Chapter Three
Bonnie
Mother returned the next morning with a bag of breakfast sandwiches and a smile. A smile that faded when she saw me sitting in the straight-backed chair facing the door.
I hadn’t slept all night. The flickerings of awareness that this life could not continue forever had blazed to life at some point after I finished my soup. Building up the fire in the wood stove, I sat there, staring at the flames and considering what options I had. Mother meant well, but her good intentions had resulted in my imprisonment. I had no money, no job, no mate, no friends, and the only possessions I could claim were used clothes and books. Even the books were turned back in for credit after I read them. The computer belonged to Mother.
As the night hours rolled past, I recognized that if nothing changed, I’d still be here in this broken-down cabin with an outhouse, no running water, and limited electricity. And none of those other things that made the lives I saw online look worth living. Mother was not young when I came along, and that meant she’d likely pass when I was still relatively young. Leaving me here with nothing.
Somehow, until that night, the idea of leaving had only been a vague dream. A thought that maybe one day, whatever was so dangerous would pass and Mother and I could rejoin society. And then, like a flash of lightning, I realized she was in society. Sure she lived in less-than-optimum circumstances, but several times a week, she left me there and went to see other people. She cared for pregnant women, delivered their babies, went to the grocery and hardware store. And who knew where else. While I stayed here alone, for my own protection.
She froze in the doorway, the shadows under her eyes showing how long she’d stayed awake with that mother-to-be. Any other time, I’d have thanked her for the sandwiches and hustled to help her get comfortable after her long work time. But now?
“What, exactly, are you protecting me from?”
She started to use the same lines she always had, vaguery to the nth degree, but something about my expression or my body language must have told her the lies were over because she let her medical bag slide to the floor, dropped her jacket on top of it, and trudged over to our table with one shorter leg that made it wobble. “You might as well come and have breakfast while we talk. This is going to take a while.”
I didn’t want to be hungry, but having had nothing but a bowl of watery soup since breakfast the day before led my body to insist that I eat. So, I sat down opposite my mother and waited to hear what she had to say.
“Are you sure you want to hear all of this? It’s an ugly story and knowing the details will not improve your life going forward.”
“I’m an adult, ready to make my own decisions, and I’m ready for the truth, Mother.”
“Umm, about that.” She flushed crimson, her gaze fixed on the splintered wood of the tabletop. “I’m not exactly your mother.”
“What?” I’d run over all the possibilities while waiting for her return, or thought they were all of them. But, in fact, this came out of the blue. “Then who are you? My aunt? My grandmother?” That would make sense due to our age difference. Older sister seemed unlikely.
“No.”
I flexed my hands, telling myself that strangling this woman who was apparently not a relative would make it impossible forher to tell me the facts I needed now more than ever. “Then who?”
“I delivered you.”
“Oh, of course. But given that you haven’t kidnapped any of the other babies you delivered and brought them here, there must be more to the story.” Reaching for one of the sandwiches, I waved with my other hand. “So, go on.”
“All right. Once, long ago, I was traveling and visiting with relatives some distance from here. Two males from a nearby pack brought word that a female was in labor and in distress. They begged me to come and help before they lost both mother and baby.”
Peeling the paper away, I found a croissant sandwich, my favorite, but I could not allow myself to soften. No matter this female had reared me from birth, she had done so only by virtue of having kidnapped me. Still, the sandwich was good. “Hunger makes a great sauce,” as my mother said. Oh, not my mother! “Okay, so you went and delivered a baby, presumably me?”
“Yes, you. The female was indeed in distress, but I was able to stabilize her and bring you safely into the world.” She picked up her own sandwich and took a bite, chewed, and swallowed.
“And then?” Strangling wasn’t a bad option. She was, by her own admission, a kidnapper of an innocent baby, after all. “Moth—I don’t know what to call you.”
She ignored that comment, while it occurred to me that I didn’t even know her name. “And then, I carried you over to a table by the window to clean and check you over. While I was doing that, voices carried on the wind chilled my blood. I really wish you didn’t insist I tell you all this. It’s cruel.”
“What is cruel, is being told to be afraid but not knowing who or what to be afraid of. Mo—What is your name, please? I can’t call you Mother anymore but I have to call you something.”
“Marie.” She blinked fast, but two tears slipped down her cheeks. “You can call me Marie.”
“Okay, Marie. Please tell me everything. I’m not a child anymore, and I need to make decisions for myself.”
“Very well. As I bathed you and counted your fingers and toes, voices…well, I told you that part.”
“Yes, but not why they chilled your blood.” At this rate, I’d die of old age before I learned why I lived in this shitty cabin. “M-Marie, please.”
“Okay, but don’t blame me for how this makes you feel. I heard a group of betas talking about how they prided themselves on breeding only alphas in the pack, and how the woman giving birth—”
“My real mother,” I cut in.
