It kills me to see her so hopeful—even more because I have to lie to her. I get that tingling feeling that always appears before I do. I rub my eyes. “No, just some rogue.”
That’s another thing. I didn’t tell my mom that, when I scented my mate, she was a rogue per se, but that she must’ve been passing through. Thankfully, my mom bought it.
Her brow knits. “I’m sorry, honey.” She sighs heavily. “I thought for certain it would be her. Where is she now?”
“In the dungeon,” I say.
We hardly ever use the dungeon, so it’s not a surprise when she whips her head at me.
“What is she doing there? Why didn’t you execute her?”
“I figure she might know something about who killed Dad. I’ll see if I can get some information out of her.”
Mom tears her glasses off her face and tosses them onto the stack of papers in front of her, pinching the bridge of her nose. “How do you plan to do that?”
I’m not sure she really wants to know. Her strong ties to her faith couldn’t handle it. She would never do it herself, but she won’t hesitate to turn a blind eye.
I stare at her long and hard.
When she notices I haven’t said anything, she peers up at me. She swallows hard, and the papers shake in her hand as she slowly sets them down and rubs the moonstone pendant hanging around her neck.
“And after that? What’re you going to do with her?”
What started as a reactive response became official pack protocol to eradicate intruders as you run across them. With defense not being our strong suit, going on the offensive seems to be the wiser choice.
“The same thing we’vebeendoing with rogues,” I say simply, but my wolf claws at my insides thinking she’d meet the same fate as the rest of them.
She clutches the pendant and whispers a silent request for forgiveness from our goddess, then kisses it. Her gaze slides over to a family photo of the three of us on the desk, from last year’s pre-Hunt festivities. My parents had been so hopeful I’d find my mate and take over. Eventually giving them grandpups. Together, they would have made the best grandparents. I still can’t believe he won’t be here for any of it.
She rubs the stone with her thumb, smiling somberly at the memory. “You know your father took in a rogue once upon a time... Taught them our ways—”
“Mom, please,” I say.
Regardless of what my father might have done before, I can’t take this rogue in.
“One day, you will be the alpha. You’re going to make your own decisions—and I’m trying not to stand in the way of that—but you might want to think twice about your decision to execute over reform. People can change,” my mother says.
Jay’s two attempts to kill me in one day might suggest otherwise.
Frustrated, I scratch my scalp, trying to itch away my unfiltered response before I say something I regret.
I take issue with two things she’s now said. The first being that it wasmydecision to execute rogues. It wasn’t. Actually, it was one of the first things she uttered when she clutched my father’s mangled body to her chest. But if I tried to correct her, she’d say, “I don’t remember it that way” or “That doesn’t sound like me.”
Which is why when she said she’s trying not to stand in the way is the second reason I’m having to bite my tongue. I’d bethrilledif she did more. I’ve had to make tough decisionswithout the authority of an official alpha, or the backing of the royal council. It only makes everything harder. Everything I do is questioned, but I get why. I also understand why my mother hasn’t been helping.
My mother isn’t lazy. She’s grieving. But so am I. And none of this is my responsibility. Not yet anyway. It’s a heavy burden to carry, but I don’t want to make her feel bad. She’s dealing with enough.
So instead, I say, “Not this one.”
She runs a finger lazily over my father’s smiling face. She rests an elbow on the armrest and her chin in her palm, exhaling audibly. “I don’t know. Sometimes I wonder if we’re doing the right thing.”
My father was a goddess-fearing man. Every decision he made was with Her in mind, including not teaching his people how to fight as he believes She wouldn’t approve. He instilled these values in all of us, and I still believe in Her, but Jay isn’t the only one I blame for his passing. He may not approve but, “I think Dad would understand...”
“But would he agree?”
My gaze drops to the floor, and I shove my hands in my pockets.
“I don’t think he would, either,” she says.
