Chapter 235

Charles

Eason didn't speak. He didn't even seem to answer. My mind reeled. What could I do? If he was still so deep in trance, even after what he'd done to Grace, what would it take for him to exhaust himself enough that he would come out of it enough?

And what exactly had he done to her?

I looked down. Grace was motionless in my arms, her face pale and drained. Eason stared down at her, and while the power seemed to ease down, he still said nothing. Esme looked hopeless, staring at Grace as if she had failed her. As if she were dead, but she was still breathing, shallowly. Not in pain, but different. She felt different in a way I couldn't describe or explain.

I looked over at Ethan. He was staring at Eason in complete silence. The blood coming from his arm had dried up. Though he still seemed to be in pain, he spoke first, seeming oddly calm.

"What the hell just happened?" he stammered, his voice laced with concern. He looked between Grace and Eason.

Eason still said nothing. Before I could answer, a deep growl came from George. It was asking, probing. He was trying to reach Eason. I followed suit, growling at him.

Talk to us.

He still said nothing. Had he lost it?

Esme started to cry, tears streaming down her face. Her sorrow and grief tinged the air with a bitter scent. I wrinkled my nose. Eason, his gaze fixed on Grace's unconscious form, remained silent. His expression, devoid of remorse or even surprise, sent shivers down my spine. It was as if he were a different person entirely. Would he come out of it? Could he come out of it? How long had he actually been in this trance? My anger warred with a deep sense of dread. This sort of trance was completely different than losing himself in the shift. I could send him to Asylum like this...but there was no telling what exactly he'd do next.

"Eason," I growled. "Tell us what you've done. "

Eason, however, remained impassive and silent, just staring at Grace in my arms. His lips twitched ever so slightly as if on the verge of a smile, but no sound escaped him. His silence, heavy and oppressive, felt more terrible than watching him do it. It was clear that whatever he'd done, it wasn't something he was willing to share. And as I stared into his eyes, a chilling dread started to settle on me. Whatever he'd done, his magic had felt it was what needed to be done, and even if he wanted to, he probably couldn't undo it. What did that mean for Grace?

I growled again. "Eason, please...."

I swallowed, my voice cracking.

"Say something."

To my surprise, a flicker of emotion, something akin to sadness, crossed his face for a fleeting moment before his mask of eerie calm settled back into place. He was still there somewhere.

"I'm sorry." I took a deep breath. I heard George let out a sigh of relief, but Esme didn't look any better.

He hadn't lost it. He was still here in some form, but the glow of his eyes hadn't subsided. The oppressive power that had filled the air moments before was still there, though it felt like it was dialing down. Grace twitched in my arms a bit.

"I know you didn't mean to hurt Grace--"

"No, Charles," he said, his voice surprisingly clear and without the guilt I expected. "Not that."

"You almost suffocated her."

"No."

I frowned. His words sent a fresh wave of confusion crashing over me. "

Then what did you do? What are you apologizing for?"

He lifted his gaze to meet mine. I felt something strike me deep inside in a way I had no idea how to understand.

"I know you might never understand or believe that it was necessary, but it was."

"What?" I asked.

He took a deep breath, his eyes filled with a strange mix of resignation and conviction. "Grace can't control her lycan side, Charles. She never could. She never would be able to either."

Esme let out a shuddering sob, shaking her head. Did that mean he was telling the truth and she knew about it, or she was just as shocked as I felt to hear it?

"Our mother knew it when we were kids," his eyes narrowed and drifted over to Esme. "It... explains so much now."

Esme shook her head, looking up at him. Her mouth moved to speak, but no words came out of her.

"What does that even mean?" I asked. "You... You shifted just fine. She shifted just fine. You're fine... I know she's been sort of lost in the shift, but she was... getting better."

At least, I thought she was. We'd managed to have that conversation last night. She'd felt clearer-headed than I had felt since the shift.

Eason shook his head. "Being with you poked a few more of her instincts than anyone had ever bargained for. You. Devin. The kids. You hadn't noticed that she was becoming more and more unhinged?"

I frowned. "She was just coming down from the shift."

He shook his head. "No... She wasn't. The fugue states. The holes in her memories... All of it are symptoms..." His lips twitched. "Unfortunately, therapy alone wouldn't have fixed it."

I went still. How had he known I suggested therapy? Grace wouldn't have told him. Maybe he'd suggested it to her, too, but that didn't feel like the answer.

He sighed and turned. "She would have hurt herself if it had gone on any further... more than she already has."

My mind raced, piecing together the fragments of information.

"You silenced her... Is that part of whatever you did to fix it?"

"Yes," Eason said. "The children are sleeping."

I swallowed and looked down at Grace again.

"And... what did you do to fix it?"

"Does that matter?" He asked, looking away.

I glared at him. "If you're so ashamed to admit it, it damn sure does."

Eason's gaze met mine, his expression resolute. "I'm not ashamed, Charles. There wasn't another way. This is the only way to keep her safe, to keep the pack safe."

His words were heavy with conviction, but I refused to accept them. Whatever he did was complex and could have unforeseen consequences. But before I could voice my protest, Esme's voice cut through the tension-filled silence.

"Just tell him, Eason," she said, sobbing. "At least tell us if it can be reversed."

"It can't.... but you knew that."

I looked at Esme as she shook her head. She looked sick as she cried.

"You know what he did," I said, looking at her.

"I'm sorry, grandma." Esme gasped and looked at Eason. He smirked. "Are you surprised that I know? That I remember?"

Her eyes widened. "All... this time?"

He nodded. "I didn't tell Grace because it really wasn't important... but I remember meeting you when I was a kid..."

Her eyes widened. "Tell me, Eason."

" I did what I had to do," he replied, his voice devoid of emotion.

"And who told you to do this?" I asked.

Eason met my gaze. "No one told me," he said. "I was instructed."

The single word hung heavy in the air. Esme shuddered and hung her head.

"I remember what you said then. I... wanted it, too."

She shook her head. "I regret more than anything... That moment."

I looked between the two of them, trying to figure out what they were talking about. Esme sniffled and got up.

"I think it would be best if we at least get her off the floor..."

I swallowed and nodded. I picked her up and carried her to the couch before joining them in the dining room. Esme had enchanted a bottle of whiskey to fill a teacup, though Eason seemed completely unbothered. George took Ethan upstairs to the room that had been prepared for him before coming back down, and we all settled in.

Esme took a deep breath.

"The Stormclaw line..." she shook her head. "There are things at work in the bloodline. I had always hoped that it would be necessary, but..."

She looked at Eason, whose eyes were still glowing just as brightly.

"You were... called."

He nodded.

She sniffled and nodded. "Then... there really is no other choice, as painful as that is. "

Eason turned his attention back to me, his expression unreadable.

"You may love Grace," he said, his voice low and measured. "But she could never sit on the throne beside you because she couldn't ever swear the full oath."

My blood went cold from the finality in his words. The question was on my tongue, but I couldn't get it out, almost terrified of the answer. My aunt's words rang through my head like a warning. A tense silence descended upon the room once more. The weight of Eason's words hung heavy in the air.

Then, George spoke up.

"What do you mean?"