I rise from the chair and walk to Zoe’s side, positioning the phone in front of her face to unlock it. It takes me a few tries, but it works. Then I hustle out of the room and call her mother back.
“Zoe? Thank the goddess.”
“No. Actually, this is Sebastian York, partner at Full Throttle Records.”
“O-oh. Hello.”
“Are you Zoe’s mother?”
“Yes, I’m Anita Willow.”
“Nice to meet you, Anita. I?—”
“Is Zoe okay?”
“Why wouldn’t she be okay?”
“She hasn’t been answering her calls, and she didn’t return multiple texts. Also, if she’s okay, why would you be calling us?” I have to hand it to the woman; she actually sounds convinced of her own bullshit.
“I’m calling because it’s three o’clock on a Friday, and Zoe is busy in the recording studio. Very busy. Your daughter is extremely talented, Mrs. Willow. I’m afraid we have to make use of the studio when scheduled, which means it will be impossible for her to call or text you during work hours and sometimes after, if she’s recording late. She noticed your repeated calls and wanted me to return your call to make sure you and her father were okay.”
“Oh.” The woman sounds disappointed. I release a slow breath. That “oh” says it all. Her parents expect her to fail. They expect her to fall back into the mistakes of her past. I hate that. Parents should love you unconditionally. They should believe in you when no one else does. And this witch is falling way short.
“So, are you both okay?” I ask her.
“Yes, yes, we’re fine.”
“No emergency, then? I see twenty-four messages from you and someone named Jeremy on her phone. Is this Jeremy having an emergency?”
“No. No. He’s her doctor. Just checking in with her.”
“Did she have an appointment or something?”
“Uh, no.”
“Then, could you please share with Jeremy that Zoe Willow is a very busy recording artist, and unless there is an emergency, please do not expect an immediate return call or text.”
“Okay.” A pocket of silence opens between us, and I surmise that Anita Willow is trying her best not to voice her true worries to her daughter’s new boss.
I throw her a bone. “She also said to tell you we’ll see you this weekend for Beltane.”
“We?”
“Oh, I’m coming with her. It will be a pleasure to meet you in person.”
“Oh, yes. Of course. I’m so glad you can make it.”
“I’ll relay your excitement to Zoe as soon as she’s done recording. Buh-bye.” I end the call, my blood still coursing hot in my veins. I stride back to the bedroom and quietly place the phone down on the end table next to her. As I watch her, a soft niggle at the back of my brain wonders if I’ve done the right thing lying to her mother. After all, Zoe is currently passed out from the very gold dust her parents and doctor fear she’s using. Worse, I didn’t have Zoe’s permission to access her phone or call her mother.
But I dismiss the intrusive thoughts almost immediately. No one gets to snap their fingers and call my mate like a dog. She isn’t theirs any longer. She’s mine. And I will care for her. Besides, now that I’ve completed the drawing of the ring, she might not even need to use again.
I lower myself back into the chair and watch her sleep, watch her breathe. I’ll keep her safe. She’s mine now.
Chapter Twenty-Five
ZOE
Darkness. A cave. Cold and dark. I walk forward, hands out to feel for a wall or a piece of furniture, anything to steady myself. My hands catch on a rope strung across the room, and I grip it. It feels weird. Unnatural. I try to release it, but it sticks to my palms. I start to panic, struggling to pull away. I’m stuck.
