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I closed my eyes, feeling a fluttering in my chest, like a swarm of butterflies had just landed on my heart. What was this? I’d never felt anything like it before. Brand squeezed my hands gently, then rose, taking the foil and empty water bottle with him.
Inside the room, I heard Margarette let out a moan. Silently, I opened the door. She was moving restlessly. Glen’s brother nodded and slipped out, promising to be back in five minutes.
When he’d gone, I perched on the edge of her bed. “Margarette, what do you need?”
“I had… a nightmare.”
“What was it about?”
She struggled to speak, so I grabbed her water glass and gave her a sip. “I died. I went to heaven and saw my sister. She knew… about the battle. About my hair.” Margarette’s eyes glittered with pain and humor. “And I had to spend eternity… letting her say I told you so.”
We both laughed. “Good thing I was there to give you that haircut.”
“No more... laughing. It hurts.” She started to cough, and I held the water up to her lips again.
It was a rare thing, to see a shifter of her rank in such a state of weakness. An unheard-of thing, for her to allow me, an unrelated wolf, to come so near. Wasn’t her wolf howling for me to get away? Didn’t it worry?
I asked her.
“No,” she said, closing her eyes again. “You’re family.”
My heart swelled at her acceptance before I wondered what she meant. Was I family only if I turned out to be Glen’s mate? Only if I stayed at Northern?
She’d slipped back into a healing sleep before I could think of a way to ask her what she meant. Honestly, I was a little afraid of what her answer might be.
Fucking hope again. That shit hurts so much more than a hundred beatings.
I couldn’t allow myself to imagine Margarette as some sort of storybook mother. When my own mama had been alive, she’d been too broken to show true affection. The day she’d defended me against Trevor had been one of the few times she’d protected me. I didn’t blame her. How could a wolf who’d been tormented like her take care of a child?
At least I’d had Del. I let the tears keep coming, silently. For Del. Remembering the best moments of my life, all of which had him in it.
And Alpha Callaway had taken all of that away. My fingers itched to curl around his neck, choke the life out of him. I felt a growl rumble low in my chest.
Glen appeared in front of me, his hands half-extended, like he wanted to hold me, but wasn’t certain I’d let him. “Flor? What’s wrong? Is Mom okay?”
I scrubbed a hand over my eyes and slid to the floor, sitting cross-legged. “She’s fine, Glen. Sorry, I was… thinking about something annoying.”
He huffed a laugh. “It sounded like you were thinking about tearing someone’s head off.” He paused, hands in his pockets. “You probably don’t want to remember that.”
“No, I’d like to forget it ever happened.” I smiled weakly.
I couldn’t tell anyone I already had forgotten it. That I’d blanked out when I’d killed Van. Better for them to think I was some sort of psycho, than to reveal that I was more or less feral. I’d be unranked forever if anyone realized I didn’t have control of my actions.
A shudder wracked me. Would I be even worse in my wolf form, killing indiscriminately? Maybe I should never let myself shift.
Maybe that was why shifting felt so impossible.
I shook the awful thoughts away, although a small voice inside giggled at the idea of taking a steak knife, or claws and teeth, to a few dozen more of Van’s cronies.
“Do you regret it, though? Killing him?” Glen slid down next to me, but lowered himself to his side, propping himself up on one elbow, so that his eyes were lower than mine. That was odd. All the guys had done that, showing submission, but in small, easy-to-miss ways.
Why would they do that? They were Alpha Heirs, literally the closest thing to royalty shifters had. It scared me to think what would happen if they kept doing that sort of thing in front of others. I knew my pack wouldn’t let that sort of thing slide. I’d be seen as reaching beyond my nonexistent rank. Even when I left Southern, there was no guarantee the other packs wouldn’t see it that same way.
Glen cleared his throat, and I snapped my gaze to his. “Sorry, what did you ask?”
“I asked if you regretted killing Van,” he said, examining me. “But you don’t, do you?” He smiled, his white teeth shining. “Good. I love you just like this. Fierce. Unapologetic. Powerful.”
Of all those words, one made my brain stop. “Um, Glen? L-love?”
