My dad's brows draw together. "We'll go back. Take out just the council. Then you're free to make the right choice about your ma-about Carlos. I don't want your decisions clouded by fear for your safety or your pup's or even the pup's father."
I nod mutely. This is why I love my dad, as much of a controlling ass as he can be. He takes care of things.
Carlos would do this much for our daughter, too. For some reason, I'm suddenly certain our pup is a girl. His vision of the pack has been obscured by lies from the council. If he knew they killed his father, I can't imagine he wouldn't take swift action. He's not a coward, not my Carlos. He's just concerned with doing the right thing for his pack.
And for me. I realize with utter clarity the reason he let me go. It's not for lack of caring. It's because he cares enough. Both times I've left, he let me walk. Because he would never hold me against my will.
Tears leak out of my eyes, but unlike the ones I've cried over the past several days, these aren't full of self-pity. My chest is filled with love. Love for my mate, for Carlos.
And he's in danger now.
Yes, I believe my dad can take care of the council, but I want to be there first. To tell Carlos what I know, and help him sort things out before my dad comes in with the big guns. I can't tell my dad, though, he'd never allow it.
Tonight. As soon as I get back to Phoenix, I'll find a flight out.
Carlos
"Carlos, they took him from me," my mother wails. I'm in her room and she's pacing up and down in front of the window, stopping every now and then to look out.
"No, I'm right here, Mamá." I put my hands on her shoulders and try to catch her gaze.
"Your father," she whispers. "They took your father."
"Papi's dead. Remember? An accident in the mine."
She shakes her head rapidly. "No, no accident. They took him."
I sigh and look over at Maria Jose, ringing her hands in the corner. "Should we sedate her?"
For a second, I catch a glimpse of judgement in Maria Jose's expression and I'm taken aback. Then I remember what she told me last time.
"You think the drugs make her worse. I haven't had her checked out yet." I stab my fingers through my hair. "I'm sorry. I'll take her to the city tomorrow. Don Santiago's absence makes it easier to get a second opinion."
Maria Jose's eyes widen and she steps forward. "Yes, yes, Don Carlos. That would be good. Get her away from here. She's not safe-"
She stops speaking and I catch horror on her face before she turns away.
My instincts sharpen, vision tunnels like I'm about to shift. I force myself to remain gentle as I go to her and take her shoulders to turn her around. "What do you mean, she's not safe?"
She shakes her head rapidly. "Nothing, señor. Nothing."
I tighten my grip. "Don't lie. Never lie to me," I growl. When I see the whites of her eyes grow, I force myself to release her, take a breath. I won't get anywhere going in heavy. "Maria Jose, this is my mother we're talking about. I need to know what you meant."
"The drugs-" She wrings her hands again. "What if the drugs make her crazy-not the other way around?"
I look at my mother, standing in her white and pink floral nightgown and yellow housecoat, watching us with uncertainty. It's been so long since she's been normal, but I glimpse her old self there now. As if she wants to understand what we're saying. She almost does.
"Think about it, when did the craziness start?" Maria Jose whispers.
"After my father died. She was grieving-" I break off when Maria Jose gives a slight shake of her head.
"Think about what she says about your father's death."
They took him from me.
It hits me like a bullet to the head. "They're keeping her quiet."
Maria Jose takes a step back, like she can't believe what she's done.
I stalk to the dresser where her medicines are stacked up and shove them all to the floor. "Get rid of these. No more medicine until she's been checked out. And don't leave her alone for a second. Does anyone but Don Santiago ever inject her?"
Marie Jose shakes her head.
"Good. I don't want anyone going near her. No one but you, understand?"
"Yes, Don Carlos." She bobs her head approvingly.
I look back over at my mother. She appears almost lucid, like she understands what we're saying. She points with a shaking hand to the floor by her bed.
"What is it, Mamá?"
Fates, the Parkinson's-like tremors in her hands break my heart. A side-effect of the drugs.
My mother rushes over and drops to her knees on the floor.
Carajo. More craziness.
"Mamá, get off the floor. It's oka-" I stop when I see she's prying one of the floorboards up.
"What's in there, Mamá?" I look a question at Maria Jose, who shakes her head.
Gently lifting my mother to sit on the bed, I pull up the board and look underneath. There are hundreds of pills in a rainbow of colors and varying sizes. But underneath is a journal. I remember it from when I was a kid. My mom used to write poetry in it and read it to me. Is this a moment of nostalgia, or is she showing me something significant?
I look over my shoulder at her, but her expression is simple and vacant.
I pull out the journal, shaking off the pills and tuck it in my pocket. I don't know if she's trying to tell me something or if this is more of her crazy, but I'm taking it with me for safekeeping.