[Noah's POV]

"Where is my baby boy, Noah! Jake is just a kid!!! Where is he?"

Monica's screeching voice drilled into my temples, worse than the hangover I didn't have. She was pacing the Persian rug of my father's study, clutching a handkerchief she hadn't actually used to wipe any tears.

"For the last time, Monica," I said, my voice dangerously low as I leaned against the mahogany desk. "I didn't take Jake. I don't eat my own kind, no matter how incompetent they are."

"But the news said ...