Chapter 24
ROWAN
Waking is slow, like trying to swim through molasses. My body aches in ways I didn’t think possible, but nothing hurts like I expected after being used as a chew toy. Instead of teeth and terror, the first thing that hits me when I think back on yesterday isn’t the attack.
It’s Cade.
The way his whole body shook with rage. How he carried me like I mattered more than air. How he locked the world out and refused to let anyone near me.
So when I blink awake and find Iris of all people sitting beside me instead of him, my brain does a little crash-and-burn.
“Good morning, sugarplum,” she says, her grin wrinkling her entire face like a mischievous raisin. “How are you feeling?”
She’s acting almost normal. Which automatically feels like a trap. My eyes flick around the room, half-expecting to find a goat in a tutu or a bathtub full of soggy noodles as the punchline.
Archie leaps onto the bed, back to his usual ferret size, scampering up to my chest like I’m his personal recliner. “You’re okay.”
“I am,” I answer both of them, stroking his fur. “Sore, but not in the worst way.”
“Cade did his job well then.” Iris hums like she’s commenting on the weather while knitting something I think is supposed to be a hat. Though the yarn is an aggressive neon green that looks like it could double as a traffic vest.
Sitting up, I move the pillows behind me and keep a hold on Archie as I notice I’m once again dressed. I almost ask how, but decide to just assume Liz took care of that at some point. I don’t need to know if Cade or even Iris had anything to do with it.
“There we go.” Iris plunks her knitting on the nightstand.
“Had to finish that row before I lost count. Little BobbiJo’s been begging for a bonnet, and I’m not about to deny a child her head fashion.
” She gives me a once-over, then addresses Archie.
“Would you mind giving me some time with my granddaughter?”
He looks up at me, which I appreciate, but it’s not needed.
“I’ll be okay,” I promise him. “I’ll find you for a walk just as soon as I’ve had a shower and some breakfast.”
His whiskers tickle against my chest as he presses his face closer before bouncing off the bed. “I’ll hold you to that.”
He goes toward the door, and Iris follows him, opening and closing it, before returning to sit next to me.
She pats my hand, her skin dry but soft.
“Are you really doing fine? Because you look a little like death reheated in a microwave, but I’m hoping that means we still have time for a little heart-to-heart. ”
There’s the Iris I’ve come to know and…tolerate.
“Sure,” I mutter. “What do you want to talk about?”
I expect her to say something about how I was reckless or about the energy burst I had, but instead, she sends me spiraling with two words.
“Your father.”
I’ve thought about him a few times since coming here, but with everything else and never having really worried about him before, I hadn’t pressed the issue. Mom always said he was a good man, the kind who would have been there if he could have been. And that was it. End of story.
For a long time, I’d wished for more, but I respected her enough to give her that.
Especially when she’s always made sure to be enough for me.
Hell, she even got me under the car a few times to teach me how to change a tire, check the oil, and cuss like a mechanic when the wrench slipped.
She filled both roles and never once let me feel as though I was missing out on anything.
But now, she’s gone. And Iris is here. And she has answers I intend to claim this time.
“Does he know I’m here?” I ask because I need to know if there’s a chance I might meet him.
Iris shakes her head, then frowns. “Well, he might now. But I haven’t been able to find him. I’m working on it, though. My network is wide, sugarplum, even if half of it’s gossip and the other half is vampires who want to drink me before breakfast.”
Comforting.
My cheeks redden as I ask my next question because I should know this answer, but Mom wasn’t even capable of saying it back then.
“What’s his name?”
“Marius Landry,” Iris sighs, like the name itself carries a thousand-pound weight. “His father is Gabriel Landry, the alpha of the Stoneclaw pack. Marius was supposed to inherit the title, but he’s been missing for over twenty years.”
“Missing?” My stomach plummets. “Like probably-dead missing, or the kind where he apparently ran away because that’s a theme around here?”
Cade abandoned his pack. My mother hid from this world. And now my father has vanished, too? Was everyone in this world allergic to responsibility? Or are things worse than I’m being led to believe?
I don’t know, and I’m not sure I want to.
“My understanding is that his father, Gabriel, was suspicious of your existence,” Iris explains. “And instead of letting you be found, he left to keep your mother’s secret.”
