Page 125 of Villainous Fate

She looks older today. Crazy how losing someone can do that.

Losing two someones.

At the thought of Grace, my heart skips a little. I know it's wrong, and I know I shouldn’t, especially sitting in her ex-boyfriend’s waiting room, but I miss her.

I went by her house the night before. She was frantic and terrified Giovanni would find a way to cheat and defeat Deacon. She’d found out from Ashley that he’d challenged the Alpha for the pack. She and I were both confused by his decisions.

Deacon never wanted the pack.

Deacon never wanted to lead.

Why was he fighting him?

The answer came later: it wasn’t about power, revolution, or hatred. It was about control. That decision was something he could control. In a world where everything he believed had fallen apart, he was grasping at straws, and it hurt to know how much he was lost and hurting.

We’d agreed to show him our support despite knowing he wouldn’t want us there. We needed him to know we still cared for and loved him. No matter where we ended up, he would always be a part of our story, and we both hoped that in time, The Fates would reveal their master plan that would make all of this pain have meaning.

My Alpha had given me only another twenty-four hours to get my affairs in order before I was supposed to report back to Vegas. Originally, Grace was going to stay in Reno to try to get him to understand, forgive us, or at least ease the pain, but after the conversation at the treehouse yesterday morning, she changed her mind.

“We should leave together. He doesn’t need me reopening his wounds over and over. I’ve hurt him enough. He deserves time to heal.”

I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t overjoyed at the prospect of having her by my side. She is the most important thing in my world now, and I’d do anything to make her happy. I only hoped that one day, she would get her best friend back.

He’s important to her, and as much as my wolf wants to mark her with our bite and our scent so the world knows she belongs to us, I know part of her will always be his.

We all have a past that built the foundations of who we are. Deacon is a part of hers, and she wouldn’t be the Grace I know without him.

“We can give him space, but we aren’t giving up on him.”

I remember saying to her before we discussed moving her dad down at the end of the summer, giving him a place in our pack, and putting him on my council.

A fresh start for us all.

“Cap?” a hand lightly touches my shoulder, causing me to jump. “You can head in there now. He’s ready,” Ashley says, turning back to the desk.

Shaking my head, I realize Linda took her box and left while I swam in my memories of the last two days. Ashley now sits behind the desk, a large monthly calendar on the desk that she begins adding things to.

Releasing a breath along with my nerves, I steel my spine, preparing myself for whatever he was going to throw at me.

When I enter, the brightness of the room surprises me. Large windows adorn the walls, their curtains fully open to let in the morning light. The rains from the day before are a distant memory. Deacon sits behind his father's old desk. Most of the items have been removed from the top and now sit in a box off to the side.

He holds a fountain pen in his hand, signing official-looking documents.

“Have a seat, Stone,” he says, his voice calm and neutral. His mask is firmly in place, and an air of purpose emanates from him as he organizes the pages.

For a moment, I’m not sure if my legs will cooperate, but eventually, I get them to move one in front of the other and plant myself across from him, my foot crossing over onto my knee to seem more relaxed.

Cool as a cucumber over here.

“Apologies for summoning you when you have packing to do, but I wanted to take advantage of your presence in my territory to iron out a treaty. I’m aware you aren’t in charge of Vegas yet, but I know that you will be. According to the information I was briefed earlier this morning, your Alpha has been bedridden for the last month. His pancreatic cancer has advanced. Now, I know he had his heart set on his son, but you and I know he won’t step up,” Deacon says, his tone professional, cordial, detached.

“As you are the likely alternative, I’d like to set some firm boundaries to keep our packs working together for the good of us all.”

My mind reels. The Deacon Marlo sitting in front of me feels like the body-snatched version. No snark. No sass. No real emotion whatsoever.

I’m speechless, unsure how to proceed.

“You want to sign a treaty?” I ask, my mind incapable of wrapping itself around this being a standard alliance meeting when, less than thirty-six hours ago, he punched me in the face.

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