Page 51 of Claimed By Fur and Fangs

“We need to find out how Orson is alive and who’s behind this,” I said, pacing the room. “Julian, start digging into any recent activity from rival vampire clans. Fergus, I need you to reach out to our contacts. Someone had to have helped him.”

They nodded, and we got to work. Hours passed as we sifted through intel, the tension thick. Then, Julian’s phone rang. He glanced at the screen, his expression darkening.

“It’s an unknown number.”

“Answer it,” I said, my voice tight.

Julian put the call on speaker, and a cold, familiar voice filled the room.

“Julian,” Orson said, his tone dripping with malice. “It’s been a long time.”

“Orson. What do you want?” Julian’s jaw tightened.

“I want to speak with your boss,” Orson sneered. “Put Aidan on the phone.”

“I’m here, Orson. What do you want?” I stepped forward, my voice low and dangerous.

There was a pause, and then Orson laughed—a chilling, hollow sound.

“Aidan. I’ve been waiting for this moment for over a century. You thought you could kill me? You thought you could end me? I’ve come back from the dead, and I’m going to make your life a living hell.”

“You’re a fool if you think you can take me on, Orson. You failed once. You’ll fail again,” my fists clenched at my sides, but I kept my voice steady.

“Oh, this isn’t just about you,” Orson said, his voice dripping with venom. “This is about Alma. This is about making you suffer the way I suffered. And I’m going to start with Amelia.”

The room went silent, the weight of his words sinking in.

“You touch her, and I’ll destroy you,” I growled, my voice trembling with rage.

Orson laughed again.

“You can try, Aidan. But this time, you won’t win. I’m coming for you. And when I’m done, you’ll wish I’d stayed dead.”

The line went dead, and the room was left in stunned silence.

“Julian, double the security at Finn’s location.”

“Okay sir, I will get to it,” Julian said and left.

The room felt suffocating after Orson’s call. His threat loomed, and rage, fear, and guilt churned inside me. I grabbed whiskey, took a swig, but it didn’t help.

“Aidan,” he said quietly, his voice steady but laced with concern. “Don’t let him get to you. Orson’s playing mind games. He wants you to lose focus.”

I slammed the bottle down on the table, the sound echoing through the room.

“Mind games?” I barked, my voice rising. “He’s not just playing games, Fergus. He’s back. He’s alive. And he’s coming for Amelia. For her. Because of me.”

Fergus stepped closer, his expression softening.

“This isn’t your fault. Orson’s the one who betrayed you. He’s the one who sided with the rival clan. He’s the one who caused Alma’s death.”

“Is he?” I snapped, whirling around to face him. My chest heaved as the words spilled out, raw and unfiltered. “Because sometimes, Fergus, I can’t help but blame myself. Alma and I… we had a fight that night. A stupid, heated argument. I was angry, and I stormed out. I left her alone. If I had stayed, if I hadn’t been so damn stubborn, maybe I could have protected her. Maybe she’d still be alive.”

I grabbed a glass from the cabinet and poured another drink, my hands shaking so badly that the whiskey sloshed over the rim. I downed it in one gulp, the burn doing nothing to numb the pain.

“Fuck!” I exclaimed in a fit of frustration as I hurled the glass across the room. It shattered against the wall, shards scattering across the floor.

Fergus didn’t flinch. He just stood there, watching me with that same steady gaze.

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