“No. I can’t,” River spat, a rare crack showing in that impenetrable armor he always wore. “So fucking drop it already.”
And with that, he ended the call.
* * *
At exactly seven-thirty the following Friday, I stood on the red brick stoop of my childhood home, a disposable plastic bag of fragrant Indian takeout twisting nervously in my fingers.
Unlike half the houses on our block with their inflatable armies of snowmen and holiday remixes blasting 24/7 on surround sound, my mother had put out a simple potted rosemary bush trimmed in the shape of a tree and tied with a red velvet bow. A string of jalapeno lights twinkled from the windows around the door, the same ones I’d picked out from the grocery store sale bin back in middle school and that we usually hung up together every year while holiday specials played on the TV in the background.
A lump formed in my throat. They’d let me be there when the Tracer from the Council released her memories. Cal and River had tried to warn me what to expect. I’d had nine years to prepare for this day. My mother was going in cold. For better or for worse, she was about to learn everything I’d told her for the past decade had been a lie.
Any illusions I’d had that the truth might magically set things right between us shattered the moment she took one look at me and burst into tears. When she began to hyperventilate, her heartrate spiking to dangerous levels, I was ordered out of the room. Back at home, I clutched my phone like a lifeline while Dallas held me, my calm in an endless storm. Cal had said to give her time, that grief and anger were to be expected after such a violation.
And even though I knew he was right, my heart didn’t think it could bear the pain of losing my mother a second time. Not after everything.
Fidgeting in my candy-apple red Nikes, I rang the bell again. An SUV with a wreath tied to its front grill roared by. The neighbor’s speakers began blaring out a ten-thousand sleigh bell version of Santa Claus is Coming to Town. Tears blurring my eyes, I set the sack of butter chicken and lamb vindaloo on the front stoop and started to turn away. The door flew open.
Juliet Blair hurled herself at me so hard I was flung back, would have fallen if it weren’t for my shifter strength catching us both at the last second.
“Mom—"
“You tried to tell me. That first night. I remember now. You called and told me where to find your diary. Everything was there—"
“I should never have told you. It was my fault. Everything that they did to you—”
“None of it was your fault.” Her fingers wove into my hair, twisting as if they were plaiting phantom braids, and a sob choked in my throat. “I should have known. And I’ll never forgive myself for not realizing you were in trouble.”
“You couldn’t have. They—”
“Dallas had been manipulating you for months. Years. All those secret meetings.”
I took a deep breath, knowing we had to face this now if we were ever going to move past it. I had caused this. Not by what had happened after I’d been turned, but with every tiny lie I’d told sneaking out of the house at sixteen, hundreds of dishonesties blurring the truth and building a wall between my mother and me, one I hadn’t been able to see forming until it was too late.
I ate raw steaks and strawberry cupcakes at the full moon, chased down vampires by night in the world’s cutest track shoes, and had a cat who was convinced I was going to eat her if the pizza guy didn’t show up on time. My mom special ordered garlic supplements by the caseload from Amazon and didn’t have any hot paranormal reading on her e-reader unless you counted her subscription to Supernatural Stalkers. Which, I so didn’t.
Nothing true could be built off a lie. The past month had taught me that much. No doubt we would hurt each other countless times as we dug into nine years of memories that had been stolen from us both. But we would heal. And we would come through on the other side stronger for it.
“I lied to you. I snuck out. I don’t blame you for being angry at Dallas, but you should be angry at me, too. I’m the one who betrayed your trust.” I forced my voice to remain steady. “We should go inside, eat this takeout before it gets cold and talk about what happened back then, the truth this time.” I rested a hand on my stomach. It was now or never. “Because after that, there’s something else I need to tell you.”
Epilogue
Dallas
WHEN CHRISTMAS EVE ARRIVED FIVE DAYS LATER, there was cause for celebration. Thanks to Brody and Cal’s fast cleanup job, law enforcement hadn’t been able to find any trace of our presence out at the Christmas tree farm, and the Feds had officially pulled out of Blood Moon in a line of unmarked black SUVs the following day. It had only taken me and Lacey forty-eight hours and two bags of kitty treats to locate Fancy, which boded well for our chances at parenthood. And, oh yeah. She’d agreed to marry me. So I was pretty much on top of the world.
West, Hayden and Brody had gone all out decking out the ranch for our traditional Christmas Eve celebration. A plump ten-foot fir stood in the corner over by the fireplace, its branches festooned with strings of popcorn and cranberry, candy canes and bright red bows, as well as the sparkly plastic golden retriever-proof balls we’d had to get last year after Major melted down with puppy happiness when the honey-smoked ham was brought out and charged the tree. West and I had nearly died laughing. The tips of Brody’s ears had flamed. Apparently the secret high-intensity dog obedience courses were supposed to have had the last of Major’s puppy misbehavior sorted, which was why this year, in addition to moving Mom’s nutcrackers to the mantle and nixing Hayden’s spray snow designs on the Christmas village, everyone had a shift keeping the Furnado in arms reach.
“Who’s hungry?” Coming through from the kitchen, I cleared off space on the serving table. “We’ve got tamales, hickory smoked chicken wings with Ranch, fried mozzarella sticks, stuffed mushrooms, and guacamole with onion and cilantro.”
My brothers descended on the food… well, like a pack of wolves.
“You should sit down.” Cal clapped me on the back. “When’s the last time you got a night off?”
“Nah. Everyone knows this is the best night of the year to cook.” Loading up a plate for me and one for Lacey, I edged my way across the room.
Perched between Hayden and Naomi at the bottom of the stairs, Lacey was rubbing Major’s ears, the golden’s head flopped languidly in her lap. She had on leggings and a deep cranberry cowlneck top, her smoky eyeliner setting off her pale gray eyes perfectly. Seeing me approach, Major leaped to his feet. Naomi grabbed the bright red halter that had been decorated with jingle bells and held him in place, preventing him from tearing off into the kitchen.
“Not exactly keeping it on the down low, big guy.” Passing off one of the plates to Lacey, I snuck a look over one shoulder and tore off a piece of hickory smoked chicken wing.
Tail thumping happily, Major inhaled the morsel from my palm.
“That chicken organic?” Brody barked.
Lacey snorted, leaning in to stage whisper. “We had a deal. No one tells him about all the cookies and Auntie Lacey doggie-naps Snickerdoodle to go running in the morning.”
Clearly besotted, Major gazed up at her and barked.