You Belong To Me

Chapter Seven: Genevieve

I hadn't even taken five steps into the house after closing the door before Wren cleared his throat out loud, giving me a suspicious, untrusting look.

"Genevieve."

I tilted my head at his use of my full name, but I answered him anyway.

"Yes, Wren?"

"Is that who I think it is?" he asked, pointing at the black bag in my arms.

"Yes, bear. It's Russell's body," I replied, making my way to the bedroom on the first floor.

He watched as I put the bag on the bed as respectfully as I could, then stood upright to regard it cautiously.

I took a deep breath to calm my racing heart and turned away from the body, closing the door soundly behind me.

Now that I was no longer carrying Russell's body in my arms, and wasn't all too concerned about Wren keeling over from the poison, I decided to have a look at him.

He looked clean, like he hadn't been on the brink of death a few hours ago. His hair was wet, and smelled faintly of my strawberry and cream shampoo.

He was wearing the grey sweats I'd left out for him, but that was pretty much it. His entire upper body was bare, naked and still a little wet from his shower…

I let my eyes take in the thick muscles in those arms, the tattoos snaking around his wrists and back before disappearing into the waistband of those glorious sweats.

And oh, my…

What a snug fit.

Granted, I'd seen everything he had to offer when I was hauling him from the car to my bed, but I'd been so worried about saving him that I hadn't had enough time to enjoy the view.

But now, I could look.

And boy, did I look.

I stared openly, my entire body heating at the way his fists clenched at his sides, the strong, masculine scent coming off of him despite the fruity shampoo. I could almost feel that part of me that was drawn to him come alive, and it urged me to get closer, and touch him.

It begged me to run my hands through his hair again, and trace my fingers over the strong line of his jaw, where the faint stubble was just beginning to appear.

When I met his gaze, the intensity in those dark orbs almost robbed me of breath. I swallowed, felt my heart drum frantically in my chest.

This was the second time something like this had happened, and for some reason this encounter was even stranger than the last.

I looked down, and almost wished I hadn't because the bulge in his pants was growing, getting harder and larger the more he stared at me.

His eyes lowered to my bare legs, and he involuntarily licked his bottom lip.

Fuck.

Get yourself together, woman. You're an adult, for goodness sake.

I cleared my throat out loud, and the sound pulled me back to the present. He also seemed to snap out of it entirely, his gaze falling on the door behind me instead.

"Right, so the food will be here in about a minute. Do you want to eat before or after we deal with this?"

He looked a little uncertain, then looked over at me.

"What would you recommend?"

"Eat first. You need to build up your strength. And only the gods know what might happen once we get started on this entire conversation."

"Okay. Food first."

The doorbell rang, and I lifted a finger in the air as if I'd just had an idea.

"That'll be the delivery man. Please stay hidden while I get the food."

I kept the news about the APB out on him and the dead wolf to myself for now.

The second time the doorbell went off, I reached for the handle and pulled it open as if I had nothing whatsoever to hide.

I smiled at the teenager at my door, and handed him a fifty for everything and a tip before accepting the food from him.

He smiled and waved as he hurried to his bike, and I closed the door, clicking the lock behind him.

I placed the food on the counter and opened the brown bags to lay out all the options for him to choose from.

My own stomach growled at the aroma from the soup, and I grabbed the venison soup while Wren dug into the stew. We split the bread between us, and eat in silence.

At some point, I get up to pour us some lemonade from the fridge and slide a glass over to him before resuming my seat. Wren eats his food quietly, and occasionally glances towards me as if trying to ask a question.

"Is your name actually Genevieve?" he began.

I nodded, fighting to keep the amusement out of my eyes.

"Yes. Genevieve Cassandra Mercedes Sianna-Marie Johansen D'Almeida."

He raised his brows, his dark eyes sweeping over me slowly.

"Okay, Gene," he said, pointedly leaving out the other names, and gestured to the room with the dead body.

"Can you please tell me what's going on?"

"I thought we agreed to do this after we ate?"

"No," he said, his tone hardening. "I would like to know now. I'm getting really tired of everyone hiding s**t from me."

