"And this one was a doozy."
"How can we tell who put the memories in the object?" Paul asked, proving he had an advanced ability to learn new information and roll with it.
Normally, people handed me the things that belonged to them. I didn't have to try to figure out who had left what. I was confident I could, but not without touching it again. Parsing through the different kinds of hate would be like separating them into flavors, deciding between jealous hatred and violent hatred.
There wasn't a part of me that wanted anywhere near that cup a second time, and though I felt a little silly fearing such a mundane object, I knew it had been used to do something awful. I leaned into Aver, stealing some of his strength. My alpha had enough to spare.
"You don't have to," Aver growled. "No one is making you." His face lifted, his words half promise, half challenge.
No one disagreed.
"Does he even need to?" Nash asked. "Disgraced alpha, is that only ringing a bell to me? And this is the Alpha's mansion. The Alpha was last person to die suddenly in this house. Everyone knew Alpha Walker drank tea in the evening. Many of the blends were given to him by his own mother."
"So you're saying Nana killed her son?" Wyatt asked.
"Don't be dim, Wy. I'm saying we know who was poised to benefit from Alpha Walker dying."
"But he died of natural causes," Julie said. "I saw the report."
Nash wasn't convinced. "Raise your hand if you don't think the Elders would lie about how Alpha Walker died or doctor an official report to suit their needs."
No one raised their hands.
"So we save Hollister the heartache and go take care of them," Nash addressed the crowd. "They must have scurried home, oblivious that Hollister was able to do what he can."
Most nodded their agreement, but not Paul. "We have to be sure." His face twisted with regret. "We can't just assume and grab our pitchforks. I wouldn't be a very good Alpha if that's how I allow the pack to find justice." He spoke loud enough for the room to hear. "We must be positive, but when we find the person responsible, they will pay."
My head pounded, making it difficult to keep up with the conversation. If I hadn't been a shifter, I likely would've split my skull open falling as hard as I had, but I'd heard enough to know I would need to touch that cursed thing again. If that cup had been used to kill someone, I would have to touch it again.
Paul grabbed the table, crouching to look me in the face. "I won't force you, Hollister. We can do this a different way."
I shook my head as Aver tightened the grip he had on my shoulder. "I'll do it."
Chapter Twenty
Aver
"We aren't throwing it in his palm and seeing what happens," I snarled, though no one had suggested as much. The entire pack, all those who had stayed for the naming ceremony, crowded in the kitchen, spilling out into the hallway and sitting room beyond.
I'd assumed my father's sudden absence after it was clear Paul would be Alpha was because he'd left to pout with my mother. Now I wondered if there hadn't been a more sinister reason.
"Paul, should we send guards to the former Elders' homes? Just in case?" I attempted to ask quietly enough that only Paul could hear me, but the room was too crowded for me to be very effective.
Paul shot me a grateful smile anyway.
I was confident in my decision. Paul was the best choice this pack had for Alpha, but no one could be expected to act perfectly from the first day. "Kyle and Del, go to Glendon and Clarice's. Do nothing but stand out of sight and watch. Ben, Tyrone, will you go to John's?"
The four shifters, Paul's new omega included, nodded and headed out.
"The children," Hollister whispered in my ear. "I'd feel better if Autumn was here."
"Wyatt, Nash?" I asked without looking away from my mate's face. I didn't like how pale he still was. He'd just given birth three days ago. It was a magical labor, but it had taken a lot out of him.
"We're on it."
Slowly, the rest of us migrated from the kitchen into the study. It was the largest indoor space—asking anyone to clear out at a time like this would only cause more fear—and the room was carpeted. I'd be there to hold him this time, but I wouldn't risk Hollister cracking his head again like he had. I'd heard that sound before I'd heard anything else, and though I'd been two rooms over, I'd known it was Hollister. I'd felt it.
Paul turned in a slow circle as he spoke. "I understand you're all scared and want to get to the bottom of this, but please give Hollister space. What he is about to do comes at a cost that I am asking him to pay, for us. So please, remain, but stay quiet and do not move. Does everyone understand?"
"Yes, Alpha," they chorused.
"What do you need us to do, Hollister? How will we know if it's too much?" Paul asked.
Hollister sunk down on the maroon velvet settee with his palms resting open on his lap. "Just, keep me from knocking my beautiful face into anything." My pet tried to joke, but his lips trembled, ruining the effect.
"You don't have to do this," I growled. He'd been told already, but I wanted him to know, mostly because I was hoping he'd decide he didn't want to. The Aver who hadn't spent a few weeks stewing in the woods and in his bad choices might have forbidden this from happening entirely. While I'd seen the error of my ways, I didn't ever want Hollister in pain.
He smiled, but not even he could hold the expression for very long. "I know. I'm ready. I can do this." He spoke to himself as much as us. "I'll tell you if it's too much. I'll just say stop, right?" His lips twitched into a smile, bringing back memories from a night that felt like it had happened years ago.
I kissed his forehead. "That's all you ever have to say."
Paul had the mug in his hands. "Just say stop," he said again, looking into Hollister's eyes and waiting for his nod before he lowered the white porcelain into Hollister's waiting palms.
The effect was instant. Hollister's fingers curled into a white-knuckle grip as his spine went rigid, and he sank into the settee. His lips twisted in a grimace before his mouth opened, and he spoke as if he had no control over the words or volume. "Hatred." That one word was breathy and shaky. "He grieves for an injustice. An inadequacy. He's never enough."
Hollister might as well have painted a picture of my father. It couldn't have been any clearer who he was talking about. He grimaced, squeezing his eyes tightly closed. The vein on his forehead throbbed, while his neck was so rigid the tendons looked as if they were trying to escape from under his skin. "She wants revenge. She wants the world as it was, the future as it had been."
That could've been either my mother or Delia, but it proved that more than one person had come in contact with this mug, which meant more than one person was responsible for the murder it had been used in.
"Death," Hollister growled, sounding so unlike himself I searched his face to make sure my mate was still there. "Death and rot…vengeance."
Hollister shook all over. His teeth clanged together while the muscles in his arms tightened, his fingers pressing so hard into the mug he snapped the handle off, and yet he continued to cling to it, rocking back and forth as he whispered too quietly for me to hear what he was saying.