"I don't care that you're my mate. I will never... and I repeat, I will never be yours, Hunter." she grits her teeth, making Hunter smirk.
"Is that a challenge? We'll just have to see about that, sweetheart," he says, fighting his wolf for dominance...
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Abbie's POV
I was all smiles as the party continued, talking to old classmates and catching up with everyone. But I couldn't help but realize that Hunter kept a close eye on me.
Why was he suddenly all worried?
I finally realized when he placed his hand tightly around my waist. He cleared his throat, and I could see from the corner of my eye that he was mind-linking someone as his eyes went dark. I could hear the low growl from the back of his throat. His jaw was tight, and I could feel the tension in his body, making me tilt my head in concern.
I noticed he was looking toward the entrance, making me look towards it as well.
My eyes went wide; I felt my heart speed up and my blood run cold as I saw my father, Armand, strolling through the door. My stepmother was no longer by his side. There was another woman next to him, short in stature compared to him. He no longer looked like the menace he once portrayed. He looked rather sickly. His body was no longer a tower of muscles but frail, thin, and... Weak.
The woman standing next to him looked timid, uncertain of whether she should be here or not, that's for sure. She was in some way- the same as my stepmother: thin body, soft features, and a noble smile. She looked lovely, actually. It seems he takes a liking to girls who are too nice and too naive. If only she knew who he really was, I bet she'd make a run for it.
Or perhaps- she already knew but was too scared to leave, knowing he could probably break all of her bones if she even tried. The only difference was that my stepmom had wavy and dirty blonde hair. This girl had long, silky brown hair. Same dark brown eyes and wore very light makeup.
But what made my heart skip was the little girl in his arms. She looked not much older than Jesse. She's probably six or seven at the most. The little girl clutched her tiny hands around his neck as if he were the most loving father in the world.
She looked like a spitting image of him: same dark eyes, dark black hair, and fair skin with rosy tone cheeks. I could tell from here that she had light freckles resting over her cheekbones and nose. Her long, dark eyelashes batted, and her mouth gaped open as she looked around the big ballroom.
Intrigued by the little girl, I used my werewolf hearing to listen to her. Not very polite, but hey, sue me! I'm curious.
"Daddy, this place is so beautiful," she says in a tiny squeaky voice. "Do you like it, baby?" "I do. It's so pretty!" she replied, making me fist my hands in anger.
This is not the same Armand Montero I remembered. What the hell happened to him? And why is he suddenly so fucking lovely? I longed all my life to feel loved by him, for him to stop torturing me and treating me like garbage, but all I got were beatings after beatings.
Tara was standing just meters away. She turned, anger written on her face as she stormed toward them, and for once, I saw worry in my father's eyes. "What the hell are you doing here? I thought I told you not to come? Leave, right now?" she grits her teeth, standing before my father.