It was my turn to arch a brow, and when I didn't immediately spill the beans, he let out a sigh and pushed his food aside.

I watched him get up from the chair and make his way barefoot to the front door.

"Where are you going?" I asked him.

"Home. Surely someone there will be able to answer the million and one questions I have swirling around my head."

I slid off my chair and followed him. I grabbed his arm to keep him from reaching for the handle and he turned around to look at me.

"Wren, I don't know how many more times I can say this, but you can't just go walking around the streets in your condition. You almost died last night. What part of that don't you get?"

His entire body tenses and he fights the urge to yank his arm from my grasp, which I tighten as his jaw clenched in irritation.

"A lot, obviously. There are plenty of things I don't understand, Gene," he snapped. "Like the part where you know exactly what those creatures from last night were. And the part where you're able to, shall I say 'mask' scents, so nobody can follow you? Or," he raised his voice in frustration, "The part where you leap out of forests and cut the heads off of shadow skeleton hunters with your magical glowing sword!"

Perhaps realising how incredibly upsetting he was getting, Wren took a deep breath in an effort to calm himself and then slowly released it.

"I know you're a bit frustrated with the lack of knowledge, but trust me when I say I'll answer all of your questions. What I need you to do right now is eat, so you can heal. If you can't defend yourself, then you're better off not knowing," I reasoned, my grasp loosening.

"And besides, if nobody in your family has told you about any of this so far, what makes you think they'll be open with you going forward?"

Without meaning to, I knew I'd struck a nerve when his eyes darted away from mine, hurt shadowing his features briefly.

I could almost feel his guard go up, but he nodded slowly, then allowed me to lead him back to the kitchen where he sat down and resumed eating.

"I don't appreciate being manipulated by the people in my life," he said suddenly.

I flicked my gaze up to meet his. "This isn't manipulation."

He gave me a condescending look and packed away the food, throwing the empty containers in the trash and putting whatever we didn't eat in the fridge.

I watched him do this without comment, and busied myself wiping down the counters before tossing the washcloth in the sink.

"So, what are you exactly? And how do you know so much about… everything?"

I sighed at his relentlessness, and disappeared upstairs to grab the book I'd been reading. I gestured for him to retrieve the body while I opened up the entrance to my vault again.

I sealed the room and set the alarm to alert me when anyone opened the gate, and pointed at the table for Wren to set the body down.

Afterwards, he stood in place to gaze around the room, his face betraying the awe he felt at being surrounded by so many things.

"This is the coolest thing I've ever f*****g seen," he said. I watched him stare at the pair of Viking axes hanging on the wall, his eyes widening with an almost childlike glee at them.

"May I-"

"Sure. Just don't throw them at anything since all the things in this room are older than you."

He removed the axes from the wall and gazed at them with an excited smirk, then swung the weapons into the air as if he were attacking someone.

I rolled my eyes and turned my attention to the book in my hands, opening it to the page I'd been reading.

"Can I keep these?"

"Can you use them?" I replied.

I felt the mischievous way he was looking at me, then back at the axe. He held it in his hand and flung it, full force, at the side of my head. I caught the handle expertly, and laid it down on the table without even glancing at him.

"That answers that question," I mumbled, knowing he could hear me.

"That doesn't count. Let me go again," he suggested, holding the axe in both hands. He threw it, this time a lot better than the first. I glanced up and grabbed the weapon, my palm hot from the force of his throw.

"Not bad. Come, we don't have much time."

He came to join me at the table, and opened the black bag reluctantly, his face paling at the now human body inside.

The hole where the bullet was buried had left a green, almost blue hue in the flesh, and there were dark veins around the wound.

Everywhere else, his skin was ashen, a sickly dark grey colour. I felt my stomach clench with grief, and I had to look away for a bit to keep from getting emotional. Wren was just staring at him like he was at a loss or words, and maybe, he actually was.

"This is… my god."

I nodded knowingly.

"Gene, what is going on?" he asked again, only this time, his tone was softer.

"They're called venatoribus; hunters," I replied eventually. "They're summoned out of the underworld by a witch or sorcerer who works with dark or demon magic. The person who summons a venator, must grant them the name of the person they want dead. In exchange for the kill, they get to keep the soul.

