Chapter 93: Jonathan’s Report.
Jonathan sat alone in his study, the clock on the wall ticking past midnight. The house was silent now, Angela hadn’t called in days, and the air felt heavy with something he couldn’t name. His desk was cluttered with papers, but his eyes were fixed on the small leather pouch sitting in the center. The suppression powder. The same one he’d used for years to keep Carla’s strength contained... to keep her weak. To keep her from becoming who she truly was.
He rubbed his thumb over the pouch, the texture rough against his skin, and for the first time in a long while, guilt stirred in his chest. He pushed it down before it could grow.
His phone buzzed on the desk. The name flashing on the screen made his pulse jump.
Maren.
Jonathan exhaled once, steadying his voice before answering. "Maren."
Her tone came sharp and cold through the line. "You’re late reporting."
"I know. Things have been... complicated."
"Complicated?" The word snapped like a whip. "You’ve had one job, Jonathan. Keep Carla subdued, monitor Bella’s location, and make sure no one from the human side starts sniffing around. And now I hear Angela’s been visiting lawyers and hospitals? Building a case. What exactly are you doing down there?"
Jonathan leaned back, fingers tightening around the phone. "Angela’s grieving. She’s looking for answers about Carla’s death. That’s all. She doesn’t know anything."
Maren’s voice dropped, dark and dangerous. "And yet, someone broke into your house looking for the safe. That doesn’t sound like a grieving widow stumbling in the dark. That sounds like someone getting too close."
Jonathan’s stomach twisted. He hadn’t told her that detail to invite this kind of wrath, but he knew keeping it from her would’ve been impossible. "I don’t know who it was. The safe wasn’t touched, and nothing’s missing. I’ve reinforced security—"
"You should’ve reinforced your competence."
Jonathan’s jaw clenched. "Angela’s human. She can’t hurt us. Once she sees the trail goes nowhere, she’ll give up. I’m handling it."
"No," Maren said flatly. "You’re cleaning up a mess you made. You let Carla slip through your fingers for years. You let her give birth to the Moonblood, and you let her raise the girl under your nose. Now she’s dead, and the daughter’s awakening, and you think I’m going to trust you to handle this alone?"
Jonathan looked at the pouch again. Carla’s scent still lingered in the corners of the house, faint and haunting. "I did what you asked. Carla’s gone. Bella’s contained. Right there in your school."
"Contained?" Maren’s voice rose, sharp as glass. "You think exile is containment? The forest was meant to break her, yes, but her wolf has awakened, Jonathan. That means suppression is over. She’s dangerous now."
He frowned, heart stuttering. "What? Bella awakened? Are you certain?"
"Don’t question me." The words hissed through the line. "I’ve been monitoring Whitethorn myself. The forest has become her trial ground, and she’s already killed one of the sentinels sent to test her. She’s growing faster than expected."
Jonathan swallowed hard. "So... what’s the plan now?"
Maren was silent for a moment, and then her voice carried through, low and deliberate. "The same as it was with Carla. Once she’s strong enough to expose herself, we eliminate her. Permanently. No more half-measures."
Something in Jonathan’s chest flinched. He remembered Bella’s small hands clutching his fingers when she was a child, calling him "Daddy," before the world changed. He’d always known she was a wolf. That was what attracted him to her in the first place. But then, Maren showed him what Carla really was. The last living survivor of the Moonblood lineage. His rival clan. How he missed that in the beginning he had no idea.
He pushed the memory away, the way he’d been taught. "Understood."
"I don’t think you do," Maren snapped. "You’ve been growing... soft. I can hear it in your voice. Are you doubting your loyalty?"
"No." The word came fast, instinctive. "I’m loyal to the clan."
"Then prove it. Increase surveillance on Angela. I want eyes on her at all times. Anyone she talks to, anyone who visits, anyone who shows even a hint of supernatural aura, you report it. Immediately."
Jonathan rubbed his temples. "Angela’s not in contact with anyone. She barely leaves the house. She’s grieving her dead sister."
"You’re missing the point," Maren said sharply. "Angela might be a pawn, but pawns can be used. If there are surviving Moonbloods still lurking, they’ll look for her. They’ll use her grief, twist it into revenge. We can’t afford that."
