Chapter 168

#Chapter 168 – Joyce Evelyn’s blood runs cold in her body. Joyce. She fights the urge to snarl at him. Instead, she keeps her face impassive, saying nothing.

“How ironic,” Joyce says, looking slowly around at everyone in the room. “That my ex-wife shows up on the same day that my current wife abandons me.”

No one says a word. Joyce just smirks, closing the distance between himself and Evelyn. “Perhaps I’ll just take you back,” he says softly, raising a hand towards Evelyn’s face.

Evelyn works to stay perfectly still as he runs a finger down her cheek, but she can’t help her wince as his finger presses against her bruise.

“After all,” Joyce murmurs. “Sisters are basically interchangeable.”

His eyes rove over her and he smirks. Evelyn knows, instinctually, that he’s thinking of their wedding night, when he took her virginity –

That horrible night when she had failed to please him and he had taken out his anger on her, punishing her the next day by making her sit in a closet and watch as –

Evelyn presses her eyes closed, working hard to dismiss the memory. She hears him chuckle. He knows, it seems, precisely what she’s thinking about.

Evelyn’s eyes fly open, though, and her gaze snaps down as she hears Ian growl beside her, his teeth fully bared at this man. Joyce laughs down at him.

“Well, little pup,” Joyce laughs, leaning down to get a look at him. Ian’s growl only deepens, his fingers beginning to arch into his claws.

“Handsome boy,” Joyce says, looking back up at Evelyn. He raises an eyebrow. “Are you sure he’s not mine?”

Evelyn works fast, scooping Ian up in her arms and pressing him against her before he can say a word in defense of his father.

“Don’t speak to him,” Evelyn snarls, “don’t you dare say a word to my son.”

“And why, Evelyn,” Joyce says, his voice caressing the sound of her name, “why would I have any reason to believe that he’s not my son? After all, you had both of us within the same twenty-four hour period.”

Joyce turns his cruel attention to the back of Ian’s head. “Whose to say his seed took root in you while mine did not?”

Ian struggles in her arms, fighting to turn and give this man a piece of his mind –

“Perhaps,” Joyce says slowly. “It is a 50/50 split. One twin for him, and one for me.” Slowly, he gives her a despicable smile.

“A pretty little fantasy for you, Joyce,” Evelyn says, her voice scathing. “Except we all know that that’s impossible.” She flicks her eyes down towards his crotch and then back up to his eyes. “Or else why haven’t you given Emma a child, in six years? Or any of the whores you frequent?”

Joyce’s face goes red at this, but Evelyn ignores him. She turns and dips her head to her father. “May I go?” she asks. “My son is tired.”

Her father, watching her closely, nods his head. With that, Evelyn walks right past Joyce and out of the room.

s**t. s**t.

She hurries away, heading for the stairs.

“Mama, who was that,” Ian growls, looking back over her shoulder.

“That was Joyce, baby, auntie Emma’s husband.”

“I hate him,” he says, his voice rumbling as Evelyn climbs the steps.

“I know, sweetheart,” she responds, quickly entering her childhood bedroom and putting her son down on the bed. She puts one finger to her lips, bidding him to be quiet, and then moves to take out the little record player that she knows is still kept in the bottom drawer of the desk.

Placing it on the desk’s surface, she plugs it in and puts on an old children’s record – one she liked as a kid. Then, she beckons Ian to come close to her. She settles on the floor and he sits on her lap.

“I hate him too, baby,” Evelyn whispers, her mouth close to Ian’s ear. “But we can’t talk about it freely, and I don’t know if your grandfather put microphones in this room. So, we have to be very careful what we say. Do you understand?”

He nods up at her, glancing at the record player with confusion.

“If we speak very quietly while this is on,” Evelyn whispers to him, “then probably no one will hear us.

We can risk it. But unless this is on, and we’re whispering, we have to play our parts.”

Ian nods and lifts his mouth to her ear.

“Mama, he said such bad things about you. I wanted to kill him.”

Evelyn nods, understanding, her mouth quirking up at her bloodthirsty little boy. “I know, he’s really rotten, isn’t he?”

“But Ian,” Evelyn continues, her voice serious again, “you have to remember – you cannot defend your father here. I saw that you wanted to downstairs – but you can’t do that. We have to pretend like daddy is a bad person. People like Joyce are clever – they’re going to say mean things about him to try to trip you up.”

She pauses and looks Ian seriously in the eye. “Do you understand?”

He nods to her. “I’m sorry mama. I won’t make the same mistake twice.”

“I know you won’t, kiddo,” she whispers, giving him a warm smile. “Now, let’s get settled in. We have big things coming up.”

Evelyn and Ian don’t go downstairs again that night, instead pleading exhaustion and emotional distress. They stay cuddled up in bed, reading through the books that Evelyn collected and loved as a child.

It’s a surprisingly peaceful day, considering all of the things that the pair have planned. But still, with a plan like this, there was bound to be some downtime. Now it was just their job to wait until Emma and Delia enacted their own part of the plan.

At around dinner time, a knock comes at the door and Evelyn calls out that they can come in. The door swings open to reveal her mother, carrying a tray.

“You two must be hungry,” she says with a smile.

“Grandmama!” Ian says, looking eagerly at the tray. “Did you bring us dinner?”

“I did indeed,” she says happily, coming in and placing the tray on the bed. It is a warm, hearty meal of chicken soup and crusty brown bread. Evelyn closes her eyes and sniffs, savoring the scent.

“Did you make this for us, mom?” she asks, smiling at her. Her mother rarely cooked, but she always made soup when her children were sick, and it was always delicious.

“Yes,” her mother says, putting out a hand to caress Evelyn’s cheek. “I know you are not sick, but I thought you might be a little heartsore. I hope that this will help.”

Ian eagerly takes a bowl and a spoon, sitting back against the pillows to eat. Evelyn stays close to her mother, but digs in as well.

The three spend a happy hour chatting about nothing, Evelyn doing her best to get simple details out of her mother. She discovers that John and Joyce have been spending quite a bit of time with Willard at his Beta encampment, and that both Alphas have entrusted Joyce with a great deal of responsibility there.

“It seems to me rather a mistake, to let him get so engrained in their systems of power,” her mother says with a little frown of chagrin. Evelyn quirks her head to the side, curious.

In response, her mother just sighs. “You know, I’ve never been a fan of that man. But for some reason your father believes in him.”

Evelyn shrugs, not willing to respond and show her hand. “I’m just glad to be home,” she says, lying a little, though it is good to spend time with her mother. She forces herself to yawn. “I think we might turn in, though. We’ve had a long couple of days.”

“I understand, darling,” her mother says, putting a hand on her cheek. “We’ll talk more in the morning.”

Evelyn nods and Ian says his goodbyes. Then, after she closes the door, Evelyn goes over to the record player and puts on a lullaby. The two curl up in the bed, Evelyn pulling the old worn comforter over their heads. She brings her face close to Ian’s to whisper to him.

“Baby,” she says, “I wasn’t expecting your grandfather to put you under his Alpha command and say that you couldn’t speak to anyone off the grounds. I know I won’t be able to but…I don’t know if it will work for you, because you’re not technically part of his pack. Can you check?”

Ian looks at her, confused.

“Check and see if you can talk to Alvin,” she says, tapping his forehead with her finger, “with your mind?”