Chapter 3
ROWAN
As relieved as I am to see Iris standing on her own two feet again, I’m also a little terrified. Though not for me, or even for her.
But for everyone else.
She stalks ahead like she owns the ground beneath her boots, shoulders squared, spine straight, and radiating an energy that makes even the air give her space.
Gone is the floral-muumuu chaos I’ve come to know these last couple of months.
No, this version of my grandmother looks like she’d set something on fire and then criticize the flames for burning too hot.
Grandma is officially in her revenge era.
Her gray hair is darker now that it’s been cut short, textured, and slightly spiked, like she made the decision herself and dares anyone to argue.
She’s dressed in black, but not in a dramatic, mystical way.
The practical, sharp kind. Tailored black slacks with a crisp crease down the front of each leg.
A charcoal belt cinched at her waist, the circular gold buckle catching the light when she moves.
A fitted black blouse tucked in neatly, every line intentional.
Over it all, she wears a trench-coat–style jacket, structured and clean, the kind of coat that moves with purpose instead of billowing uselessly. It suits her in a way that makes me rethink everything I thought I’d learned about Iris Prescott since arriving at NightShade Manor.
The only thing missing is a pair of oversized sunglasses, a few tattoos, and maybe even a cigarette, which would really complete the don’t mess with me aesthetic.
I follow until she stops near a grouping of trees. We’re exposed, but I can also see in every direction. Meaning nobody is going to get close to us without being noticed. Is that a purposeful choice on her part? Probably.
The quiet around us stretches, heavy and deliberate, like she’s waiting for something.
Or maybe daring me to start.
Except I don’t know what to say. I don’t know where to begin. There are questions piled so high in my chest they’re threatening to choke me, but none of them feel like the right first words.
Because this isn’t just my grandmother standing in front of me.
This is a woman who’s had her mind invaded. Her choices blurred. Her guilt weaponized. Her daughter taken and tortured and possibly killed. Yet, somehow, impossibly so, she’s walked out the other side, sharper instead of broken.
Iris finally looks up and meets my gaze. Her blue eyes brighter than I’ve yet to see them, lit with focus and fury.
“Really?” she says, cocking her head. “You’re staring like I’ve grown a second head. Which I haven’t. I checked.”
There it is.
The kooky edge. The familiar crazy that tells me she’s still her, and it wasn’t all Malrik’s influence before.
My chest loosens just a fraction.
“I was just…recalibrating,” I say carefully. “You look good. Different but good.”
She snorts. “That was the goal.” Her mouth curves into something that isn’t quite a smile. “Turns out having a centuries-old bastard rummage around in your head really does wonders for perspective. With him gone now, it clears out the clutter, but leaves the lava.”
Yeah. That tracks.
I take a step closer, lowering my voice even though I don’t sense anyone nearby. “But are you okay? You can look the part all you want on the outside, Iris, but I’m worried about what’s going on inside.”
Her gaze holds mine—steady and unflinching.
“No, I’m not,” Iris says flatly. “But I’m awake. And that’s going to have to be good enough for now.” She huffs softly. “Healing can wait. Vengeance doesn’t have that kind of patience.”
Something cold and resolute settles in my gut.
This isn’t the Iris who had no idea what she was doing. Or at least enough control to consider the consequences.
This is the Iris who’s done being used.
And I have the distinct feeling this day is about to take an interesting turn.
She reaches for me, her grip strong and sure, even as something fragile trembles beneath it.
“I’m sorry, Rowan. For all of it.” Her jaw tightens.
“I can’t lie. For years, I hated that Jocelyn ran with you.
Fought it for too long, even if we’re being honest. I told myself it was about safety, about rules.
But the truth?” She exhales sharply. “I was afraid of losing her and of never knowing you.”
Her fingers shake as she holds my hands, but she doesn’t let go.
“I finally found acceptance,” she continues. “Your mother made me promise—swear—that I was done interfering. And I agreed on one condition.” Her throat bobs. “That if something ever happened to her, you’d know to come to me.”
Her grip tightens.
“It’s why my name was on the deed,” she says with a shudder. “I was supposed to come to you and keep you safe. Make sure…” Her voice trails off, then comes back sharp, edged with a snarl. “I was supposed to keep you from this world just like she planned, and I would have. I swear it.”
My chest aches, taking in her grief as she keeps going.
“That was the one promise I made because I agreed with her,” Iris says.
“I never wanted this life for you. I just wanted to know you.” Her eyes burn.
“But he messed with my head. Twisted everything around. Made me believe that keeping you close, bringing you back into the world you were born in, was the safest option.”
Well, this hurts in a way that hasn’t cut yet.
Not because I feel betrayed, but because of the guilt coming off Iris in waves that threaten to drown both of us.
“It’s okay,” I start.
“No, it’s not.” She releases me abruptly, raking a hand through her short hair as she turns away briefly. “Don’t you dare soften this for me.” She spins back, eyes blazing. “I failed you. Both of you. The two most important people in my life.”
She squares her shoulders, every inch the woman I’ve only just begun to understand.
“I’m going to use every resource I have to make sure he suffers for this, Rowan,” Iris says, calm and deadly. “For what he’s done to you and your mother. For what he did to me.” Her lips thin. “We’re going to make this right.”
Then, because she’s still Iris, she adds, “And afterward? We’re going to make damn sure no one ever looks at you like you’re a myth, only good for being used in scary stories told around a campfire.”
I open my mouth to speak, but she mutters, maybe even unknowingly, something I can’t ignore.
“Or me. I’m very tired of being underestimated.”
I reach for her, holding her tight because it’s all I can do now.
“We’ll make this right together,” I promise, pulling her into a hug. “And thank you.”