Jonathan’s voice dropped. "You think there are survivors?"
"There are always survivors," Maren said. "They scatter like rats, and if one of them finds her, they’ll try to get to Bella through her. I won’t allow it."
He nodded slowly, even though she couldn’t see him. "I’ll tighten surveillance. No one gets near her."
"Good," Maren said. "And Jonathan..."
"Yes?"
"If this spirals further, if Angela becomes a problem, or if Bella escapes Whitethorn...you’ll answer for it. Personally. I won’t protect you again."
The warning settled heavy in the air. Maren’s punishments were stories whispered even among her own people, whispers of screams, of minds shattered, of bodies never found.
"I understand," he said quietly.
There was a pause, and then her tone softened just slightly. "You’ve done good work before, Jonathan. Don’t let sentiment cloud your judgment now. Bella is not your daughter. She’s a weapon forged by Carla’s bloodline, and if you forget that, she’ll destroy everything we’ve built."
Jonathan’s throat tightened. He wanted to say something, anything, but there was nothing that wouldn’t sound like weakness.
Instead, he said, "What’s Bella’s timeline? How long until you make the move?"
"When the final phase begins, you’ll know," Maren said. "For now, stay in your lane. Watch Angela. Report everything."
The call ended with a sharp click.
Jonathan sat there for a long moment, staring at the black screen of his phone. The silence in the room pressed in, and suddenly, the house felt colder.
He reached into the top drawer of his desk and pulled out an old photograph, Bella at six years old, missing front teeth, clutching a stuffed bear. Carla’s hand rested gently on her shoulder, both of them smiling at him.
He remembered that day. They’d gone to the park. Bella had insisted he push her on the swing. He’d told himself, back then, that maybe he could build a life with them. That love was enough.
Then Maren came.
She’d told him all he knew today.
He’d believed Maren. He’d joined her.
And he’d watched Carla’s light fade under the suppression powder. Watched her grow weaker, year after year, until she stopped fighting.
He’d told himself it was mercy.
Now, sitting in the quiet house with ghosts in every corner, he wasn’t sure what it was anymore.
He forced the thought away and picked up his phone again. Hesitation flickered for just a second before he scrolled through his contacts and tapped a number buried deep in the list.
The line clicked, and a low male voice answered. "Tracker."
Jonathan cleared his throat. "It’s Jonathan. I have a job for you."
"Name and target?"
"Angela Rivers," he said. "Human female. Late forties. Lives on Oakwood Drive, near the old church. She’s recently lost her sister, Carla Rivers. I want eyes on her twenty-four seven."
"Parameters?"
"Discreet. No contact. If she meets anyone unusual, especially anyone with supernatural traces, you report immediately. If you see someone searching her house or approaching her, I want details. No mistakes."
The voice on the other end hummed. "You expecting Moonblood activity?"
Jonathan hesitated. "Possibly. Just watch her. You’ll be compensated."
"Understood." The line went dead.
Jonathan set the phone down and stared at the photograph again.
Bella had Carla’s eyes.
He clenched his jaw, shoved the photo into the drawer, and locked it.
He couldn’t afford memories now.
He’d made his choice long ago. Maren’s world didn’t allow second chances. You either stayed loyal, or you were erased.
Still, as he leaned back in the chair, exhaustion weighing heavy on his shoulders, a thought crept in, unwelcome, persistent.
What if Maren was wrong?
He shook his head. It didn’t matter. The girl was Moonblood. She’d always been marked.
Jonathan reached for the pouch again, fingers tracing the edge. The powder had done its job once. It could do it again if it came to that.
He just had to make sure Angela stayed quiet, Bella stayed contained, and Maren stayed satisfied.
Because if any of them slipped out of line, it would be his life on the line.
He exhaled, slow and tired, and stared out the window into the darkness beyond. Somewhere out there, Bella was fighting for her life. Somewhere out there, Angela was searching for answers.
And somewhere deep down, a small voice, one he’d buried years ago, whispered that maybe, just maybe, he’d made a mistake.
He silenced it with another breath and turned back to the papers on his desk.
There was no turning back now.
Bella’s fate had been sealed the day she was born. And so, it seemed, had his.