Still, I continue to stroke her, as my mind travels far away, sinking into painful thoughts. After a while, I realize she’s not moving anymore. I look down and notice that her eyelashes are fluttering lightly over her pink cheeks, and her breaths are coming in, deep and regular.
She’s sleeping.
I kiss her head, burying my face in her dark curls, then gently lie her down on the bed. Pulling the comforter up, I tuck it in around her, and she curls under it like a little kitten.
It takes everything I have to leave her. She looks so unbearably sweet.
Shutting the apartment door a little harder than I mean to, I come face to face with Logan.
“What the hell?” I ask.
He lifts his head and I frown, perplexed, as I take in his anxious expression.
“She talked?” he asked.
My confused frown deepens.
“Not more than usual. She doesn’t say much, you know that.”
He exhales, as if he’s been holding his breath for a while.
“She didn’t talk, then,” he reiterates, looking both relieved and surprised.
“Was she supposed to?”
He hesitates, then shakes his head, and follows me quietly back to our offices.
I pass a hand over my eyes, wincing as the headache comes back, worse than ever. Maybe if I were less sleep-deprived, I might understand what he seems to be half-trying to tell me. But it’s more than I can handle right now. I have enough on my plate, what with Angel, the Feds, the girl… Vale.
The elevator dings and I groan as I spot the latter sitting in the conference room through the glass door.
He looks up at me with glittering eyes. In the glow of the morning light, I could swear they were yellow. Taking a deep breath, I open the door and walk into the lion’s den.
17
Seraphina
“Mama? Where are you? Answer me, mama!”
I’m awake and it’s the middle of the night. At first, I thought I’d been woken by the cold. There’s a violent snowstorm, the heater’s broken, and my blanket is so thin and patched up, it’s nearly useless.
But no, something is wrong. Something is very, very wrong.
Usually, I know better than to go wandering around at night, especially with the Monster’s room just next door. But tonight, I have no choice.
The only sound in the house is his deep, rumbling snoring. I can’t hear Mama at all.
I slip out of my room and go to the small living room that doubles as a kitchen, hugging my thin sweater to me. The room is empty. I peek out the window, and notice that the old beat-up car is gone.
Mama took it. Where could she have gone?
She never leaves me alone at night. I may be fourteen, but she still views me as a child. The thing is, I view her as one as well. She’s a helpless, romantic daydreamer who warns me about men but goes running off to them like some teenager.
I hesitate before grabbing a steak knife from the kitchen drawer. Slipping it into a plastic bag, I get into my old parka, put my feet into my worn sneakers, and head out.
I follow the tire marks in the snow until the last of my doubt vanishes. I know where she went.
I hurry down the snowy streets, calling out Mama’s name, but I have a feeling it’s too late. She’s returned to him. The Beast.
