She’s acting almost normal. Which automatically feels like a trap. My eyes flick around the room, half-expecting to find a goat in a tutu or a bathtub full of soggy noodles as the punchline.
Archie leaps onto the bed, back to his usual ferret size, scampering up to my chest like I’m his personal recliner. “You’re okay.”
“I am,” I answer both of them, stroking his fur. “Sore, but not in the worst way.”
“Cade did his job well then.” Iris hums like she’s commenting on the weather while knitting something I think is supposed to be a hat. Though the yarn is an aggressive neon green that looks like it could double as a traffic vest.
Sitting up, I move the pillows behind me and keep a hold on Archie as I notice I’m once again dressed. I almost ask how, but decide to just assume Liz took care of that at some point. I don’t need to know if Cade or even Iris had anything to do with it.
“There we go.” Iris plunks her knitting on the nightstand. “Had to finish that row before I lost count. Little BobbiJo’s been begging for a bonnet, and I’m not about to deny a child her head fashion.” She gives me a once-over, then addresses Archie. “Would you mind giving me some time with my granddaughter?”
He looks up at me, which I appreciate, but it’s not needed.
“I’ll be okay,” I promise him. “I’ll find you for a walk just as soon as I’ve had a shower and some breakfast.”
His whiskers tickle against my chest as he presses his face closer before bouncing off the bed. “I’ll hold you to that.”
He goes toward the door, andIris follows him, opening and closing it, before returning to sit next to me. She pats my hand, her skin dry but soft. “Are you really doing fine? Because you look a little like death reheated in a microwave, but I’m hoping that means we still have time for a little heart-to-heart.”
There’s the Iris I’ve come to know and…tolerate.
“Sure,” I mutter. “What do you want to talk about?”
I expect her to say something about how I was reckless or about the energy burst I had, but instead, she sends me spiraling with two words.
“Your father.”
I’ve thought about him a few times since coming here, but with everything else and never having really worried about him before, I hadn’t pressed the issue. Mom always said he was a good man, the kind who would have been there if he could have been. And that was it. End of story.
For a long time, I’d wished for more, but I respected her enough to give her that. Especially when she’s always made sure to be enough for me. Hell, she even got me under the car a few times to teach me how to change a tire, check the oil, and cuss like a mechanic when the wrench slipped. She filled both roles and never once let me feel as though I was missing out on anything.
But now, she’s gone. And Iris is here. And she has answers I intend to claim this time.
“Does he know I’m here?” I ask because I need to know if there’s a chance I might meet him.
Iris shakes her head, then frowns. “Well, he might now. But I haven’t been able to find him. I’m working onit, though. My network is wide, sugarplum, even if half of it’s gossip and the other half is vampires who want to drink me before breakfast.”
Comforting.
My cheeks redden as I ask my next question because I should know this answer, but Mom wasn’t even capable of saying it back then.
“What’s his name?”
“Marius Landry,” Iris sighs, like the name itself carries a thousand-pound weight. “His father is Gabriel Landry, the alpha of the Stoneclaw pack. Marius was supposed to inherit the title, but he’s been missing for over twenty years.”
“Missing?” My stomach plummets. “Like probably-dead missing, or the kind where he apparently ran away because that’s a theme around here?”
Cade abandoned his pack. My mother hid from this world. And now my father has vanished, too? Was everyone in this world allergic to responsibility? Or are things worse than I’m being led to believe?
I don’t know, and I’m not sure I want to.
“My understanding is that his father, Gabriel, was suspicious of your existence,” Iris explains. “And instead of letting you be found, he left to keep your mother’s secret.”
“But why didn’t he come find us?” The words slip out before I can stop them, raw and small, like I’m five years old again.
Iris doesn’t hesitate. She stands and pulls me into a hug. Her arms are wiry and smell faintly of lavender andmothballs, but the comfort is real. “Jocelyn hid you both too well. If he could have found you, he would have.”
The unexpected tenderness makes my throat tighten. I hug her back, leaning into a family bond I’ve never known before. “Thank you, Iris.”
