Chapter 7: Shadow of a Father's Ghost

Suddenly, a floorboard groans just outside my door drawing my attention upward. My heartbeat drumming, fingers reaching for the dagger as the stillness pulls in, tight as a bowstring. 

A scratch disrupts it, paper slipping through the gap beneath the door, a wrinkled message unfolding on the ground. 

I lunge, grabbing it, my hands shaking as I open it up. A single word, written in dark ink: ‘Traitor’. 

My breath ceased in my gut, the room sways as the word burns into my flesh. Who sent this message? Kade? Evelyn? Or is there someone else I have no idea of lying in wait?.

The hilt of the dagger digs into my palm, but I could only feel my heart racing to my throat, I’m short on time, and they’re getting closer. 

The wrinkled paper ignites in my grasp, its lone word, “Traitor" a dagger turning in my stomach. 

And my chest a shield for my throbbing heart, as I sighted something familiar, the spellings are slant, these are Father’s writing, ripped from a journal I thought was long lost the night Gabriel burnt his things some years ago.

The paper is craggy against my trembling fingers, its texture frangible as the thread my hope hangs on. 

I huddle by the side of the door where it slipped through, the candle’s fiery light casting out monstrous shadows on the walls of my room, when loud footsteps echo outside. 

Kade bursts in, and I quickly put my hands behind my back, his Sun Pack tattoo shining under the candle light, that scared face a trace of his threat.

“Making plans to escape?" he scoffs, his cloudy eye pinning me down as he approaches, leather groaning like a noose being pulled. 

I let out a gasp, and pushed the note into my sleeve, my heart pounding so loudly I could swear he heard it. 

He tears through my room, drawers pulled out, blankets thrown to the ground, his hands missing the note by mere inches as he flips over my bed. 

My swollen hand aches, discolored and of no use, yet with it I make my voice unwavering like my words were carved in stone. 

“There’s nothing here,” I whisper, head held high, even as my knees tremble beneath his stare. 

He pushes my chair out of the way, and leans closer, his breath reeking of ale. “Make sure it stays that way,” he snarls, then shuts the door forcefully, saturating the atmosphere with his menace. 

Three days until the trade, and I am not safe, not even here or anywhere out there. The note's weight in my pocket feels like a secret I'm not supposed to keep, a flame that could incinerate everything. 

I can't wait for the crack of dawn. 

Under the moon's glow, I sneak to the pack’s hidden trails, my cloak wrapped closely to guard against the cold, my tiny knife a frigid reassurance in my boot. 

The archive, a rotting shed behind the hall, filled with the pack’s artifacts, its door partly decayed, smelling of mold and dust. 

The rest of Father’s belongings were thrown here following his death, and if that note is from his journal, it’s my sole chance at finding answers. 

Inside, crates rise high, their shadows gripping the walls, and I sift through damp scrolls and broken leather, my vibrant hand shaking as splinters pierce my skin. 

My hand grazed a worn journal, beneath a heap of furs, its dusty cover embossed with Father's emblem, the pages aged and curling. 

I pass an eye over each one, heart pounding, and there it is: “Traitor,” written next to Gabriel’s name, repeatedly, as if it were a spell. 

A phrase halts me in my tracks: “He desires her, yet she’s no catch.” My breath catches, who? Evelyn? Her piercing look from yesterday, passing that note to the Sun Pack member, shines in my memory. 

The letters fade as my eyes burn, but a bawl slices through, a guard nearby, his lantern swaying, “Who is it?" I push the journal into my cloak, and crouch behind the crates, the knife’s handle slick in my hand as his boots approach. 

“Who is there?” he yelled again, moving closer to the crates slowly, then another voice called from a distance, and he gave one more look before turning away to the caller “I'm coming out" he shouted.

I watched him leave, my chest heaving with heavy breaths, I raised my head and quietly sneaked back to my room the same way I came in, like a ghost.

But the morning offers no respite. Gabriel orders me to the hall just moments after my discovery, does he know about it already? Was I followed? his gaze frenzied, shining with a paranoia I haven't observed before. 

The atmosphere is heavy with smoke and sudor, torches flickering as he strides in front of the Alpha's seat, Father's seat. 

"You've been searching," he hisses, tone quiet and spiteful, and before I can react, he crashes me into the wall, stone jabbing into my back. 

My aching hand restrained, and the journal’s heaviness beneath my cloak felt drowning. “Your father's secrets shall perish with you,” he growls, his hold constricting, knuckles pale against my skin. 

His terror reveals him, frantic gaze, sweat beads pooling on his forehead, he’s concealing something significant, linked to that note, to “Traitor.” 

I suppress a response, my thoughts darting to the journal’s pages, to Evelyn’s message, to details I can’t voice without revealing myself. "I know nothing," I croak, locking eyes with him, challenging him to recognize the deception. 

He pushes me away, his breath uneven, and bursts out, yet his anxiety remains, a fissure in his defense that I am eager to exploit. Two days have passed, and the truth is nearer, but so is Jason's shadow. 

I got to my room, locked the door, the journal unfolding on my bed like an injury. My strong hand follows Father’s words, while my swollen one rests against my chest, pulsing with each heartbeat. 

A memory surfaces, Father’s last days, his skin pallid, eyes hollow, coughing blood while Gabriel lingered, always present, his expression too tranquil, too vigilant. 

I was twelve, taken away as his condition deteriorated, but now the journal’s points at, poison? I turn the pages in a hurry and saw it: a drawing of a vial, tiny and corked, formed “G.” 

My heart slams, a frantic piece colliding with my ribs, G for Gabriel? Did he murder Father, inject something that crawled painfully into his bloodstream? 

The term “Traitor” reverberates in my thoughts, linking his name to treachery, to Evelyn’s icy glare, to the Sun Pack’s influence. 

My lip hurts from the bite, blood bitter on my tongue, and I shut the journal forcefully, breath quick. If Gabriel poisoned father, what does he have in store for me? 

A shadow moves outside my window, a flash of motion in the twilight, and my skin tingles, each nerve shouting peril. I crawl on fours to the window, knife clenched tightly, its edge reflecting the candlelight.