Chapter 24 #2
I crossed my arms and leaned against the wall, watching the scene unfold with a weird swirl of amusement and unease.
This was Katherine’s first time seeing Darian since the growth. First time seeing what Addison had done. I couldn’t blame her reaction. Yesterday she’d had a grandson who looked four. Today she’d walked into a birthday party and found a kid who looked old enough to ask for a cell phone.
That wasn’t normal.
Nothing about this was normal.
After we’d gotten home last night and finally put Darian to bed, Katherine had called. Marcus had explained everything. The laboratory. Addison. The disease. The growth catalyst. All of it.
And judging by the way Katherine kept looking at Darian now, I knew she was still trying to process it. The same way I was. The same way all of us were.
Because Addison hadn’t just changed how Darian looked. She’d changed the future we’d imagined.
School would come sooner. Responsibilities would come sooner.
Everything would come sooner.
And no amount of birthday cake was going to give those lost years back.
Still. Watching Darian laugh as Katherine fussed over him, watching him sneak a second cupcake when he thought nobody was looking, watching him grin exactly the same way he always had...
I realized something. Yes, Addison had changed a lot.
But she hadn’t changed him.
Not really.
My son was still my son.
And right now, that was enough.
I looked between the two women. My mother, bossy and dramatic, who was still mourning all the birthdays she’d missed.
And my mother-in-law, cool and composed, who kept staring at Darian like she was trying to memorize every detail of him all over again.
Family. Gotta love ’em.
“You having a good time?” came a female voice next to me.
I turned and found Iris and Ronin standing next to me. “I think so.”
Iris laughed. “You need a glass of wine.” She slipped her arm through mine and tugged me gently toward the dining room.
Ronin followed behind, muttering, “I need another beer.”
We passed Beverly, still sandwiched between the two flirt-dazed men like some kind of witchy VIP. She winked at us. “If any of you need me, I’ll be weighing my options.”
“Right,” I said under my breath.
Iris poured me a generous glass of red and handed it over like a pro. “So,” she said, her tone casual but her eyes knowing, “how are you holding up?”
I pressed the cool glass to my cheek for a second before answering. “Better than yesterday. Worse than I pretend.”
Iris nodded slowly, taking a sip of her wine. “That sounds about right.”
“Obiryn thinks the growth is over. Dolores thinks it’s over.
Everyone thinks it’s over.” I looked toward the living room where Darian was currently explaining something animatedly to Katherine with enough hand gestures to power a small wind farm.
“But part of me keeps waiting for something else to happen.”
“And you’re okay with what he said? About there being no way to reverse it?” she asked gently.
“No,” I said truthfully. “Not even a little.”
“But you understand it.”
I looked away. “Yeah. I do. I have to.”
Ronin joined us then, cracking open a beer with his vampire-strength fingers like a man opening a soda. “The kid seems okay,” he said. “He’s handling this better than most adults would.”
I thought about it. “I hate that you’re right.”
Ronin flashed a grin. “That’s because I’m handsome and wise.”
“Mostly annoying,” said Iris.
“You love me, baby,” purred the half-vampire.
I let out a small laugh, still watching the other room where Darian had somehow convinced Katherine to let him demonstrate how high he could jump now. The look of panic on Katherine’s face as he crouched was worth a thousand dollars.
I was just starting to relax, sipping my wine and letting the warmth of it soften the edges of my stress, when the toaster rattled.
“Uh oh,” said Iris, her eyes wide.
The old silver toaster on the kitchen counter shook once, twice… and then dinged.
A small, white message card shot from the slot like a warning flare.
I moved fast, crossing the room and snatching it midair before it hit the ground. My fingers shook as I flipped it over.
I stared at the card, unease settling deep within me.
Iris came up behind me. “That doesn’t look like a party invitation.”
“No,” I said, my voice tight. “It’s not.”
Ronin leaned over my shoulder. “Gray Council?”
“Yeah.” I read the inscription.
Gray Council: Official Notice
Addison Mercer, formerly held at Grimway Citadel under emergency containment protocols, succumbed to complications associated with advanced Wereape Form Dissociation, commonly known as The Split.
Medical personnel confirm death occurred at 2:14 p.m.
The matter is considered closed.
I stared at the words. For a moment, nobody spoke.
“She died,” said Iris quietly.
“Yeah.” I read that part again. I wasn’t surprised, I knew it would happen.
Ronin took a long pull from his beer. “Well. That’s one way to avoid prison.”
I lowered the card slowly. I should have felt victorious. Relieved. Satisfied. Instead, all I felt was tired.
Addison was gone. Really gone. The wereape who’d stolen years from my son. The woman who’d built an entire laboratory around saving herself. The woman I’d hated with every fiber of my being.
Gone.
And somehow that didn’t give me back a single birthday. It didn’t give Darian back the years she’d stolen. It didn’t make any of this better.
Across the room, Darian burst out laughing at something Katherine said.
I looked up.
The message from the Gray Council didn’t change what happened.
But my son was here. Alive and safe.
And Addison wasn’t.
That was enough.
“Marcus is here,” informed Ronin.
I glanced over.
Sure enough, my hot, sexy wereape was walking in.
Dark jeans, leather jacket, gray T-shirt clinging to a body that had absolutely no business looking that good after everything he’d been through.
The man had survived curses, monsters, supernatural politics, sleep deprivation, and emotional trauma yet somehow still looked like he’d stepped out of a very specific fantasy women secretly read under blankets.
But then I looked at his face.
And the swoon took a backseat.
His jaw was tight, his eyes scanning the room.
Something lay just under the surface, something thoughtful, heavy, like he was carrying the weight of everything that had happened over the last few days.
Not fear exactly. More like the exhaustion that comes after surviving something terrible and finally having enough space to process it.
“You going to tell him?” asked my Dark witch friend.
I nodded. “Yeah. No more secrets.” No more protecting each other from bad news. We’d had enough surprises lately to last several lifetimes.