Chapter 28: More Hatred Than Before
Meredith.
"You don’t want to answer the question?" Draven asked, casually spearing a large chunk of grilled chicken. "Did I touch a soft spot?"
He popped the meat into his mouth and began chewing slowly—methodically—like he had all night to sit here and peel me open.
I stared at him, saying nothing. My lips pressed into a hard line. My silence was my last line of defense, and I wasn’t ready to let it fall.
But he didn’t back off.
"I’m guessing here," Draven continued, his voice calm, almost curious. "Given the depth, shape and direction, I would say it was a claw. Not a blade. And from the way it curves at the edge—it wasn’t a full swipe. One claw. Likely the index finger of a werewolf."
I blinked. My chest tightened.
His guesses were too close. Too exact.
He chewed slowly, swallowed, and lifted a spoonful of salad to his lips. I stared, stunned, as he continued without waiting for me to recover.
"Your father hates you. That much is obvious. But he wouldn’t have touched your face. He would have left the mark somewhere hidden. Where it wouldn’t bring shame to the family name."
He swallowed again, unbothered. Unapologetic.