"The spell was created centuries ago, when supernatural creatures were being hunted down by humans. The coven who wrote the spell were practicing a special kind of druid magic that required several sacrifices, and they summoned the venatoribus from the deepest realm of the underworld.

"They wreaked havoc for years, and their actions were so vile that every creature in this plane united to stop them. It was thanks to an archsage named Ciana, that the coven was defeated and their grimoires said to be destroyed, except, they weren't."

"They were kept hidden in the vault of the archsage's manor, right? And they found them centuries later after they gathered dust and were half-eaten by moths."

I nodded, turned my gaze back to the body in front of me, and gingerly touched the veins around the hole in his head.

Cold.

"Before that, though, it was decided that each supernatural creature was to have a seat on the new council. Shifters, vampires, the Fae, magical practitioners, sea creatures, demons, dragons and angels. They ushered in a new era and destroyed any and every black or death magic spell that existed to keep the peace. For a while, it worked and until nearly a hundred years ago, no supernatural blood was unjustly spilled on this realm."

"You know what happened during that time?" I asked him.

He nodded.

"Rumour has it that the sage who sat on the council was possessed by the soul of a demon summoned by a warlock. The warlock used the sage to get the grimoires they had hidden in the vault, and then used those spells to slaughter every single member on that council, brutally."

I made a sound of assent, coming to a stop beside him.

"The dragons and the other shifters were practically wiped out, demons and angels fled to the underworld and the empyrean, respectively. Most of the Fae slipped into a separate realm where they couldn't be found, the sea creatures hid so deep beneath the waves that the wizard couldn't track them down, magical practitioners hid from public view, which left only the vampires and the werewolves.

"The warlock's power grew over the years, and he began to recruit others who wanted to rule the supernatural world alongside him. They believed the rest of us to be dirtied, and since most of us existed from some form of dark magic, they didn't think we were worthy of this realm. They called themselves The Twelve because they believed the number to represent perfection and order."

I began to mix a few herbs together, hating the strong, unpleasant odour that wafted from them.

"For a while, werewolves and vampires were able to join forces and live amongst each other for protection. We shared our blood with them, and they helped protect us from the warlocks. We were able to reproduce, whereas they could only increase their numbers by biting humans. Some of the younger vampires couldn't control themselves, and they started killing us. When the alphas realised what was happening, they tried to move their packs away from the vampires, but they couldn't decide on where to go. Like their ancestors, each alpha felt they knew better than the other, and so they decided it would be best to split up. As you know, there are only three of the original alpha bloodlines remaining that we know of, because the other two are rumoured to have been wiped out from existence. Yours was nearly the third."

He started at that.

"My grandfather died of natural causes, Gene."

I slowly shook my head, turning to him as I paused in my movements.

"He was murdered. Poisoned by someone close to him. It wasn't the Knights," I hurried to add. "I think they were just opportunistic, but there's no evidence of them being involved. If they had been, your mother would have killed them a long time ago."

"Holy s**t," he said, blinking into space, slowly organising his thoughts. Then he turned to me, his eyes dark with confusion.

"But if it wasn't them, then who was it?"

I shrugged. "Nobody knows. With the supernatural world being in such turmoil at the time, it's impossible to know who the real enemy was. It could have been The Twelve, who were trying to destroy us by removing the alphas, hoping our lack of leaders would invite chaos. It could also have been the vampires, or maybe even a fellow werewolf. Who knows? But I'm guessing that what happened all those years ago may be linked to what we saw last night. So we need to find out why the venatoribus went after him specifically, because they will be back for his body. They made the kill, so to them, his soul belongs to them."

He let out a long breath, his fingers digging into the fabric of the sweats. He rubbed his hands over his face and looked over at me.

"So what are you exactly? A healer?"

I shook my head slowly, setting the bowl down by the head, centering it so it aligned with the greenish, bluish hue on his forehead.

I removed my sword from the scabbard and carefully handed it over to him. I watched him take it in, then he handed the weapon back to me with a crooked grin.