“What for?” she grumbles against my shoulder. “I got you killed and allowed a contract to be put on your head. Pretty sure that makes me the worst grandmother of the century.”
I snort, laughter breaking free before I can stop it, and shake my head.
“I needed to hear someone else fight for Mom. Don’t get me wrong—I know Cade cares.
He’s worried about her on my behalf. But he has his pack to think about, and he’s more focused on keeping me breathing than on charging headfirst into The Keep. ”
She grimaces, then sighs. “He’s a good mate for you.
” The words sound like they physically pain her.
“I hate admitting that—truly—but you should know I approve. And so would your mother.” She tilts her head, thoughtful.
“What he’s doing now—getting the wolves steady before we go after her—it’s the right move. ”
Her eyes sharpen.
“But that doesn’t mean we can’t plot in the meantime.” A corner of her mouth lifts. “I hope you and Liz haven’t been sitting on your hands while I’ve been playing caterpillar in that cabin.”
The grin that stretches across my face can’t be helped. “We’ve been talking and tossing around ideas, but there’s nothing concrete. Especially since Glacier Crest Pack is saying that they don’t sense anything inside The Keep.”
Iris rolls her eyes so hard I’m surprised they don’t get stuck.
“Of course they don’t.” She waves a dismissive hand.
“That’s because Malrik is waiting for you to show.
He’s powerful enough to block them out completely—make them think there’s nothing there at all—while staying right under their noses. ”
A chill skates down my spine.
I know we’re circling something important, but curiosity gets the better of me.
“Did you know at first?” I ask quietly. “That Malrik was there to mess with you?”
“Of course I did.” She straightens, pride flashing across her face. “And I promptly told him to crawl back under whatever rock he slithered out from beneath. He didn’t listen. Instead, he tried to negotiate.”
I grimace. “That sounds right.”
“Oh, it gets better.” She snorts. “He told me he’d give me my family back if I helped him. Said it was what I was owed. Went on and on with his dramatic little speeches. I showed him the door and this.”
She lifts her hand and flicks her middle finger into the air, making me smile again.
“And that was the last thing I remember,” she continues, voice dropping, “before he stripped my will away and rewired my thoughts.” She meets my gaze, fierce and unwavering. “I would have never betrayed you or your mother if I’d had my wits about me. Never.”
And I believe her.
Not because she says it, but because this version of Iris would burn the world down before letting that happen again.
“So, this plan,” she presses. “What do you have so far?”
I’m almost ashamed to admit nothing really. For as much as I’ve grown over the last month, I still feel painfully out of touch with this world, like I’m still learning the rules while everyone else is already playing the game. Meanwhile, Liz is focused on one thing and one thing only.
Malrik’s death.
Except I know it won’t be as simple as finding him and “sucking away his power,” like Liz hopes. She’s furious—about her best friend, my mother—about the possibility that Jocelyn has been tortured for the last year.
Or is she actually dead, and the crumb of hope he left us was just to screw with my emotions?
Thankfully, Liz spared me the details of all the ways she’s imagined Malrik might have done his worst.
I give my head a firm shake, forcing the thoughts away. I can’t go down that hole right now.
“All I have so far,” I admit, “is going back to The Keep and seeing if I can access the house again. It was sentient. It favored me over Malrik.” My jaw tightens. “I didn’t have time to press its energy before I escaped, but maybe it can tell me where Mom is. Or what Malrik’s weaknesses are.”
“And if Malrik is waiting for you there?” Iris asks, brow lifting. “Have you been honing your abilities? Bonding with your wolf? Strengthening yourself in every way possible? Are you and Liz still sparring?”
Well, hell.
We’ve needed Iris more than I’ve yet to realize.
Her lips purse. “Your lack of reply tells me all I need to know, but don’t worry. We’re going to shake this out like my favorite rug.”
That doesn’t sound comforting.
“I might not be able to kill that bastard myself,” she continues calmly, “but I’m damn sure going to be by your side every step of the way, helping however I can.”
Yeah, no. That’s not happening.
“Like hell you will,” I say firmly. “You’ve been through enough. You’re not going near him again.”
Revenge era or not, I’m not letting Malrik touch another member of my family if I can help it.
She pats my shoulder like I’m five and smiles. “He can’t kill me, Rowan. Not permanently.” Her eyes gleam. “I might not be supernatural, but I do have a superpower, and I’ll use it as many times as necessary.”
My stomach drops.
“If all I’m good for is charging into the chaos and dying a thousand times,” she adds lightly, “then so be it. But we’ll discuss my dramatic yet heroic sacrifices later.”
I almost don’t want to ask what is on the agenda now. Not with that glint in her eye.
“You need to gather Liz, Archie, and your father,” Iris says. “We’re going to train.” She gives me a once-over. “And go eat something with a ridiculous amount of protein, because I’m not letting any of them go easy on you.”
My brows knit. “Why?”
“It’s time to see what all this fuss over you has been about,” she says. “And to make sure you don’t do the one thing Malrik wants.”
My confusion sharpens. “Which is?”
“You haven’t figured it out yet?” She clicks her tongue softly. “He wants you to break, sugarplum. He needs you to.”
I shake my head, trying to wrap my mind around what she’s saying. “But he made me stronger when I was with him. Why would he do that when he could have likely ended me so many times before?”
She taps the side of her head. “He might have taken my free will, but some part of me was always there.” Her voice lowers. “And while he was poking around in my mind, I paid attention long enough to notice what he didn’t say.”
My hands clench at my sides.
“He never once talked about killing you,” Iris says quietly.
The words sink in slowly. Heavy and wrong.
“That would be too easy, and Malrik seems hell-bent on proving some twisted point,” she adds after a beat. “We just need to figure out what that is and make sure he doesn’t get the chance to cut you down while he’s at it.”
That’s at least one part of her plan I can get behind.