Chapter 59
I remember when I got to New York. I was going to start fresh.
And let me tell you, starting fresh was hard.
What made it very difficult wasn’t just the loneliness or the lack of money. It was the fact that I was keeping a secret. A huge, terrifying secret that tasted like acid every time I swallowed.
Yes, I thought I didn’t have the werewolf gene. I was the fluke, the broken little human girl raised in a pack. But I knew everything about them and I had to carry the weight of that knowledge.
I was terrified that maybe somebody would find out, some way or somehow. They would realize I wasn’t just a simple girl; I was a living archive of their weaknesses. If they found me, they would torture me in order to reveal what I knew. So I had to be careful about what I said, when I said it, and especially who I spoke to.
For the first few days in the new city, I had the whole chance to make friends, but I was guarded. I didn’t trust smiles. I didn’t expect kindness.
That all changed the day I met Mr. and Mrs. Gable.
I was walking past a bakery for the tenth time that week, trying to gather the nerve to ask if they needed help. I didn’t have the kind of education the humans required to work those pretty,
high–paying jobs. My schooling had been mostly focused on things like reading pack law and and
how to be a good luna, wife and mother.
But I was good at cooking. Really good. I learned to domesticate myself at a terrifyingly young age in order to please my adoptive mother and that skill, born of desperation, was suddenly my only
marketable talent.
Mr. Gable, an older but kind and humble man saw me hovering outside.
“Are you going to keep admiring the window display, doll, or are you going to buy a scone?” he
boomed, but his voice was warm, like fresh bread.
I stammered out my need for a job.
They weren’t big on hiring people. In fact, they told me later, I was the first person they had ever hired. They were growing old, and they couldn’t do the things they did in their younger ages. Their
backs hurt. They weren’t as productive. They needed help.
Mrs. Gable, whom I soon started calling Ma, was petite and fierce, with flour permanently dusted
in her gray hair. She watched me knead dough the first day.
1/5
Chapter 59
“You have strong hands, dear,” she observed.
“I learned early,” I simply replied, not mentioning my past.
+25 Points
They taught me how to bake the complicated things the flaky croissants, the elaborate wedding cakes. And most importantly, they became the parents and grandparents that I needed. They
didn’t ask about my past. They just asked if I wanted more coffee.
I gave them my name but a fake history. They gave me safety and purpose. I stopped looking over
my shoulder every minute.
Life settled into a rhythm of sugar and butter. I was happy, or as happy as a girl hiding a secret
could be.
Then the nausea started.
When I found out I was pregnant, I was completely shattered and overjoyed at the exact same
moment.
Astor.
I wondered what I would have to tell my child when he asked about his father. But despite the terror, I carried a piece of him with me, a tiny, fragile hope, nestled right under ribs.
my
Then the months started blurring.
I think I’m definitely the crazy one because Mr. and Mrs. Gable must have realized it a long time ago that I was not completely human.
One week, I was slightly bloated. The next, I couldn’t comfortably tie my apron.
“Faith,” Pa said one morning, his voice careful as he handed me a large glass of milk, “you’re
moving awfully quickly.”
“Just good metabolism, Pa,” I lied, though I knew the truth was screamingly obvious.
Ma just patted my arm. “Well, you certainly have a glow about you, dear.”
All of a sudden, I was heavily pregnant. And then, three months after I found out, I was giving birth.
I was expecting to give birth after nine months, like normal humans. Instead, one cold evening I
gave birth to a healthy pup.
It was shocking, painful, and terrifyingly fast. Ma and Pa, bless them, handled it like seasoned grandparents. They never pressed. They only loved.
The only consolation this gave me was that my child would probably never end up like me. It seemed like his werewolf gene overpowered his human one because of the accelerated rate he
2/5
& Chapter 59
grew in. I had been human enough to be rejected, but Marco was pure werewolf.
+25 Points
From the moment my baby boy opened his eyes I had so much to live for. So much to look forward to. So much to smile for.
Which is something that I was seeking a lot with Astor.
It was never about love, not in the way people write in cheesy romance novels. I think I loved Astor enough for the both of us. But I wasn’t happy. Not even close.
And yet, my son’s tiny hand gripped my finger, and I felt a profound, overwhelming peace that Astor never gave me. Marco gave me joy.
He grew so fast in those first few years. He walked before one, and by age three, he was nearly the size of a five–year–old. Pa told everyone Marco was “big–boned and a good eater.” Ma just doted on him, slipping him extra bits of cake crust and teaching him everything.
I think about Astor more times than I would like in a day. I still cry over him sometimes, usually late at night when I’m alone.
But the only person who makes me feel better is Marco, because he smells and smiles exactly like
his father. The scent of pine and something wild, something dangerous, clings to him.
I’ve had to stop myself on a daily basis before taking the phone to just call him–the burner phone
hidden deep in a shoe box–and ask him how he is. To tell him that he has a son, a very handsome
son who looks exactly like him.
But I never call. I know what would happen.
“The plane is ready.”
The doctor’s voice broke my chain of thoughts. I looked at the exhausted couple sitting right by my
side since yesterday. Pa and Ma. They looked older than ever.
The same couple who have had to dig into their entire life savings just to make sure that I was
being flown to a specialist facility in Maine by a medical plane.
“You don’t have to worry about Marco, honey,” Pa said, placing a kiss on my forehead. His hand.
trembled slightly. “We will take care of him.”
I know I don’t have to worry about him. They’ve been taking care of him ever since he was born.
“I wish I could come with you,” Ma whispered, clutching my hand. I think hearing me call them Ma and Pa makes them even happier than it does me, because they never had children of their own.
Marco was the grandchild they never dared to dream of.
“I’m going to be fine,” I assured them, and not so much myself, because I don’t know what’s waiting
3/5
<Chapter 59
for me there.
+25 Points
I asked the nurse for five minutes alone. They kindly wheeled my hospital bed closer to the window where Marco was standing, gazing up at the enormous sterile medical jet.
My heart felt like it was tearing itself in two.
“Mommy” he said, his voice deep for his age. “Pa says you’re going on a mommy adventure.”
I smoothed his hair, which was the exact dark bronze shade of Astor’s. “That’s right, sweet boy. Big
adventures.”
“Are you coming back for my birthday?” he asked, the question laced with a doubt he shouldn’t
have to feel.
I hugged him tight, ignoring the sharp pain across my abdomen. His scent pine and wildness filled
my lungs. “I promise. Mommy will be back very soon. You be good for Ma and Pa, okay? Listen to
every word they say. And eat your vegetables.”
“Okay, Mama. I love you.”
“I love you more than all the stars Marco.”
I released him, a tear finally sliding down my cheek. I watched him walk back to Ma, who wrapped him up instantly. The nurse wheeled me away.
I got onto the plane. The humming of the engine filled the small cabin. The pain that I was feeling continued to intensify as we flew across state lines, across the country. I tried to focus on the sterile lighting and the kind face of the flight medic, but I couldn’t.
The pain wasn’t just physical anymore; it felt like a cage being rattled from the inside.
We set down in Maine. The door of the plane hissed open, and the cold, dense air of the
Northeastern forest rushed in.
As soon as that foreign air hit my lungs, the intense darkness of the pain suddenly spiked, then
cracked.
My wolf, which had been hiding itself was waking up.
The scent was overwhelming. Earth, snow, and a deep, powerful musk that hammered into my
consciousness, bypassing pain and logic.
Mate.
I was near Astor. And my nine years of hard–won freedom were about to officially end.
