I watch the view in front of me. “Do you need some more pain meds?”
“Not yet,” Deena answers quickly. “I still hate the way they make me feel. After all this time, you’d think I’d get over it, but I’d rather go through the suffering than be dragged to the place I invariably end up.”
“I get that. I’d never force you to take medication. Your healing is your own, but suffering won’t help.”
Her eyes stay closed, and I sense that she’s remembering why she won’t take the painkillers as her scent strays. Deena shakes her head, shutting down her memories. I know because she explained the process of how she copes.
“Marco seemed okay,” she says while blowing on her tea. Her eyes flit over the cup to mine, and they fill with a worry only a mother can have.
“Because he is. Do you remember him waking you up? I told him not to. I said he could sleep next to you, though.”
“He’s a wonder drug, that's for sure. And yeah, I do remember. That’s where my memory stopped. For the time being, Quinn, that’s how I need it to be. If I want details as to what happened or I want to talk to you about what I went through, I’ll ask for your time.”
“I know that.” We all heal differently, and how we choose to recover is something that can’t be disputed by others.
We sit in quiet again. Like always, being with Deena is effortless, but it’s also necessary for my well-being. I get a lot out of being around her, and I know the feeling is reciprocated.
I put my empty cup down and reach for hers before I twist around, sensing Santiago at the door. He waits for an invitation, and Deena stares at me with one of her trademark knowing looks, waiting for an explanation.
“Come join us.” I hold my hand up to him, and my scent leaks. It’s impossible not to respond now that we’re bonded.
Deena mutters something under her breath, but my focus is owned by my Alpha, so I miss what she says. The swirl of whatever was making sleep difficult grips tighter. Admittedly, he also dips down to give me a sweet, chaste good-morning kiss, so it could be that too.
His eyes are sparkling bright, and he smells incredible. I get another quick kiss before he goes to stand up and turns to Deena. “I’m sorry for being rude, but…”
Santiago freezes on the spot, his hand outstretched as he looks at Deena. It’s almost comical seeing him hovering, but at the same time, worry churns because that’s not like Santiago. He’s rarely at a loss for words.
“Santiago? Are you okay?” I ask, already climbing to my feet. I run my hand over his shoulders, helping wherever I can.
“Isabella?” Santiago is staring at Deena, his face slack in shock.
I shake my head. “No, this is Deena, Santiago. Marco’s mother.”
Santiago moves slowly, like he’s worried he is going to spook her. He turns to me, completely shell-shocked. A dawning realization hits his eyes. I read it plain as day, and something about the situation starts to make sense to him.
“Shit, bebe, the story you told me about Deena and Marco…” He goes back to watching her while he speaks, but his expression is softer, gentler. He’s trying very hard to disguise his Alpha side in his mannerisms. It’s there, but he’s tucked it away as best he can to appear as approachable as possible.
Deena’s eyes shift from watching him carefully to looking at me, silently questioning what the hell is going on. When she looks at him, she’s apprehensive, likely because no matter how hard he tries to hide it, Santiago is very much an Alpha. A strong one, and Deena and I haven’t had a great track record with strong Alphas.
Santiago reaches for her but holds back, the gesture very conciliatory. His approach is cautious and his voice is low. “I’m sorry for bringing up memories you perhaps don’t want to talk about, but I know you, Deena. Do I look familiar to you?” He leads her gently in his questioning.
I turn to face him. “Santiago, what’s going on?”
He squats low in front of her chair, his arm twisted backward for me. When I link our fingers, he tugs me to him. Though I canfeel his confusion in our bond, his sheer elation is louder and clearer. “This is my Aunt Isabella, bebe.”
“Deena is your aunt?”
“Yes. Our homes have Isabella in every room. There are photos of her growing up everywhere, and her beautiful paintings hang on our walls in every house our family has. Her brother is Alejandro Cabal, my father.”
Deena’s eyes flare at the mention of art. Our house is full of her watercolors, but her eyes lock on my Alpha as she all but demands more details from him.
“Isabella, we are blood. You have a very large family who never stopped looking for you or praying for your return. Quintessa told me how she found you and Marco, and that’s how far back your family has been searching.”
Deena makes a small noise in the back of her throat; it’s not fear-based, nor is it her laughing. She’s digesting, thinking, wondering if what he says is the truth. And then she turns from his focus and looks at me.
We have searched for answers to who Deena was since the day we met, but it’s hard to know where to start in a situation like that, especially when you’re hiding. We had nothing to go on because she had no clue about her time before the warehouse. It was like someone had wiped her memory clean.
I honestly have no idea how we ended up here, either. If I think hard about the time of our escape, I’m sure I could figure it out, but it was a horrible experience, constantly wondering if Victor was tracking us. How we escaped and got here was by sheer dumb luck and the tidings of destiny. There’s no other way to explain it.
