Chapter 55 – IVY #2
"Probably stole them. Monsters don't buy flowers. They just take whatever the hell they want."
I watch Wraith retreat to the wall, making himself smaller, less threatening. Less real. My heart breaks as he tries to disappear while still being present for this woman who thinks of him as nothing but a nightmare come to life.
The teddy bear in my hands feels pathetic now, but I hold it out anyway. Maybe if I can make her happy, even for a moment, it'll mean something to him.
"Oh, I almost forgot," I say, choking down the urge to say so much more to her. If only for Wraith's sake. "I brought you something too. Thought you might like a friend."
The transformation is instant and unsettling. Years fall from her face as she reaches for the bear with childlike delight.
"For me?"
"Of course. Every room needs a teddy bear."
She cradles the plush toy against her chest, and for a moment, she seems almost normal. Almost like a mother who might remember she has a son who loves her.
"I had one just like this when I was little. Papa won it for me at the county fair. Threw three perfect pitches in a row." She gives me a sly look. "Grant could have done that, and more. He was so strong. Could've done anything if he hadn't..."
"Tell me about him," I say, because keeping her calm seems like the safest option.
And she does. Story after story about her first husband. Their wedding, his deployment, the day he left for the last time. She talks about him like he's still alive somewhere, just temporarily away.
And through it all, she mentions "our son" in passing. Like he's just a footnote in her love story with her deceased husband instead of the devoted son standing right there, listening with his back turned to us, still picking at the flowers in the vase, making them perfect.
It makes me want to cry.
"Grant would have protected us," Claire says suddenly, her voice dropping as her fingers tighten on the teddy bear. "He wouldn't have let it happen. Wouldn't have let that... that monster hurt our baby."
The temperature in the room plummets.
Wraith's shoulders and muscled back go rigid through his shirt.
"What do you mean?" I ask slowly, even though every instinct screams at me to leave it alone.
Claire's eyes dart to Wraith, then away quickly. “It killed him. Killed my beautiful boy and wore his face like a mask. But it couldn't get it quite right. Just the part you can see—my son's eyes. It keeps the rest of it hidden so you can't tell it comes straight from the very bowels of hell.”
My blood turns to ice. She's not just confused. She's created an entire narrative where her son died in some kind of accident and was replaced by something else.
“I kept that monster in the basement where it belonged for as long as I could. But it got out. And now it walks around pretending to be my son, fooling the entire world.”
The words don't sink in right away. When they do, my stomach lurches violently. The room tilts.
She kept Wraith in the basement.
She kept her child locked in a basement because she couldn't accept what he looked like.
I have to grip the chair to stay upright. The smell of antiseptic and flowers suddenly makes me want to vomit. My eyes flick to Wraith, who looks like he wishes the floor would swallow him whole.
"The... basement?" My voice comes out strangled. “You kept... him... in the fucking basement?”
“Had to,” she says matter-of-factly, with all the conviction of a person completely gripped by delusions. “Of course, the police believed its lies. Believed it's my son. But you're a smart girl. You believe me, don't you?"
I can't breathe.
Oh my god. I can't breathe.
"GET IT OUT!" The scream explodes from her with shocking force and she hurls the teddy bear at Wraith. "GET IT AWAY FROM ME!"
Everything happens so fast. She lunges from her chair with her nails extended like claws. I move without thinking, trying to get between them, to protect him from her even though he's three times her size. But Wraith's faster, shifting his massive body to shield me instead.
Her nails rake across his face.
The sound of fabric tearing fills the room as her rough, chewed nails catch the edge of his mask, ripping it away at the seam. Blood sprays from where she's torn through the thin scar tissue over his eye and Wraith's huge hands fly up to cover his face with a shocked, pained snarl.
But not fast enough.
I see—
I don't know what I see.
My brain refuses to assemble the pieces into a coherent picture other than teeth. Teeth, impossibly sharp and exposed in a permanent rictus grin. The flash of one side I glimpsed in his loft wasn’t all of it. Not even close.
My still half-wild omega hindbrain is shrieking at me to run, to submit, to bare my throat to the predator. I tell it to shut the fuck up. That's my mate.
All I see are those beautiful blue eyes that are always so full of love and devotion, now locked with mine and pleading with naked terror above his scarred hands like he’s bracing for me to scream, too.
He thinks I'm going to reject him just like she did.
I shake my head hard to clear the momentary shock and slam my inner omega into the box where it belongs, reaching for Wraith.
He jerks away from me the moment my hands brush his arms, backing up fast enough that his hip collides with the dresser. The vase and all the beautiful flowers he so carefully arranged shatter on the floor.
Claire points and screams at him like he’s a monster from a horror movie. “A WRAITH! A DEMON! GET IT AWAY!”
A wraith.
That’s why he calls himself that.
Wraith bolts, crashing into something in the hallway that sounds like a cart full of supplies spilling everywhere. He’s gone so fast, I can barely register what the fuck just happened.
"That's your SON!" I cry, rounding on Claire, my voice cracking on the words as tears sting my eyes. "Your son who drives five hours to bring you flowers! Your son who loves you and just wanted you to—"
"It's brainwashing you!" she snarls.
“He is my scent match,” I grit out. “My mate.”
And I love him.
Oh, gods, I love him.
She starts screaming again.
But I'm already running out the door.
To be continued…