Chapter 6 6
My head snapped up. I held her gaze, and for a brief, terrifying second, it wasn’t a question. It was a statement. Her eyes were knowing. They saw past my messy hair and my borrowed courage, past the chill on my skin. They saw the human part of the city on me, the scent of a stranger’s kiss, the shadow of a bar that was strictly, utterly off-limits to a wolfless alpha's daughter.
The knowing in her eyes was a physical weight, pressing down on my chest, making it hard to breathe. She knew. Or at least, she suspected enough. But I couldn’t dare tell the truth. I hated lying to her, I really did, because every lie was another crack in the already fragile thing between us.
But the truth?
The truth would be a sledgehammer.
“What do you mean? No,” I said, forcing my voice to stay light, confused. “I just went to the school. I went to see one of my favorite teachers. Mrs. Eland, from Lit class.”
“You went to the school.” Her voice was flat, utterly devoid of belief.
“Yes, mother. Now that I’ve graduated, I happen to miss it.” I made what I hoped was a believable, wistful face, the kind a nostalgic girl might make. Then, thinking fast, I added a topping, a detail that might serve as my saving grace for the broken curfew. “Then I just went around with Shelia after. But I didn’t go to any of the places you restricted me from going. We just… talked. Walked.”
My eyes flickered back to where Quinta stood in the hallway shadows. Her expression wasn’t encouraging. It was heavy, sorrowful almost, like I’d just laid a death trap for myself and was cheerfully stepping into it. I couldn’t understand the depth of her worry. Not until my mother dropped the bomb.
“Sheila,” She said, the name precise and sharp, “was here to see you this evening. She waited for over an hour. So, how come you went around with her?”
Oh, boy.
The floor beneath me seemed to tilt.
Why did my bestie have to pick tonight of all nights to be a good friend and come visit?
My heart launched into a frantic, hammering rhythm against my ribs, so loud I was sure she could hear it in the silent foyer. But I kept my face calm, a mask of slightly puzzled innocence. I had dared to lie to her face. And not just a small, white lie. A full-blown, elaborate story. It wasn’t a small thing. It was an act of defiance, and she knew it.
The tense silence that followed was thick enough to choke on. It was finally broken by the soft tap-scuff of Quinta’s cane as she approached from the gloom.
“Come on, Luna Serena,” the old woman said, her voice a dry rasp of reason. “Let her be. It’s late. The girl is home safe.”
I lowered my gaze to the marble floor, tracing the veins in the stone, and I almost let out the breath I’d been holding.
Oh, Quinta. My saving grace.
My mother glanced over her shoulder at Quinta, a flash of something—irritation, maybe respect—in her eyes. Then her gaze swung back to me, colder than ever.
“You better stop this wandering and get useful around the pack,” she spat, the words like chips of ice. “Find a purpose. Learn something. Do anything other than this… this pointless drifting. This is my last warning, Arielle. Don’t you dare me.”
With that, she turned. The pale robe swirled around her ankles as she walked back toward the staircase.
“Goodnight, mother,” I called after her, taking a small, hesitant step forward. I don’t know what I hoped for—that she’d stop, that she’d turn and give me even a curt nod, some tiny acknowledgment that I was still her daughter and not just a nuisance. But she didn’t. She just mounted the stairs, her back straight and unyielding, and disappeared into the darkness of the upper floor.
I stood there, staring at the empty space where she’d been, feeling smaller than I had in the bar with that weird stranger.
Then Quinta drew closer. Her gnarled hand came up and patted my back, a gentle, steady rhythm. “Don’t take her harshness to heart, little wolf,” she murmured. “She’s just… cold. Pressured. The pack weighs on her.”
In as much as her coldness always felt like a physical ache in my own chest, I couldn’t admit it. I relented into feigned indifference. “Yeah, yeah. I know. She’s the Icy Luna.” I rolled my eyes, a practiced gesture, and took one of Quinta’s weathered hands in both of mine. “Thank you, Quinta. You saved me again.” I exhaled, the sound shaky. “How can I ever repay you?”
She gave me that smile, the one that crinkled her entire face and made her eyes disappear into a map of fine lines. It was the smile that always let me know exactly what kind of response was coming next.
“Just get me a good coffin,” she whispered conspiratorially, “so I can lay peacefully till I turn to ashes. Your icy mother won’t do that – she’ll probably have me stuffed and mounted as a warning to the other old folk.”
“Stop talking about death, Quinta,” I chided her, squeezing her hand.
“Why, girl? I’m old…”
“I know. You’re 85 and you want to go to the other world, but I’m not letting you go yet,” I said, my voice dropping to a whisper. “You can’t leave me in the hands of my mother alone.”
“Hey, you’re not alone,” she said, her tone softening. “Your grandmother will be here for you.”
“Not always…”
“Your brother…”
“Oh, that brat? Nah.” The thought of my perpetually-absent, always-perfect brother was no comfort at all.
She laughed, a soft, wheezing sound, and leaned closer, her lavender scent enveloping me. “Your prince charming, then. The one I think you sometimes sneak out to see… he will be here.”
My smile disappeared. It vanished so completely and so fast it felt like it had been wiped off my face. The memory of Logan’s face, of Angel on his lap, of the things he’d said, hit me with a fresh, sickening wave. “I don’t have a prince charming,” I said, my voice hollow. “Never did.” I tried to forge a new smile, but it felt brittle and false.