Chapter 243

Grace

The house was quiet, an oppressive silence that felt heavier than the weight of despair clinging to me. Charles had helped me inside, I didn't stay in the living room. He walked me back to my room and I lay there for hours. His worried gaze felt like a burden, but he left me alone. I'd listened to Eason, Ethan, and George leave. I heard Charles take Cecil and Richard downstairs.

Alone with my thoughts, I lay across my bed. The report kept flashing through my mind. My vision blurred as tears welled up again, the stark reality of the words swimming before my eyes.

Five years.

Just five years...

Cecil would barely be ten.

Five years to live a life, to love, to make a difference. It felt like a sick joke, a cruel punishment for everything I'd done and hadn't done. My mind kept replaying Eason's words, his tear-streaked face etched in my memory. Was he telling the truth? Would I really have crumbled before Cecil's birthday if he hadn't intervened?

The doubt gnawed at me. It was a poisonous seed filling me. A part of me, a cynical, distrustful part, couldn't shake off the suspicion that he was lying or not disclosing the whole thing. But maybe that was just false hope, hope that he was wrong.

The questions swirled in my head. Everything seemed so uncertain. Five years. Five years to find a way not to die in five years. The drug wasn't even on the market and at the rate things were going...

A sob escaped my lips, a raw sound that tore through the silence of the room. Five years wasn't enough. I was already drowning in trying to get the challenge circle off. It wasn't enough time to do everything I wanted, to see Cecil grow, to hear Richard's first words.

It wasn't enough time to live.

I felt sick. It felt like a death sentence...

I swallowed as the thought echoed through me.

It felt like a death sentence because it was, but it wasn't yet.

I sat up. Five years was five years away. I had time. Not much, not forever, not all the time I thought I would, but I had time.

I got up, scrubbing my face. I had to get up. I had to figure out how best to use my time. I looked at my wrist.

A year was too far away. I couldn't let a whole year be eaten up by this damn challenge. I opened the door. The patent had to go through. I went to my office and started to pack my briefcase and all my notes. The drug had to get to market as soon as possible.

I could hear the clock ticking in my head. I'd wasted so much time crying. I grabbed everything I thought I needed and headed downstairs. It was dark outside. I didn't hear Esme, but Charles was in the kitchen.

"Hey," he smiled. "Are you planning to leave?"

"Yes," I said. "I don't have a lot of time to--"

I broke off as a wave of lightheadedness came over me. I shuddered and caught myself. Charles was on the other side of the island and steadying me within seconds. He led me to the bar.

"Easy," he whispered.

A wave of exhaustion washed over me, pulling me under the heavy cloak of fatigue. My eyelids drooped, threatening to shut.

"Tired."

"You haven't eaten much," he said gently. "I'll get you something."

I nodded, leaning on the counter. My head started to throb. Then, I heard the front door open. I sat up straighter, my heart pounding in my chest as I listened intently. Was Eason back? It didn't sound like it. The voices were male still, unfamiliar yet strangely intriguing. One was deep and gravelly, the other lighter.

Charles pushed a plate across the island toward me. He set a steaming mug beside the plate of food.

"Eat up."

I picked up the mug with a grateful nod, the warmth seeping into my chilled hands. The scent of chocolate, sweet and comforting, filled my senses. The food made my stomach growl, but I drank slowly.

"Who's here?" I asked, looking at Charles.

He tilted his head and smiled. His gaze flickered towards the hallway.

"I think it would be better for you to see rather than tell you."

Curiosity piqued, I pushed myself to my feet, the movement stiff and awkward. I swooned a bit. Then, I headed around the corner into the main hallway. I came face to face with two figures I had only ever seen in a faded photograph in a frame that had once been in my mother's office.

The man was tall and imposing, his face etched with lines that spoke of a life lived fully, a life marked by hardship and responsibility. His eyes, a startling shade of emerald green, held a mixture of concern and anger that sent a shiver down my spine.

Beside him stood a young man, probably about as old as my father was when Eason was born. He looked young, but so much like the man standing beside him. Unlike the man, his face was open and friendly, a welcoming smile playing on his lips. Esme held the older man's hand.

For a moment, I stood frozen, speechless, my mind struggling to grasp the situation. These were the faces from the photo, but I didn't know them.

The older man stepped forward, his gaze filled with a complex mix of emotions.

"Grace," he rumbled, his voice deep and gravelly. "It's good to finally meet you. How are you feeling?"

There was a tremor in his voice, a hint of vulnerability that surprised me. My brows furrowed in confusion. What did he mean that he was finally meeting me?

"Who are you?" I blurted out, the question echoing the turmoil in my mind.

The older man's face softened slightly. "I am Ascher," he said, extending a hand towards me. "Your grandfather, on your mother's side."

My breath hitched. Grandfather? The word felt foreign on my tongue, a label that didn't quite fit. Yet, the longer I looked at him, and then to Esme, I started to put it together. The man beside him looked more and more like my mother the longer I stared at them.

I swallowed as the weight of Ascher's words settled in. My grandfather. The man staring at me with a mixture of regret and sorrow was somehow connected to me, part of the family I never knew. Mom hadn't talked much about her parents that I remembered. I didn't even...

"Stormclaw," I said suddenly, blinking at Esme. "That means..."

She smiled and nodded. Her flashing eyes were all too much like Eason. I shuddered, remembering the rush of pain that had hit me when he'd severed my lycan side. I felt sick thinking about it.

Ascher gave Esme a bag before coming toward me.

"You should sit and eat. You look... pale."

I swallowed and let him lead me back to the kitcehn.

"Chief Ascher," Charles said with a nod.

"If you could..." he sighed. "Leave us for a moment, Your Majesty?"

Charles nodded. He passed a hand over my shoulder as he left. Ascher settled on my left, Esme was on my right and the man leaned on the island with a smile, staring at me.

"She was a little troublemaker," the younger man said. "Something tells me that you inherited a lot from her."

"You didn't give me your name."

"It's Gracian," he said. "Good to meet you , Grace... I never thought she'd actually name you after me, the brat."

He sighed and shook his head. "I should have kept a closer eye on her."

I swallowed and looked at them. "Why amy I just now meeting you?"

"The borders were closed for a long time," Ascher said. "Politics... And Helen was adamant that we not make waves."

He set his jaw. "I wanted to bring her back home, but it wasn't an option." He shook his head. "If I'd known we'd be here, I would have charged the border. Politics be damned."

Esme took my hand. "There's a lot to explain, don't feel like you have to hear it all at once."

I shook my head. "I... don't have that much time left."

"... how long?" Gracian asked.

"F-Five years," my voice cracked.

The silence felt like it would crush us all.

Ascher clenched his fist so hard, I heard his knuckles pop.

"I am so sorry about the curse, Grace. We failed you."

"How... so?"

He shook his head. "Your... aunt of a sort, she married into another clan. She lost her mind years ago. We had to commit her to Asylum, and she died not knowing who she was when she was barely thirty."

My heart lurched.

"Her father was a werewolf." Ascher glanced at me. "Her mother was a Stormclaw."

He paused. "We just thought... the shift had driven her over the edge, being around lycans so much and all. When your mother met your father and swore she was going to marry him, that they were mates, I didn't think of anything." He shook his head. "Not that I could have stopped her even if I had."