Chapter 12 #2
“Her wolf was sleeping, too young to wake.” Zaheela smooths the blanket over the girl’s legs.
“They all sleep at her age. The poison dragged it toward the surface, and your blood finished pulling it up. Now it’s awake when it has no business being awake.
” Her mouth thins. “It has to go back under. A child this young can’t shift because her wolf isn’t grown enough to survive the change.
If it stays up, it’ll tear her apart from the inside out. ”
“How does it go back under?”
“It needs to feel safe.” She nods toward me.
“You’re its sire. Stay near her, and her wolf will settle back into sleep.
A few days should manage it.” She starts packing the bloodied swabs away.
“Until then, she’ll slip. Her claws may come through.
The eyes may turn color, then turn back.
None of it holds steady while the wolf sinks down.
” She glances over at me. “Ready yourself for it, and the mother too, if you can do it without telling her why.”
“I’ll handle Jessa.”
“Should I bring the mother in?” Zaheela pauses at the cabinet. “What is she to you, how am I to refer to her?”
I look toward the door Jessa’s waiting behind. “She’s mine.” The words come out without my deciding them. I hear myself say it and don’t take it back. “She’s mine. You treat her with the utmost respect.”
I lean over the cot and brush the damp hair off Mia’s forehead. Her skin’s warm again, alive under my hand. I press my mouth to her temple and stay there a second longer than I should.
Ten years of questions sit behind my teeth, every one of them pointed at the woman in the next room.
I want to walk out there and ask all of them at once.
I don’t move. Before I push Jessa on anything, I have to know what happened in Ashford.
That whole month is a hole in my memory, and she’s the only living person who can fill it.
Whatever did happen left her braced for someone to rip Mia out of her arms. If I come at her wrong, she’ll bolt, and I won’t get a second look at my daughter for another decade.
I straighten up. “You come every day to check on her.”
“I will.”
“If anyone asks why you’re up at my house, you’re following up on Bella. Tell them it’s a routine check.”
She nods. “I understand.”
“I mean it, Zaheela. I don’t want anyone finding out about my daughter.”
“You have my word—” She starts to add the title, then stops herself.
I go back out to the front room with Zaheela a step behind me. Jessa’s on her feet before the door’s fully open, Bella’s hand clutched in hers, her eyes raw.
“You can see her now,” Zaheela tells her gently. “She’s still unconscious, but the danger’s passed.”
Jessa’s gone past us before the sentence finishes, Bella towed along at her hip. I let them through and step back out into the night.
Outside, I pull my phone and call Voss. It rings four times before it drops to voicemail. I kill the line and pull a breath through my teeth.
“Come on,” I mutter. “Pick up just once.”
Inside, Jessa’s dragged a stool to the cot and has Mia’s hand in both of hers. Bella’s tucked against her other side, one arm wound around Jessa’s waist, murmuring something into her sleeve I can’t make out.
“She’s out of danger,” I tell her from the doorway. “The worst is past.”
Jessa’s head comes up. “What happened to her?” Her voice is wrecked. “What’s wolfsbane, how does a ten-year-old end up like this from cotton candy?”
“It’s a poison, a bad one.” I keep it simple. “Whoever gave it to her meant to hurt her.” I look at Bella. “He offered it to both of them. Bella didn’t take hers. If she had, there’d be two girls on that cot tonight.”
Jessa’s face crumples in on itself. “I should never have let them go off alone. A few minutes with my eyes off them, that’s all it took.” Her voice splinters. “This is my fault.”
I cross to her and set both hands on her shoulders. “You can’t watch her every second of every day. No one can.” I wait until she meets my eyes. “We’ll be more careful from here on. I told you I wouldn’t let anything happen to her. She’s right here, breathing.”
She’s quiet for a moment, her thumb stroking over the back of Mia’s hand. “I want to report this to the police.”
“It’s handled.” I crouch down to Bella’s level. “Tell me about the man who gave you the candy, sweetheart. What did he look like?”
Bella sniffs and thinks hard. “He was tall, taller than you, with a dark beard and a gray cap pulled low.” Her nose wrinkles. “There was a mark on the back of his hand, some kind of drawing.”
I keep my face still while the cold works through me. The man Bella’s describing matches Leroy, one of Kylan’s right-hand men. Why are the hunters targeting shifter children?
“I’ll put the word out,” I tell her, forcing my voice to remain calm. “We’ll find him.”
“Are there cameras out there, at the festival? Somebody might have caught him on—”
“I’ll look into all of it.” I cut Jessa off. “That’s my end of this. Yours is her.” I nod at Mia. “Focus on your daughter. There’s one more thing.” I straighten back up. “Until she’s recovered, you and Mia move into my place.”
“No.” It’s out of her on reflex. “No, we’re not doing that. It’s not a good idea, Marcus.”
“It isn’t optional. The healer has to see her every day, and that’s where she’ll come.”
“Then we go to a hospital like normal people do—”
“This isn’t something a hospital can treat.”
Jessa lets go of Mia’s hand and stands to face me square. “What’s going on? What aren’t you telling me?” Her voice trembles, half fear and half fury. “She eats cotton candy and nearly dies, you won’t take her to a doctor, now you want us under your roof. What is this?”
“I’ll tell you everything in a few days.” I hold her eyes. “Right now I need you to trust me, the same as you did an hour ago. You trusted me then instead of running her to that hospital. If you hadn’t—” I let the silence sink in. “She’d be dead, Jessa.”
The color drains clean out of her face.
“Trust me one more time.” I keep my voice even. “You and Mia come to my house until she’s well. That’s all I’m asking.”
She looks down at her daughter, pale still but breathing easily, then back up at me. Every part of her wants to refuse, and I watch her lose the argument with herself.
“It’s what’s best for her,” I murmur.
A long breath goes out of her. “Fine.” Her jaw is set hard. “We do this for a few days. The second she’s well, we go home, and that’s the end of it.”
“That’s fine,” I agree. If you’ll even want to at that point.
She turns back to the cot and takes the small hand into hers again. I stand in the doorway, my daughter asleep on a cot, her mother bent over her. They’re mine, both of them.
And I’m keeping them.