As much as I did not want to admit it, Tate's hand in mine made it possible to calm the continuous spikes of anxiety and fear after that ancient anger rose to the surface again after quite a while. For the first time in a long while, I felt like I finally had my feet on the ground after surfing the waves of confusion and a few other conflicting emotions these past few months.
However, it was not why I kept my hand in his as he started talking pack business with Wendell and the Louve whose name apparently was Sofia Bedell. Tate had a plan, I was sure of it with how he suddenly took over the conversation and smoothly moved us from the fight which had occurred to what they were originally going to discuss.
Additionally, every time he sensed I was about to ask a question or he heard my sneakers softly tapping the floor in impatience, he would squeeze my hand in what I could only assume was reassurance that he would explain himself later when we were far away from this pack.
Deciding to trust him this once since he had steered us away from further violence, something which I had thoroughly enjoyed and if given the chance would still do in a second, I half-heartedly listened to their conversation.
I kept on drifting in and out of listening to them, my mind jumping from subject to subject, never settling as I wondered about what happened in the months I had been out of touch with reality. The day after the kidnapping where Illia was immediately taken back to his pack in Bromsdale, I heard he instructed Caden and another member of his pack to imprison Gabe and the rest of the Rosewood wolves.
However, the memory that day when I had reached the top of the stairs, the coppery scent of blood completely filling the air, and the dozens of bodies lying on the ground was imprinted on me. How many of my relatives had died then? Not that I want them to, but were any of them able to escape from the revenge the others had taken for all they had done?
It was like a thorn had been removed from my lungs, making me breathe easier knowing the culprits for the massacres of thousands of werewolves got what they deserved, were getting it, or whatever had happened to them after I had recused myself from the world. Too much. Too many problems, complications, plots and plans on top of each other with the heavy weight of the truth of my beloved family and pack being the sole cause for the destruction of others.
I understood all of it, why I had fallen into a chasm of despair I could not have pulled myself out of on my own accord. Had it not been for the stinging pain of Rastor's words, I probably would still be living like the world had ended and I was simply waiting to turn into dust and be blown by the wind.
Still, I could not fully wrap my head around the truth. It was a hard pill to swallow, one where I knew there would still be a bitter aftertaste once I did because I sure as hell did not believe it was the whole truth.
Gabe had been too confident when he was telling me about it, and if I really knew how people acted, it was not the only trick he had up his sleeve if he was acting that way. There were bound to be more, I was sure of it.
Discovering if there was something more to the pack I believed was good in nature sent a thrill of excitement coursing through my veins laced with a tinge of fear. I had been caught unaware, not knowing what to expect when I finally found out the truth about my family before. However this time, I would be coming in prepared.
The possibilities were endless as to what other secrets this pack was holding, and since the worst of the worse—I think it was—had already been revealed, then it could only get better from here, wouldn't it?
A hand gripped mine tighter, pulling me out of my thoughts. Tate was speaking, his voice in its usual low baritone. Since I had been in and out of dreamland, I only noticed he had leaned back on the chair, resting his right feet on his left leg, the perfect picture of an easygoing and laidback leader. Yet there was no doubt he was a dangerous wolf as every muscle in his body screamed his strength. Even while he seemed relaxed, nobody could mistake he could attack the others without much difficulty if he was provoked.
