Chapter 57: Incoming Call

Greta's eyes flew wide when she looked at her phone and saw her brother's name. "Oh Goddess, it's Graeme," she said, shifting her alarmed eyes to her mate. A beat passed before Sam walked forward to where Greta could feel the physical heat of him, but that comfort only slowed her heart briefly before it sped up again as she wondered what to do.

Sam reached up to embrace her shoulders as she looked helplessly at the phone in her hands. "What do I—what do I do?" she whispered. She knew Graeme couldn't know what had happened yet, because he would bolt out of the pack house in such a state that everyone would know something horrible had happened. It was rare that Greta found herself in the unsteady position of having few answers, and the fact that this particular dilemma included her brother and his mate amplified her discomfort considerably.

"You have to answer it," Sam replied, his hands on her shoulders tightening.

Greta's mouth dropped open to respond, but her phone stopped chirping its demands at her, and she saw the screen go black.

"He's going to call back," Sam said quietly. "You have to lie, Greta."

"But—but he's my brother," she whispered.

"And you have to lie to save him. And August. Otherwise this will come back to them, and the elders will waste no time," the rich depth of Sam's voice stirred that resonance of truth in his words, and she found herself silently nodding in agreement. "No one is ready for that kind of fight."

"Yes, of course. You're right," she said.

With the exception of her steady breath, August had been quiet in the next room for over an hour, indicating that she had finally been able to rest. But the sharp tang of the human's fear still hung in the treehouse, and Greta thoughtlessly walked to the deck to open the doors and air it out. If Graeme walked in to this, he would be a mad fury of teeth and claws. Who knows what he would do without stopping to listen to their explanation first.

As Greta turned back to the living room, her phone sprang to life again, and she nearly dropped it. She looked up to steady herself in Sam's reassuring gaze before she answered it.

"Hey," she said, her voice too high, and she silently cursed herself.

"What's wrong?" Graeme immediately asked on the other end, and in her periphery vision she saw Sam run a hand through his hair nervously.

"Pfff, nothing, why?" she scoffed, and she prayed to the Goddess it sounded natural. "Two calls from you in one day. To what do I owe the honor?"

"I found something. I'm not sure what to make of it," he answered, and then Greta didn't have to pretend anymore. The unsteadiness of Graeme's voice had her heart quickening for a different reason.

"What is it? What happened?" she asked.

"I'm looking through the report on mom and dad. It says that after the council killed the alyko, their bodies were… gone."

"Whose? Mom's and dad's?" Greta squeaked.

"No, no. Maggie's," Graeme replied. "And all the alyko. They burned Maggie's house with them inside, as you know, but… afterwards. There was no evidence of them being there. Of their deaths… of anything. They were just. Gone."

"What?" Greta breathed. "That's impossible. That doesn't make sense. There's no way the fire could have been that hot or, or…" she trailed off. Their remains should have been left.

"I know. I know. But that's what I'm looking at right now," Graeme replied and shuffled through the papers in front of him on the other end of the line. "Look, I'm not… feeling right. I'll be heading out of here soon. I'll call you about it later, okay?"

"What—why… but you've barely even been there," Greta found herself chuckling strangely as she scrambled to think of whether him leaving early would be considered suspicious. "I thought you were feeling better than usual. That's what you said earlier."

"I was, but being in here… I don't know, it's just a lot. I can't concentrate. And on top of it all, Violet found me," he replied gruffly.

"I see," Greta said softly. "Can you bring the file home? I'd like to look at it."

"I'll see what I can do," he replied. "How was August when you picked up Sylvia? Did it go okay? Did she seem better?"

Greta felt her heart hammer against her ribs. She'd never been able to lie to her brother. Not when faced with a direct question like this. She glanced up at Sam who was watching her and eavesdropping on the conversation with his sharp lycan hearing. His eyebrows dipped in encouragement, and she gulped.

"Greta?"

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"Yeah," she breathed. "Sorry, I was just distracted with my thoughts. The session went well. I really think working with Sylvia is going to be a good thing." Greta squeezed her eyes shut. It wasn't strictly lying, but she still felt the guilt of it—like a betrayal of their honesty to each other.

It was less than an hour after Greta and Graeme ended their call when Graeme swung the door open to the treehouse and froze. Something horrible had happened. He immediately sensed it.

Sam and Greta were in the living room when they heard the door knock against the wall, and they both sprang from the couch. Sam extended an arm, gesturing for Greta to stay behind him as they waited for Graeme to enter. It seemed like everyone was holding their breath except August, whose soft puffs of sleep could be heard throughout the house. Perhaps that's what kept Graeme from shifting in fury. He stalked through the kitchen into the living area where his sister and her mate were waiting.

Graeme glared at them both, his nostrils flaring. "What the hell happened here?" he snarled.

"Graeme—" Greta started, but Sam moved forward to take the attention off of her.

"Marius was here," Sam said calmly.

A bright fury lit in Graeme's eyes at this—why the hell was Sam so calm?!—and he tore into the room toward the bedroom behind them. Greta sprang in front of the doorway with her hands up as Sam grabbed Graeme's arm.

"Don't fucking touch me," Graeme snarled, narrowing his eyes furiously at Sam who raised his hands in front of him in apology.

"I'm sorry," Sam said. "But listen."

"She's okay, Graeme! She's okay," Greta spoke quickly from behind her mate.

Graeme felt like he was on the verge of crumbling, a breath away from a quick cascade of every defense imploding within him. "You lied to me," he gritted his teeth with the growl while pointing accusingly at Greta.

"I—I didn't lie," Greta argued, but then she winced. What a pathetic technicality to argue right now. Graeme's eyes flared, and she hurried on. "I'm sorry. I couldn't tell you over the phone." She saw Sam tense further in front of her as Graeme stalked toward her. Goddess, please don't let them fight. Please.

"You couldn't tell me?" Graeme spit as his eyebrows shot up in accusation, his eyes piercing hers before gliding to find the male who stood between them. Sam—calm as always. It was infuriating. "Get out of my way," Graeme growled.

"He's dead, Graeme," Sam offered. "We stopped him—we stopped him before anything could happen."

Graeme glared at them, his body seemingly growing larger by the second before his chest finally deflated and he turned, gripping his head in his hands with a frustrated growl. Greta felt him whine. It may not have been audible, but she felt it from across the room, and her heart shattered. She moved to comfort him, but Sam extended his protective arm again, stopping her.

"I'm so sorry, Graeme," she whimpered behind her mate.

"I left her," Graeme whispered. "I fucking left her."

"It's not your fault, brother," Sam said quietly.

Graeme whipped around to face them. "Then whose fault is it, Sam?" his eyes were silvered with angry tears.

"Not. Yours."

Graeme blew a disgusted breath out of his nose. His chest was rising and falling heavily with his fists clenched at his sides. Ridiculous. Of course it was his fault. Of course it was his fault!

"I know you're angry. You have every right to be," Greta said. "But you have to calm down. For her. She can't see you like this. Not after what she's been through."

Graeme growled again. Greta. She had lied to him on the phone—she could have told him about what happened when he called. Despite that, he squeezed his eyes tight and let his sister's wisdom trickle in. She was right, of course. She always was. The hot rage running the length of him started to cool into angry tremors, and before he knew it his sister was embracing him, and he reluctantly let her calm cover him.

"I'm sorry," she whimpered. "I'm so sorry I didn't tell you. Please listen to why."

"Tell me everything," he ground out.

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