Alana gripped the warm ceramic mug, the heat seeping into her fingertips as she leaned against the cool, polished marble countertops in her kitchen. Her fingers, though, were restless, lightly drumming a nervous rhythm on the mug's surface.
She couldn't escape the image of Trinity's eyes, or the profound feeling that had seized her soul—that undeniable, powerful tug that screamed "her child" was right in front of her. It had consumed her, an obsession taking root in every crevice of her mind. This was a feeling she'd never known, yet it made her loss feel more tangible, more real. She'd never felt the bond with Trinity, and now that she had, even for a fleeting few seconds, it was all she could think about.
And now, a fire burned within her, the primal instinct of a mother fighting to save her child. Trinity's wolf was trying to emerge, and Alana was determined to find a way to make it happen. It was dangerous, almost unheard of. Only a few distant cases existed of individuals past the age of expressing their wolf who had managed to achieve emergence.
As a doctor, Alana had stumbled upon fragmented notes from pack doctors detailing the various "defectives" who had eventually emerged as true wolves. In every case she read, the process was excruciatingly painful and unpredictable. No one understood why the wolf had been suppressed, nor why it had finally emerged. But one thing was terrifyingly clear: the process was agonizing. When a wolf emerged for the first time in a fully formed human body, with sturdy bones unlike the more mobile adolescent form, the bones didn't just reform; they shattered. They pushed haphazardly through the skin, trying to find a new arrangement, puncturing organs and breaking irregular parts of the body. The first shift for an adult was a drawn-out horror.
Most died during that process, succumbing to blood loss, shock from the unimaginable pain, or even their bones reforming through vital organs like the heart. It seemed as if anything could go wrong.
But Alana couldn't banish it from her mind. It was as if she could now hear her daughter's voice, a desperate scream echoing in her head: Mommy! Mommy, rescue me! And Alana refused to ignore her daughter's cries.
"Beta female," the headmaid's soft voice broke through Alana's reverie. She had noticed the deep frown etched between Alana's brows, a clear sign that whatever consumed her thoughts was serious, and she hadn't wanted to disturb her.
"What is it?" Alana's tone was clipped, sharp. She held little regard for the staff in her home, seeing them as nameless faces, servants she refused to learn anything about.
"Trinity is awake," the headmaid announced, remembering to keep her head bowed, careful not to anger Alana.
Boris sat by Trinity's bedside. Three days had passed, and her eyes had remained closed. She had been cleared to come home, but the knowledge brought him little comfort. He'd wanted to keep her at the pack hospital, where she could be monitored around the clock.
His mate, however, had convinced him there was no real difference between the pack hospital and home. Trinity was fine, for all intents and purposes. Whatever had been happening with her mate bond was over; no new marks had appeared, and the existing damage would slowly fade. It was shocking, his mate had mused, that such intense damage could be dealt to a defective.
Boris had pulled their old rocking chair into the room, positioning it right beside the king-sized bed so he could sit and watch over her. For three straight days, he hadn't left the room, refusing to do anything else. His mind could only focus on his daughter. He'd received a less-than-pleased mind-link from the Alpha, followed by an impromptu visit from the same Alpha, who had quickly realized Boris was in no condition to be of any use to the pack, not when his daughter's well-being consumed him.
A soft groan stirred in the quiet room, instantly drawing Boris's full attention to Trinity. It was the first sound she had made in days. As if rousing from a common sleep, she rolled over, pulling the blankets higher on her face before her eyes fluttered open.
Confusion instantly clouded her eyes, slowly giving way to recognition.
"Trin," Boris breathed, excitement lacing his voice. He gently helped her to a seated position, holding her cheeks, looking at her with an amazed, heartfelt expression. Then he pulled her to his chest, holding her in an unbreakable hug. "You're finally awake."
"Yeah," she croaked, her voice scratchy and unfamiliar, as if she had damaged her vocal cords or was just getting over a bad cold. It sounded odd.
Millie! Bring food, and water! Boris spoke into the headmaid's mind.
Trinity patted Boris on the shoulder, hoping he would release her soon. The hug was becoming increasingly awkward. She wasn't used to hugging him, or many people really. It was starting to make her skin crawl.
As if reading her mind, he pulled away, but the bright smile on his face never faltered.
"How are you feeling?"
"Like I've been screaming," Trinity's voice broke with every word. She remembered the pain, the strange images in her mind, before everything went black. But she didn't understand why it had happened.
"What happened to me?"
Sitting back in his rocking chair, Boris had agonized over what he would tell her when she woke up. As he stared at her, he wanted to tell her the truth. She deserved to know what was going on, and why it had happened. But Ryan had made it crystal clear that they shouldn't tell her. She would be furious when she found out they had lied, of course.
But he didn't want to give her the crushing definitive—that no matter what, she was always connected to the monster who had already branded her skin, that they were inevitably tied together until the day she died. And there was nothing they could do to change it. It was a horror no one should ever have to live through, and Ryan wanted her to live at ease. Telling her something so horrific would not be good for Trinity.