“But why didn’t he come find us?” The words slip out before I can stop them, raw and small, like I’m five years old again.
Iris doesn’t hesitate. She stands and pulls me into a hug. Her arms are wiry and smell faintly of lavender and mothballs, but the comfort is real. “Jocelyn hid you both too well. If he could have found you, he would have.”
The unexpected tenderness makes my throat tighten. I hug her back, leaning into a family bond I’ve never known before. “Thank you, Iris.”
She sits back down and fluffs out her floral skirt as she does. “But what you need to be concerned about is you. Not anyone else.”
Seems to be another common theme around here.
I lean against the pillows, assessing a woman who is family, but also a complete stranger. “I’m going to be honest. It’s rather frustrating with you sometimes. You know more than you’re letting on, and I’m not sure what to do about your secrets, but I appreciate you being here now.”
Her lips twitch. “Darling, secrets are just truths waiting for the right time to bloom. And sometimes, flowers bloom best under pressure. Or fertilizer. Which, let’s be honest, is what half this situation smells like.”
A laugh huffs out of me before I can stop it. “So what? You’re saying my life is a compost heap?”
“Exactly.” She grabs her knitting materials and points one of the needles at me. “But from compost comes flowers. And you, sugarplum, are one prickly little rose whether you know it or not.”
I rub my temple. “Why do I feel like we’ve not even scratched the surface of things?”
“Because we haven’t,” she replies without hesitation.
“What’s coming is bigger than you realize.
Jocelyn knew it. Marius probably figured it out before he vanished.
And if you’re going to survive long enough to figure out who you are in this world, you need to stop worrying about why people left and start deciding what you’re going to stay for. ”
Her words settle like a weight in my chest, heavier than I want to admit. For all her eccentricity, Iris has an unnerving way of cutting to the bone.
“Thanks for…” I say, attempting to summarize our conversation. “Looking for Marius, calling me a compost pile, and telling me I’ll likely bloom into a rose, hopefully before the next wolf tries to bite my head off.”
“That’s my girl.” Her grin is wicked, but her eyes don’t leave mine. “Just remember. No matter what you see or hear, you’re not alone. Not now and not ever. NightShade is your home, and we can be your family if you’ll have us.”
And there it is. What it always seems to come back to with Iris.
She wants me here, just as she wanted my mother.
It shouldn’t be a bad thing, but something in me says no matter how many unexpected hugs Iris might give, ones that make me see her a little more like family…
I need to tread carefully.
Still, I press. “Will you tell me more about my parents?”
“Of course, sugarplum.” Her lips twitch, but it’s the only sign of hesitation. “Jocelyn was a wildflower. Stubborn, bright, beautiful. The kind that rooted herself in places no one thought she’d survive—like falling in love with a wolf. She knew what it would cost her, but she did it anyway.”
“And my father?” The word feels foreign on my tongue, clunky, like it doesn’t quite belong.
Iris sighs and sets the green bonnet back down.
“Marius was… Well, let’s just say handsome enough to make poor decisions inevitable.
He had that Stoneclaw strength, but he wasn’t as rigid as his father.
Gabriel—your grandfather—wanted control.
Marius wanted freedom. And Jocelyn gave him that until the prophecy changed everything. ”
“Always back to that,” I mutter.
“It would seem so.” She pats my hand again, softer this time.
“Marius left because Gabriel started sniffing around. He knew about you. Maybe not the details, but enough to suspect. If Marius stayed, he risked Gabriel ripping the truth out of him and coming after you and Jocelyn. So, he disappeared.”
“Disappeared how?” I push, though part of me isn’t sure I want the answer.
Her eyes narrow, and she leans close, dropping her voice like we’re plotting treason. “That’s the problem. No one knows. Some think he died. Some think he’s still out there, hiding in the cracks of the world. And some…” she pauses for effect, “…believe he’s waiting for you.”
The breath leaves me in a rush, but Iris is already reaching for her knitting again, as if she didn’t just upend my world with casual prophecy gossip and a sprinkle of family drama.
“But which is it?” I demand.
She shrugs, cheery again, like she hasn’t a care in the world. “You’ll just have to live long enough to find out, won’t you?”
The words land like a joke, but the way her eyes linger on mine—just a fraction too long—make me wonder if she already has the answer. And if so, why isn’t she telling me?