Ivy
Delivering flowers to Wraith’s mom is, in fact, that bad.
"I hate that color."
Claire glares at the perfectly purple bouquet in Valek’s hand as if he just broke into her room and pissed on the carpet.
Valek looks down at them. "I thought you liked purple."
"They're the wrong purple," she says flatly.
"Hm." Valek's lips press together. "I suppose your son has a better idea of what you like."
I nudge his boot with my shoe in warning, but Claire's eyes are already narrowing with immediate suspicion.
"My son is dead."
"Oh. No. He looks… slightly dead, I'll give you that. With the face. A bit zombie like, perhaps." He vaguely gestures in a circle to his mouth area with his finger, ignoring my defensive glare. "But he's very much alive."
He goes to the dresser and replaces the flowers Wraith brought her last time with the fresh purple bouquet.
They're almost the exact same color as Wraith's, but now that I'm thinking about it, he had looked sort of doubtfully at them when we brought them back to the SUV.
The tips of the petals on the lilacs have a darker gradient on them.
She must not like that.
She doesn't like a lot of things.
The teddy bear I brought her is very much gone.
"He's a good alpha," Valek continues, turning to face her, a smile spreading across his face. "You must be proud. He's my packmate. We play on the same team, you know."
"Satan's?" she asks flatly.
"Oh, no. The Ghosts," Valek says happily.
Claire makes a thin horrified sound.
I elbow Valek in the ribs.
He doesn’t react beyond a slight tensing of his eyes, because he’s an asshole built like a marble statue and now my elbow is going to bruise.
A scratched-up marble statue, to be specific.
We stopped for clothes before coming here, but there’s only so much a clean outfit can do after…
well. Last night's activities. I’m wearing a soft blue sweater, dark jeans, and boots that don’t have mud caked all over them.
Concealer covers most of the scrapes on my face, although the one near my hairline is still pretty obvious.
Valek bought black trousers and a charcoal button-down.
His platinum hair is combed back, his split lip is mostly healed because he's an alpha I swear is somehow part vampire, and the bruising across his cheekbone is a deeper yellow beneath the concealer I convinced him to let me try in the car while Wraith huffed tired laughter.
It… kind of just made the bruise look yellower, but I tried.
"They're not real ghosts. That's the name of the hockey team," I tell Claire, settling into the seat across from her chair. "This is Valek."
Claire's face softens slightly. "Valek? Where are you from, Valek?"
"My favorite question," he says pleasantly. "Canada."
Claire doesn't blink. "My husband was Russian."
"Oh?"
Her eyes are roaming up and down him openly now, appreciatively, and I suddenly remember Wraith's father was Russian and Valek needs to be rescued before Claire says something completely traumatizing.
She licks her teeth.
Valek's eyebrows shoot up into his hair.
"Valek is my mate," I tell her, leaning forward to get her attention off him. "The Ghosts pack—the core of the hockey team—are my scent matches."
"Like Wraith?" Claire asks disdainfully, going right back to her usual self, although her eyes keep flicking to Valek for a few seconds too long every time.
"Yes," I say, trying to make my face brighten. "Like Wraith."
She cranes her neck to look at her door, shuddering, and all I can think about is how the last time I was here, my sweet mate took off through the same door after she tore his mask off and screamed at him.
"Where is it?"
I blink at her. "He is in the car," I say carefully. "He didn't think you want to see him."
"I don't." Claire twists her hands in the blanket over her lap. “That… thing shouldn’t come here. I don't even know what it wants."
"To check on you," Valek says. "Make sure you're safe."
"I'm not safe if it's anywhere near me. That's why I kept it in the basement. You would, too, if you know what's best for you."
My teeth press together inside my mouth.
She isn't confused about what she did. She was sick, but even now, she's proud of it.
She locked a disfigured child in the dark and starved him because she believed he was a monster, and she still believes it, sitting right here in this chair with her blanket on her lap and her imperfectly purple flowers.
She'd do it again.
And Wraith still drives hours to bring her flowers in her favorite color.
If I open my mouth right now, nothing kind is coming out. And he wouldn't want that. Not for her. Not even after everything. He made it clear in the SUV before Val and I came in.
Please be gentle with her, he'd signed.
So I swallow it all.
Valek doesn’t smile this time.
He straightens the lilacs in their vase, turning the darker petals toward the wall so the brighter side faces Claire. Then he adjusts the vase two inches to the left, where it won’t block the framed photograph on her dresser.
“He didn’t come inside because his doctor told him he can no longer cover his face,” Valek says, coming up to the table with his hands in his pockets. “He knew the sight of him would upset you.”