Boris's mind raced, torn between what he wanted to say and what he should say. He wasn't like Ryan; they didn't have years of shared experience and history that would lead him to believe she would one day forgive him. Everything with her was new, a slow climb. Boris wasn't sure he could afford any lies between them.
"You remember when I told you what a mate is, right?" Boris waited for her to nod before continuing. "To complete the mating bond, a wolf has to bite you. Their teeth will look like that of their wolf. They bite into your neck, and it releases an enzyme that forms the bond." He paused, letting his words sink in, searching her face to see if any memory clicked, if she would understand.
"Okay, why are you telling me this?" Trinity wasn't sure what this had to do with why she had been sick, or why she had gotten better.
"Just please, think! Has anyone marked you?"
Trinity didn't even understand why he needed her to think about this. She had spent her life believing she was human, living only among humans. She didn't know about wolves. She would surely remember someone biting into her flesh with teeth the size of a wolf's.
"I don't need to. No one has bitten me or marked me."
Boris felt a surge of relief, knowing she hadn't been marked by Mickey, but he had to be sure. "Mickey, did he mark you?"
Trinity's entire body tensed. How did he know that name? Why would he ask her about him? Jess would never speak to Boris about Mickey. And the only other person who knew was Ryan. It didn't make sense that Ryan would just tell him; there was no reason for it.
"No, why do you know that name?"
Alana pushed the door open, a bright smile on her face as she saw Trinity sitting up in bed. She held a tray of food and water for her. Closing the door behind her, she came to the left of Trinity's bed, resting the tray in front of her.
"Eat up, you need to get your strength back," Alana told her, smiling in a way she never had before.
Trinity was momentarily distracted by Alana's unsettling smile. Alana never smiled at her, and a near-death experience wasn't enough to change someone like Alana's demeanor. It made Trinity uneasy. Her blue eyes then shifted back to Boris.
"Why do you know his name?" Trinity wouldn't let it go. This was her secret, her only secret that she didn't want to share with anyone. She didn't want anyone to look at her like she was pathetic, or some sad little girl. Her pain was hers and hers alone, and she didn't want to share it, no matter their intention.
"Your injuries, they came out of nowhere. If you were marked by a wolf, it would explain what happened to you. I saw the marks all over your skin. We need to know if you've been marked by a wolf. He didn't tell us everything, just enough."
"Hmm." It was all Trinity could manage. Looking away, she hoped this wouldn't change everything. That this wasn't the reason Alana wasn't being her normal terrible self, that she wasn't so pitiful that she couldn't even warrant a spiteful look. "So what happened to me then?"
"Since you haven't been marked, we don't know." Boris wasn't sure if he was doing the right thing, if he should have just lied. He couldn't really read her; her emotions were so muted, he couldn't tell how she felt. She was keeping them all to herself at the moment.
Lifting her fork, Trinity began to eat the food in front of her, hoping they would leave her alone, that when she stepped out of this room again, no one would mention this, no one would speak about it again.
"Give us a minute," Boris spoke softly to his mate.
Nodding, Alana excused herself, sparing Trinity one last look over her shoulder before closing the door. She would meet her real daughter soon.
"I didn't want to pry. I'm just so sorry, Trinity." Boris felt like his heart was cracking. He'd left his daughter to fend for herself.
Trinity wanted to stab Ryan with her silverware for putting her in the position of having this conversation. "I don't want to talk about anything. I'm not fine, but I'm just fine. Now you know, act like you don't." Her words were cold and precise. Trinity didn't want to deal with her pain. It wasn't something she felt she needed to share or express or even deal with most days. She could live like everyone else. Sometimes something would happen and she would freeze, but those moments were few and far between. She didn't want to live in the horror of a moment in time that was already behind her.
"I can't pretend I don't know. I want to know everything. I'm not saying you have to tell me anything, but I want to know. I want you to talk to me. I want to go and kill him. And I wish I could make it right."
Slamming down her cutlery, Trinity pushed the tray away. "This"—Trinity gestured between herself and Boris—"this is exactly what I don't want. I don't want your pitying stare. I don't want your guilt to mix with my own pain. I mean, even Alana is being weird. She's a complete bitch, and she smiled at me." Trinity felt exasperated.
Boris couldn't help the involuntary chuckle at her comment about Alana. "She's not a bitch."
Trinity merely raised an eyebrow at him, a clear indication of who are you kidding? "Boris, we're friends, kind of. Don't make me avoid you."
Boris had a million things he wanted to say, an unending syllabus of apologies on the tip of his tongue, ready to explode at a moment's notice. But he didn't want his daughter to feel any worse, to hide from him.
"During the course, why'd you push the tire onto Clyde?" Boris found himself asking, picking a subject from the boundary line she had set.
Trinity silently thanked him in her mind before answering his question, telling him all about Clyde being a jerk to Timothy. She was happy they could find their way back to normal.