"Patronus. Fitting, I suppose for the woman who saved my life last night. And if I have the legend of your kind correct," he said, narrowing his eyes at me, "A patronus is chosen by the alpha, and after the ritual, the patronus is gifted with more strength, speed, endurance than a regular wolf."

I smiled down at him.

My phone began to beep, and I glanced worriedly at the clock on my screen.

My phone began to ring, and I answered it, knowing exactly who was on the other line.

"You told them what's going on?"

"Yes, we're on our way to you now. Wren is with you?"

I turned away from the man in question, and replied, "Safe."

He let out a sigh of relief.

"Keep him there. After what happened last night, we need to contain this as quickly as possible."

I hung up without another word, then locked my phone and placed it in my back pocket.

"Everything always has to be a mystery with you, doesn't it?" he asked, folding his arms over his chest.

"Not always. There are a few things you'll need to know before the cavalry pulls up."

I moved to stand in front of him and opened the book to the page where I had been reading on the venatoribus. I held it out to him, and he tore his gaze away from mine to read the passage.

"A venator will appear in the image their master wants him in. It could be anything from a pirate, a mermaid, a siren, skeletal shadow creatures who look like wild west bounty hunters, to a policeman. They can't shift after they've been summoned, which is great for us and they get weaker the longer they don't have a soul to…"

I clamped my mouth shut when he flicked his eyes up to meet mine, and cleared my throat awkwardly before continuing.

"I'm not sure when they'll be back, but they can't go back to their master without the body. It would be a sign that they've failed, and if they fail, they don't get paid."

"You have such a way with words," he said sarcastically, closing the book.

"Yeah, well, bear? I'm a badass warrior. Not a poet."

He smiled.

"Why do you keep calling me that?"

"Because of your wolf. It was… huge. Literally the biggest I've ever seen in my life."

He arched his brow.

"I don't mean your… I'm talking about your wolf, Wren. Don't be gross."

He shook his head in mock disappointment, and regarded me with a serious look. "To think I was on the brink of death and you still had time to look at my-"

I groaned at the look on his face and hit him on the arm. He chuckled and backed away when I kept slapping his arm.

"You're disgusting."

"Maybe, but it's not every day a gorgeous woman compliments your… wolf."

I threw a look his way and he chuckled a bit longer.

"Remind me never to give you any kind of compliment again," I said, putting the final touches to the protection barrier around Russell's body.

He's quiet while I do this, maybe out of respect for him more than lack of anything to say.

"You knew him, didn't you?" he asked suddenly, his eyes scanning my features.

I nodded.

"He was the patronus of your father's pack. He taught me everything I know because my predecessor was murdered around the time your grandfather died. He was a good man."

He turned his gaze to Russell, and I saw a glimmer of respect in his eye.

"He didn't really like me much. I never really understood why. Despite our differences, though, I know there's nothing he wouldn't have done to protect the pack."

I nodded.

"Being patronus was his life. He's been with your father for decades. He's going to be devastated about this. Your mother as well."

My phone chose that moment to ring, and I sighed as I pulled it out of my pocket and turned to Wren.

"That's them now. Are you ready?"

"I should probably put a shirt on," he said, glancing down at his naked chest.

Please don't.

"Yes. We wouldn't want to give them the wrong impression."

"Hello," I answered, opening the door to the vault.

"We're here."

As Wren ran upstairs to grab a shirt, I turned towards the door, and opened it, my expression blank as I regarded the well-dressed man in front of me, his hands resting in the pockets of his well-tailored slacks.

His concern was carefully concealed in the polite expression on his face, the grief covered up by the determination that shone in the dark pools of his eyes.

Tyler Cormier, the pack beta and Wren'sfather.

Beside him stood Her Majesty, the alpha, Helena Cormier.

She looked polished and sophisticated as always in a pale blue dress and matching heels.

I could feel the fear and guilt rolling off of her in waves, and assumed she must be feeling this way because of her son's disappearance.

Her children and husband were the only reason she would ever let that perfect mask of hers crack in front of me like this.

Behind them were Rehan, my mother and Silva.

"Your Majesties, please come in. We don't have much time."