Page 348 of Pucking Feral: Part Two

My reflection shifts as I straighten.

It’s hard to believe her. I know. It's hard for me too.

Valek looks at me again, tilting his head.

I start signing, then stop. Water drips from my hands as I let them fall, watching the tent. Ivy’s shadow crosses one wall, small and warm, holding up her phone like she's still trying to get signal.

I force my hands up again.

Even my own mother didn’t want me. She locked me in a basement because she thought I was a demon. I was in foster care, too. Like you. It's how I met Thane.

Valek steps closer. "It seems we share that in common, too," he says, his voice uncharacteristically soft. "I don't know what happened to my mother. I was left at a church in a shoebox. No name, no birthday. Nothing."

A shoebox.

Someone abandoned a baby in a fucking shoebox.

My mother locked me in a basement because she thought I was a monster. But at least there were years before that where she loved me, in her own way.

Valek didn't even get that.

"I chose my birthday myself." He grins at me. "Made it Christmas. Why not? I did get less presents, though. Terrible mistake."

I manage a huff.

But the grin doesn't reach his eyes.

I've seen Valek's real smile exactly once, and it was directed at Ivy. This isn't it. This is the mask he wears instead of wearing one on his face.

He floats onto his back again, a pale blur in the water from the neck down. "Your mother is sick, Wraith. What she saw was never you."

I look toward the dark line of trees beyond the river. We’re close to the care facility. Close enough I can feel it looming because I've never come up this way without checking on her.

I can’t walk into that building bare-faced. Even if I could get to her room without terrorizing the other residents, I can’t sit in front of her without a mask while she screams.

Valek studies me for a moment, reading everything I can’t make my hands say.

“Why don’t Ivy and I go?” he asks finally. “We can check on her. You can wait in the car.”

I look at him. Hope hurts almost as much as fear.

You would do that?

“Of course." He smiles. "I'll be a perfect gentleman."

My hands move faster. She's going to be terrible to you.

"I'm expecting that."

The tension around my ribs loosens enough to let me breathe.

Thank you.

"You're very welcome," he says, rising from the water, turning toward shore.

I keep signing before I can talk myself out of it.

You're not bad, V-A-L-E-K.