Lucas watches with concern and care, but all I can say is, "Oh."
So part of had expected Mom to stay in a coma forever. Or die.
I didn't think about her much. Ignoring her existence is easier than dealing with—well, everything.
"I would have to return to Blackwood in order to question her." Every word is careful and asured, as though he's not sure how I'm going to respond.
He doesn't invite to go. I'm not sure I want to. He probably realizes that.
Selene glances toward us, her ears flicking as she listens.
"I don't think that's the best idea. Your pack needs you here. They need to see their alpha." I'm hesitant to speak up, but Selene's watchful gaze gives a little confidence. "Alpha Clayton is still there, isn't he? I think he should lead the interrogation."
It's our first ti saying his na between us, and I can feel Lucas' muscles tense.
Trying to give him a little comfort, I grab his hand, threading our fingers together. A silent ssage that I'm still here. That I've already made my choice.
My heart hurts when I realize how little I've really thought about the damage I've done to this man.
He relaxes, drawing closer, his thumb rubbing against the back of my hand. "You're right. I'll call him."
It's amazing how warm my heart feels, knowing that I've given Lucas a little peace of mind, with a hint of my heart.
I've wasted so much ti worrying about his intentions. Worrying about being trapped in a gilded cage.
Being brave is easier than I thought it would be.
He brings our joined hands to his lips, pressing a gentle kiss against them. "I have to et with Kellan and discuss everything, but I'll keep you updated. I promise."
* * *
The front door closes with a soft click, and Lucas' warmth disappears with him.
I pace across the floor, my arms wrapped around my middle, hugging myself as if that'll hold all the broken pieces inside of together.
Mom's awake.
Lisa's gone.
Vampires attacked.
Sister Miriam's trying to get in touch with .
My father might be hiding in a city of vampires.
It's a lot to think through. To process.
You're going to wear a hole through the floor. She watches pace, her attention distracted from her show. Why don't you summon Sister Miriam and see if you can get so answers? That might help you.
I pause mid-step, thinking about Lucas. About the baby steps we managed today.
"I can't."
Why not? Isn't that what you wanted to do?
"Yes. No. I don't know." I rake a hand through my hair, frustration bubbling up inside . "It's not that simple."
Because of Lucas.
It's not a question. Selene's too perceptive for that. She sees right through .
I groan, sinking back onto the couch. "I don't want to lose his trust by going behind his back. But I can't risk Lisa's life over him, either."
So, tell him everything.
My voice cracks. "What if he looks at differently? What if he doesn't want anymore?"
Selene is quiet for a long mont. Then she nudges my leg with her nose, her fur soft against my skin. He could have given up on you a long ti ago.
She sounds half-strangled to even admit it, and I laugh a little. She's not wrong.
He's still here, despite everything. He's nothing like my parents. My family.
Lucas makes you happy. I want you to be happy. Selene's words are simple, but my heart fills.
"You always call him my ex-fated."
Is your mate bond based on fate or choice?
It's on the tip of my tongue to say fate, of course. But then I think back.
Despite our bond insistently tugging us together, it isn't the reason I want to connect with him.
It's just Lucas.
How he cares. How he ca for . How he's been there, no matter how much I run from his feelings.
"Choice," I decide, feeling the truth deep in my heart. Our fated bond drives us together, but it's not why I want to be with him.
Then he is your chosen mate, even more than he's your fated one.
"But what if—"
You can't build a relationship on secrets and lies. But it's your choice. I will be here, regardless.
Even so, it feels like a betrayal to put my bond with Lucas over Lisa's life.
Maybe it's the wrong decision.
I'm actually half-convinced it is the wrong decision. That I should have taken the opportunity while I was here to talk to him.
But I grab the candle. "I'll explain it to him after I talk to her. I can't wait around just because I'm worried about his reaction."
Ignoring that little tug at my gut trying to about future problems, I grab the candle and light it, sneezing at the sll of burning dust.
Selene sneezes beside . It's awful. Like burning dust and a dead fly.
I ignore her complaint, too focused on the task at hand. Squeezing my eyes shut, I picture Sister Miriam in my mind—her dark hair, pale skin, and those disconcerting red eyes that seem to see right through .
"Sister Miriam," I whisper, my voice barely audible even to my own ears.
At first, nothing happens. The room remains silent save for the soft hum of the television in the background. But then, sothing shifts. The image of Sister Miriam in my mind grows clearer, more vivid. It's as if she's standing right in front of , those unsettling eyes boring into mine.
A shiver runs through , and I feel a strange sensation wash over my body. It's like I'm being pulled forward, tugged towards sothing I can't quite comprehend. The room around seems to fade away, replaced by an endless expanse of red that matches the color of Sister Miriam's eyes.
Ava? Selene's concerned voice sounds distant, muffled, as if she's speaking to from underwater. What's happening?
I try to respond, to tell her I don't know, but the words catch in my throat. The red engulfs completely now, surrounding on all sides. It's suffocating, overwhelming, and I feel rising panic in my chest.
Just as I'm about to succumb to the fear, the red dissipates.
The change is jarring. My eyes take several rounds of rapid blinks to adjust.
I'm no longer in my apartnt.
Instead, I'm standing in the middle of a brightly lit room. It's a cozy little space, an eclectic mix of vintage and modern. It should look haphazard and pieced together, but it looks almost quaint. Cozy. Clean.
Soft, plush armchairs with sleek, minimalist end tables. Colorful throw pillows scattered across an elegant, if worn, leather couch. There are bookshelves everywhere, each filled to the brim. Recognizable modern books mixed with ancient encyclopedias. So spines show different languages.
There are even fabric-covered books that have my fingers twitching with the need to run my finger down the length of them.
A bibliophile's dream.
Where the hell are we?
"Welco to my ho, child."
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