Claire’s hands tighten in the blanket. “Because it knows what it is.”
My chair legs scrape against the floor.
Valek’s hand lands on my shoulder before I can stand. He moves to Claire’s side, lowering himself into a crouch so he isn’t looming over her. Even like this, he’s as tall as she is in the chair.
“He knows what he looks like,” Valek says.
Claire leans away from him.
“He has no lips or cheeks. His jaw muscles and teeth are exposed. He was burned with acid when he was a child, and the surgeries could not repair all the damage. Doctors sharpened his teeth.”
Claire’s eyes dart around the room, suddenly frightened. “No.”
"Your son has bright blue eyes," Valek continues. "Dark hair. He’s seven feet three inches tall. He plays professional hockey. He likes animals, burns French toast, and is deeply in love with this omega who came to see you. She's our mate."
I blink at him.
Claire does too.
“He doesn’t burn all the French toast,” I mumble.
Claire looks between us, her face pinched with confusion. For a second, the hostility twisting her features loosens.
Valek takes his phone from his pocket.
“I would like to show you something.”
“I don’t want to see its face.”
“You won’t.” He taps through his phone, finds a clip, and turns the screen toward her.
Wraith is on the ice in his black gaiter, massive body cutting through the defense. An opposing player tries to check him and bounces off hard enough to spin into the boards. Wraith keeps the puck, crosses the blue line, and fires a wrist shot over the goalie’s shoulder.
The crowd erupts.
Claire flinches at the noise.
Valek immediately lowers the volume.
“There,” he says softly. “That’s your son.”
Claire stares at the screen.
Wraith loops behind the net while Whiskey launches himself at his back, hanging from his shoulders in celebration. Despite Whiskey weighing more than he does, Wraith keeps skating.
My mouth twitches.
The clip cuts to Wraith at the bench, head bowed while Thane signs something to him. Wraith responds, quick and fluid, then knocks his helmet gently against Thane’s, his eyes softening. Even without being able to hear the huffing sound, I can tell he's laughing.
Claire’s fingers loosen in the blanket.
“He can’t talk,” she whispers.
I pick up on the he immediately and sit up a little straighter.
“No,” Valek says. “The acid damaged his vocal cords.”
Her mouth pulls downward. “Mikhail could talk.”
Valek nods. “He was a child. This happened later.”
“No.” She shakes her head. “Mikhail had a sweet voice.”
Valek lowers the phone slightly.
“I believe you.”
That does it, for some reason.
Her shoulders ease slightly, and her hands release the blanket completely. The wild uncertainty in her eyes dims as she studies Valek's face. She looks back at Valek's screen, then at me.
“Who is that with him? The big alpha with the long hair.”
“That's Thane,” I say, smiling. “My mate, and Wraith's brother.”
“We never had another son.”
“Not by blood," I explain.
Claire touches the edge of the phone with one finger. Valek holds it perfectly still for her. Now it's showing Wraith at the children's hospital, kids hanging off him and squealing in glee. I'm to the side, grinning from ear to ear. I didn't even know anyone was taking pictures.
“That’s Mikhail?” she asks quietly.
“Yes,” Valek says. "That's Mikhail."
She stares at Wraith’s eyes above the gaiter, and her mouth opens slightly, hesitating.
It doesn't last.
"No. That’s Wraith," she says, pushing the phone away.
Valek locks the screen and slips the phone back into his pocket. "Sometimes he prefers that name," he agrees.
Claire's mood curdles fast. "Wraith," she repeats, like the word tastes rotten. "The wraith is telling you about how it took my son's name too, then? It takes everything."
"He didn't take anything," I say, even though I know it's completely fucking pointless. "He is your—"
"You're stupid," Claire snaps at me. "A stupid little girl, letting it touch you. It probably eats you a little at a time while you sleep."
My mouth opens.
Nothing comes out.
Because what the fuck do you even say to that?
"He does not eat her," Valek says, perfectly serious. "He doesn't like to eat at all in front of people. He's shy."
"It's not shy." Claire's voice climbs. "It's patient. Demons are patient. It waited patiently in the basement because it was biding its time."
My nails dig into my palms. Valek is still crouched beside her chair, and I watch him carefully, because I felt something cold and angry flicker through the bond just now.
And he's rarely angry.
"So what if he looks a little scary?" Valek says, his voice deceptively mild. "Did you read fairy tales when you were a girl? It's the inside that counts, doesn't it? He even brings you flowers."
Claire looks at him.