Chapter 140

Ava

The sound of pounding on the front door reverberated through my aching skull, each vibration sending fresh stabs of pain coursing through my temples. I groaned softly, blinking my bleary eyes in a futile attempt to force away the hazy fog that was clouding my mind.

What… What had happened?

Sluggishly, I pushed myself up from the cold tile floor into a seated position, my muscles screaming in protest. It was only then that I became aware of the utter chaos surrounding me: the kitchen table lay on its side amongst a mess of broken dishes and half-eaten cookies, chairs overturned haphazardly.

Ophelia and Leonard were sprawled a few feet away, waking up as well. Soft groans emanated from their lips; Ophelia’s arms shook as she pushed herself up, her hair askew and her mascara leaving black tracks down her face. Leonard looked like he might vomit, the strong Beta suddenly seeming to have shrunk into a husk of his former self.

A wave of panic gripped me as I tried to recall what had happened. The last thing I could remember was getting home after a long day and indulging in some cookies brought over by my neighbor, Gemma…

The pounding on the door intensified, ripping me out of my reverie. My friends and I exchanged confused glances before I managed to clamber to my feet.

“Coming!” I called out, my voice cracking hoarsely.

The few steps to the front door seemed to stretch on forever as I stumbled through the wreckage of my kitchen, bracing myself against the wall every few feet. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, I grasped the front doorknob and wrenched it open.

“Chris!” I gasped, my eyes widening at the sight of him standing on my porch with a wild look in his eyes. “What… What are you…?” I couldn’t even finish those words; the look of terror on his face stopped me, and instantly I felt my stomach drop.

Rather than answer, he thrust a bottle containing a familiar seafoam green liquid into my hands: moongrass juice. “Are you alright?” he demanded. “Did you… You didn’t eat or drink anything strange last night, did you, Ava? Drink the moongrass juice, quickly.”

I blinked owlishly at him as the realization dawned on me. “Cookies,” I breathed, whirling around to face Ophelia and Leonard, who had scrambled to their feet and were leaning on each other in the kitchen doorframe behind me. “We had cookies from my neighbor, and the next thing we knew…”

“Shit.” Chris whirled past me, his eyes widening when he saw the destruction in the kitchen. I hurried after him and clutched my necklace with one hand, taking a big gulp of the moongrass juice with the other. The semi-sweet liquid instantly calmed my roiling stomach, and I handed it to Ophelia and Leonard, who did the same.

“What’s going on?” Ophelia murmured, her voice hoarse as she wiped the moongrass juice off her lips with the back of her hands.

“We were all drugged,” Chris suddenly said without preamble, whirling to face us again. “Amelia drugged me on my date, tried to…” His voice cut off and he shook his head, shutting his eyes momentarily as though trying to force out a bad memory. “And you three were drugged with those cookies.”

I could only gape at him in stunned silence, bile rising in the back of my throat as the implications of his words hit me. Drugged…

“Moonbite powder,” I breathed, my hands curling up into fists at my sides.

Chris nodded solemnly. “Degas found me before Amelia could do… whatever it was that she was planning on doing,” he said. “But… He…”

His voice trailed off, but the implication was clear. “Is… Is he alright?” I managed, my voice hardly more than a croak.

A haunted look flickered across Chris’s face. “He’s at the clinic, but…” He shook his head grimly. “It’s not good. When he tried to stop Amelia, she… she attacked him. Shoved him so hard that he hit his head on the coffee table. There was so much blood…”

The words felt like a knife in my gut. Kind, sweet old Degas… How could someone do that to him?

My gaze drifted over toward Ophelia and Leonard, who were still wavering in the doorway with matching pale looks on their faces. Had Amelia orchestrated the cookies that Gemma had given us, somehow? Some sort of attempt to keep me incapacitated so she could make her move on Chris unimpeded?

A cold knot of dread coiled in the pit of my stomach at the thought. If that was the case, if Gemma was somehow involved in whatever nefarious schemes Amelia had concocted…

No. There was no time to waste thinking about what-ifs.

“We need to go to the clinic,” I murmured, my voice trembling. “Now.”

…

The journey to the clinic passed in a blur, my mind too hazy to comprehend much of anything while also being so full of whirling thoughts that it made me dizzy at the same time. Chris strode beside me, his shoulders tense and his fists clenched so tightly at his sides that I could see the tendons straining against his skin.

The sun was already out, although it was still early; around us, Moonstone was waking up, people coming out of their houses and watching us with worried expressions. News had already spread, no doubt, that our beloved Elder was in the clinic—again.

Neither of us spoke until we arrived at the clinic. We flung the glass doors open and strode inside, not even bothering to stop at the front desk. We made a beeline for the doorway that led deeper into the clinic, swept through the sterile white hallways, and ignored the startled glances and murmurs from the other staff and patients. Finally, we rounded a corner and found a weeping Beatrice slumped against the far wall.

She started at the sound of our rapid footsteps, her red-rimmed eyes widening as she scrambled to her feet.

“Alpha Chris… Ava…” she choked out, swiping at the tears streaming down her ashen cheeks. “My father…”

Without a word, I strode forward and gathered Beatrice into my arms. I said nothing, just held her tightly and stroked her back. Her long hair, usually pulled back into a neat bun, was loose and tangled from a night of tearing at it with her hands.

Beatrice sobbed, her body collapsing into me. Despite my own legs still being shaky from the drugs coursing through my system, I managed to keep us both upright, my eyes meeting Chris’s over her shoulder.

“Beatrice,” Chris said gently, taking a step forward and touching her shoulder, “is… is Degas…”

She whimpered and pulled back, wiping at her face with the back of her hand. “He’s still with us,” she murmured. “For now, at least.”

My breath caught in my throat at those words: for now. My eyes flickered over to Chris, and he seemed to share my realization. Degas was old, very old. He had only just been in the clinic a few days ago, and now he had hit his head—and in Chris’s words, he had lost a lot of blood.

Our Elder wouldn’t be with us for much longer.

“Beatrice, I’m so sorry,” I said gently as Chris’s face turned black. He turned away, clenching his jaw—no doubt blaming himself for what had happened.

Beatrice sniffled and shook her head, stepping aside. “He keeps asking about you two,” she said quietly. “You should go and talk to him. Before…”

Her voice trailed off, another choked sob making her words catch in her throat. With a soft “I’m sorry,” she turned and pressed her hand over her mouth, scurrying down the hallway to a nearby restroom.

Chris and I exchanged wary looks. There, behind the curtain, we could hear the sounds of beeping machines and Degas’s soft groans.