There’s not much information on her, sir. But I saw that it was announced to the Lion Pride pack five years ago that the Alpha’s lost daughter was found.”

Five years ago. That was the year I threw Demetra out of the pack.

This Miss Pride appeared five years ago too??

“Are there any pictures of her?”

“No, none, sir.”

“How can there be none!?” The roar tears from my throat and I am about to shatter the phone in my hand when the door flies open.

Elena stumbles into the sitting room. Her face is a mess of streaked mascara and red, blotchy skin. The makeup she wore at the parent–teacher conference is utterly ruined. She swipes at her cheeks, but the tears are fresh. I left her there to go hunt down the truth about Miss Pride.

“What happened?” Regan goes to meet her.

But she ignores him. Her watery eyes lock onto me, and she rushes across the room and throws herself against my chest. ” Honey,” she whimpers, staining my shirt with her tears.

“What happened.”

“Slade,” she chokes out, and her sleeve slips back as she lifts a trembling hand to my face. There, on her wrist, is an ugly. blossoming bruise in the shape of fingers.

Rage, immediate and volcanic, ignites in my gut. “I was having a conversation with that white–haired woman after she insulted me. She said I was senseless and hoped our son wasn’t going to be the same, for no reason! I went after her to warn her, and Slade came from nowhere. He grabbed my wrist and pushed me. Right in front of everyone, Emris!”

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Five years of carefully constructed control, of leashing the bitter, feral thing inside me, shatters like glass. It’s been five years since I’ve been learning to control my wolf and its bitterness. Things like this mess with me and cause slits to show in my eyes in uncountable rages.

“He just did that to you because you were speaking to his sister?” Silver asks.

Elena pulls back from me. “Do you… do you think I’m lying?” Her wounded gaze finds mine again. “Have I ever had a problem like this with anyone before? Emris, please.”

She buries her face back into my chest, and the decision is made. It’s already been made. The mystery of Miss Pride will have to wait. This is a direct challenge. An assault on the Luna of the black covenant pack.

He bruised her wrist. I’m going to take his entire arm.

“Don’t worry. I will take revenge for you. And I will do it at the Alpha Fest. I will make Slade the Alpha of one wrist. He will be too ashamed to even continue to fight for the territory with me. I will make him beg for his life.”

“The… the Alpha Fest?”

Silver knows the weight of what I’m saying.

“Yes. It’s in three days.”

I release her from where she was pressed against me. I need air that isn’t tainted by her perfume and her tears.

I leave my office now thinking of Slade. His name is a poison in my mind. We became enemies at a very young age. I don’t even remember the first event, the original spark. But I remember the reason, It was always about the wolf. About me. When I was younger, the control wasn’t a skill I possessed; it was a beast that possessed me. My eyes would sometimes stay yellow, one human, one wolf, a glaring defect in my human form. And among the pack children who whispered and pointed, Slade was the loudest. He didn’t just mock; he crafted the mockery into a weapon.

That childish cruelty hardened into a permanent rivalry through teenage years and into adulthood. And when my father died in the presence of Alpha Ronin during a coordinated attack that his pack gave us no information about–my hatred for the whole Lion Pride pack hardened.

My sister, Twinkle, is coming down the staircase with a sleeping bag tucked under her arm. She freezes mid–step when she sees me like a deer caught in torchlight.

“Are you not supposed to be at work? Or at the field? Or… somewhere having some Alpha meeting?” she asks, her voice a little too high.

“And are you not supposed to be in college?” I counter, arching a brow.

“Emris…” she rolls her eyes. “We just finished our finals. I’m free. And I’m going to my friend’s place for a sleepover.” She reaches the foot of the stairs and peers up at me.

“Wait… you look kind of upset.”

I am upset. A storm is brewing behind my ribs. But looking at her, another kind of tension coils in my gut. She’s nineteen. No longer a child, but a young woman moving through a world full of male wolves with their own agendas. The boys in our pack, and worse, in other packs, are watching her.

I’ve been suspicious of whether she has she found her mate yet.

“So… I’ll see you later?“.

“What’s this friend’s name-”

“Ugh!” She bites her lip, cutting me off with a look of exasperation. “You know her. Allison. She comes here frequently. I get that you want to big–brother me now, but can we do this later? She’s waiting outside the house for me right now. Go check if you want.”

“Where’s Mom?” I look around. If anyone would know the old pack histories, it would be her. Did Alpha Ronin truly have a daughter lost all those years ago? She’s been alive long enough to know the rumours that are real and the ones that are

smoke.

“I don’t know. Out shopping for the Alpha Fest, probably.” And with that, she’s gone, the heavy door clicking shut behind her. I take the first step back up the stairs when a housekeeper calls me.

“Alpha.”

I turn.

“I wanted to remind you that the art program is happening tomorrow evening. The artist, Metra, is said to be showing face for the very first time since their career began.”

Breath fills my lungs, pushing back against the immediate, violent chaos of the present. I had almost forgotten.

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9

Paris. Five years ago.

It was after I’d searched for Demetra for almost a year. After Virginia yielded nothing but dead ends and silence. My wolf was a writhing thing of pain and loss, a complete disorder in my soul. I’d resorted to drinking, to a numbness that wasn’t peace. I was breaking, and everyone saw it. They thought I’d remain that hollow, depressed shell forever. I couldn’t believe it myself…that one woman’s absence could maul my soul so completely.

Then, in a hallowed museum, I saw a painting that spoke of a pain so profound, so beautifully articulated in streaks of cold color and desperate, hopeful light, that it felt like my own pain had been given a voice. The artist’s name was Metra.

I bought that piece for millions. Ever since, I’ve collected every piece I could find for more of that understanding. The artist has been a ghost….no interviews, no appearances, no face.

And now… tomorrow. They are revealing themselves.

The fury toward Slade simmers. The obsession with Miss Pride simmers too. The next thing I welcome is a need that comes from the shattered place Demetra left behind.

“I can’t miss it.” I say, more to myself than to the housekeeper.

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