Page 44 of Ruined Wolfsbane

BRIAR

The parking lot is pretty deserted when we reach it. There’s a shiny, black, clearly new Range Rover and a few older sedans. We head straight toward the Rover, and my eyebrows jump up in surprise. Patrick has a few of the same car in his garage. From what I understand, it’s stupidly expensive. I wonder how they afford it on professors’ salaries. Maybe they pooled their income together.

I’m pulled out of my thoughts by Xander asking, “You driving, Kai?”

“No. I’ll sit in the back with Briar.” Malachi throws Xander the keys as he opens the passenger side back door. He gestures for me to get in. Once I’m settled, he jogs around the back of the car to get in the other side.

“Why don’t I ever get to drive?” Bastian whines when Malachi gets in the car.

“Because you drive like we’re being chased by hellhounds, even when we’re just going to the store.” I chuckle at the mental image Malachi created. At my laughter, Bastian’s pout transforms into a grin. He turns to face forward as Xander puts the car in drive.

“Where do you live?” I ask, staring out the window at the forest that surrounds WHU.

When I don’t get an answer, I glance around at the Grimm brothers. They’re exchanging shifty looks. Bastian turns to me. “About that,” he starts, pausing like he isn’t sure how to finish.

Maybe my mental calculation was wrong on the likelihood of getting murdered by them. They’re being really secretive about where they live, which doesn’t bode well for me.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Malachi says when Bastian takes too long. “Our last name isn’t Grimm. It’s Wyldhart. We live in the Wyldhart Mansion.”

My stomach drops at Malachi’s revelation. I can feel a panic attack coming on with the way my heart rate speeds up, my breathing comes in shallow pants, and blackness crowds the edges of my vision.

It’s so much worse than them being serial killers. They’re the fucking Wyldhart heirs. Sons of Patrick’s sadistic business partner. The stories Patrick’s told me about Valentine Wyldhart’s exploits make Patrick look like a benevolent saint.

Jesus fucking Christ on a goddamn bike.

I fucked up. Big-time.

“Briar,” Malachi’s sharp voice calls, breaking me from my racing, panicked thoughts. “You’ve clearly heard bad things about our family. Everyone in this small town has. I can promise you whatever you’re freaking out about isn’t true.”

A hysterical laugh bubbles up in my throat, but I force it down. Of course he’s going to deny everything bad about his father. That’s what you do for family.

His statement makes me think over all the awful things I’ve heard about Valentine Wyldhart. Patrick hasn’t told me a single stomach-turning story about the Wyldhart sons. It’s not fair to judge them based on what their father does. Case in point, I’m nothing like my stepfather. Everything I’ve seen from them in the past two months indicates they’re not monsters.

Feeling the vice grip on my chest ease, I know I need to decide for myself if they’re trustworthy, not go based on reputation. My gut says I can trust them, though.

Before I decide, I need to see what their opinion of Patrick is. “Do you know Patrick Wynfield well?” I ask when I’m sure my voice will come out steady, not coated in panic.

“He’s a sadistic fuck. Stay away from him, Briar,” Xander tells me in a serious voice, meeting my eyes in the rearview mirror.

I want to laugh at that. I would stay away from him if I could.

“Yeah, he’s bad news, pretty girl,” Bastian informs me. “He does some business with Dad, but Dad tries to interact with Patrick as little as possible. How do you know him?”

Out of the corner of my eye, I can see Malachi staring at me with a pensive look on his face. I hope I didn’t reveal too much by asking about Patrick, but I needed to know if they were chummy with him.

Before I get the chance to respond, Bastian continues, “I forgot, you probably know his daughter. She’s a few years older and a freshman at WHU. He also has a younger daughter. Her name is….”

With my eye on Malachi, I see the exact moment he puts it together. I want to scream at myself. There had to be a better way to gauge if they were trustworthy, but I panicked. I asked without thinking things through. Now he knows.

“Ava,” I say softly, seeing no point in pretending to be oblivious anymore.

“What?” Bastian asks, not having put the puzzle pieces together like his brother.

“Patrick’s daughter is named Ava.”

“How do you know that?” Bastian tilts his head in confusion.

“Because she’s Patrick Wynfield’s stepdaughter, aren’t you, Briar?” Malachi asks me in a deceptively quiet tone. I can hear the anger simmering in his question.