Chapter 139 The Foster Mother

Chapter 139 The Foster Mother
[Lana]

I watched the fear bloom in Margaret's eyes as frost crept across the sidewalk beneath my feet. The crowd that had gathered around us—vultures eager for spectacle—took several steps back. Smart. But my attention wasn't on them. It was on Cedric, whose shoulders had curled inward, his expression a mask of shame and old pain.

"Let's go," I said, my voice colder than the air around us. I gripped his arm, feeling the tension in his muscles. "This isn't the place."

He didn't argue, just gave a slight nod. I could feel him through our bond—a swirling mess of embarrassment, anger, and beneath it all, a desperate need to know more about his sister. That need pulsed between us, insistent and raw.

"We need to check the records," he muttered as we walked away from the crowd. "The county foster care office. I need to know what happened to Maya."

"Lead the way," I said simply.

The foster care office was housed in a depressing brick building with a faded sign that had seen better decades. The interior smelled of dust and resignation, like hope had come here long ago and suffocated. A middle-aged woman with tightly pinned hair glanced up from her computer, her expression making it clear we were an unwelcome interruption.

"Can I help you?" Her tone suggested she'd rather not.

Cedric stepped forward. "I need information about a former foster child. Maya Reynolds. She would have been in the system about fifteen years ago."

The woman's lips thinned. "We don't give out information on former wards. Confidentiality policy."

I felt Cedric's desperation spike through our bond. Before he could speak, I leaned forward, allowing a wisp of darkness to flow from my fingertips. Not enough to be seen by human eyes, just enough to brush against her consciousness.

"Perhaps you could make an exception," I suggested, my voice honey-sweet with an undercurrent of command. "It's a matter of family reunification."

The woman's pupils dilated slightly as my influence took hold. "Well... I suppose I could check. Just this once."

She turned to a filing cabinet and began rifling through folders. I caught Cedric staring at me.

"What did you do?" he whispered.

"Just a little persuasion," I replied, watching the woman pull out a thick manila folder. "Nothing permanent."

The clerk returned, placing the folder on the counter. "Here's the Reynolds file. I'll give you some privacy."

As Cedric opened the folder, I sensed his anticipation, hope mingling with dread. I watched his face as he scanned the documents, saw the exact moment his expression crumbled.

"This can't be right," he whispered, hands trembling as he turned a page. "It says Maya was never adopted. She... she remained in Margaret's custody until she turned eighteen."

The shock slammed through our bond like a physical blow. I steadied myself against the counter, unprepared for the intensity of his emotion.

"They told me she'd been adopted by a good family," he continued, voice breaking. "That she was happy. That she was safe."

I placed my hand over his, partly to comfort him, partly to still the trembling pages. Through the bond, I felt his pain transform into something harder, colder—resolve.

"We need to see Margaret again," he said, closing the folder.

His eyes met mine, and I saw something new there—a darkness I recognized all too well. It called to my own.

---

Margaret's house was deceptively pleasant from the outside—a well-maintained two-story with neatly trimmed hedges and wind chimes on the porch. But as we approached, I felt a heaviness in the air, a lingering unpleasantness that had nothing to do with architecture.

Margaret opened the door after Cedric's third knock. Her face drained of color when she recognized him, fear and hatred battling for dominance in her expression.

"You have no right—" she began, attempting to slam the door.

Cedric caught it easily, his supernatural strength preventing her retreat. "We need to talk about Maya."

She backed into the house as we entered, her eyes darting between us like a cornered animal. "There's nothing to talk about. That monster is gone."

I felt Cedric's anger spike at the word "monster," but he kept his voice steady. "Where is she, Margaret? The records show she was never adopted."

Margaret's lips curled into a sneer. "Why should I tell you anything? You're just like her—unnatural. Dangerous."

My patience, never abundant to begin with, evaporated. Darkness flowed from my fingertips, wrapping around Margaret's throat—not squeezing, just holding, a silent threat.

"Let me make something clear," I said, watching her eyes widen. "I'm far more dangerous than whatever you think Cedric is. And unlike him, I have very few moral qualms about hurting humans who deserve it."

"Lana," Cedric warned, but I could feel his conflict through our bond—disapproval of my methods tangled with desperate need for answers.

"Tell us about Maya," I continued, loosening my hold just enough to let her speak. "Every detail."

Margaret's defiance crumbled as quickly as ice in fire. "Fine! You want to know? I'll tell you." Her eyes burned with hatred. "Your precious sister was trouble from the start. Always sneaking out, challenging me. I had to discipline her."

"Discipline?" Cedric's voice was dangerously quiet.

"She needed structure! Rules!" Margaret's voice rose defensively. "The basement room was for her own good."

I felt Cedric's horror bloom through our bond. "You kept her in the basement?"

Margaret's laugh was brittle. "Where else could I keep a wild animal? On her eighteenth birthday, she... changed. Turned into some kind of beast right in my living room. Attacked me." She pulled back her sleeve, revealing old, jagged scars. "Then she escaped."

"She was a werewolf," Cedric whispered, realization dawning. "Like me."

"Abomination is what she was," Margaret spat. "After what she did, I called people who handle these... situations."

The temperature in the room dropped as I registered her meaning. "Hunters," I said, the word like acid on my tongue.

Margaret's eyes gleamed with vindictive satisfaction. "They tracked her for weeks. Finally caught her near the Canadian border."

"No," Cedric breathed, but Margaret continued, her voice gaining cruel momentum.

"They brought me her pelt as proof. Beautiful silver-gray fur. I had it made into a rug, but it shed too much." She smiled, a terrible empty thing. "Burned it in the end. Fitting, don't you think?"

Cedric fell to his knees, a broken sound escaping him. Through our bond, I felt his heart shattering, grief so intense it stole my breath. His hands pressed against the floor as if trying to anchor himself against a storm.

"She got what she deserved," Margaret said, looking down at him. "One less monster in the world."

---

Something ancient and terrible awakened in me at her words. The darkness that had been simmering beneath my skin erupted, filling the room like black smoke. The temperature plummeted, frost forming on the windows and floor.

"You speak of monsters?" I said, my voice no longer entirely human. "Let me show you what a true monster looks like."

I released my hold on her throat, only to wrap tendrils of darkness around her entire body, lifting her slightly off the ground.

"Do you know what I hate most in this world?" I asked conversationally, watching her struggle against my power. "Hunters. They killed my grandmother Tacita when I was young. Burned her alive while she tried to protect our forest."

Fear bloomed in Margaret's eyes as she finally understood what she was facing.

"The hunters you called—who are they? What's their organization called?"

"I don't—"

I tightened the darkness, not enough to injure, just enough to cause discomfort. "Names. Locations. How to find them."

"The Deity Hunters Alliance," she gasped. "They... they specialize in werewolves and witches."

"And their leader?"

"Michael Thornton," she choked out. "He has a compound outside of Blackridge."

I felt a cold satisfaction as she listed names, locations, contact methods—each word another weapon I could use. When she had nothing left to offer, I stepped closer, darkness gathering around my hand like a blade.

"You sent hunters after an innocent girl who couldn't control her transformation," I said softly. "You had her killed and made into a trophy."

"Lana." Cedric's voice broke through my rage. He had risen to his feet, tears still streaking his face. "Don't kill her."

I turned to him, disbelief cutting through my fury. "After what she did? She deserves worse than death."

"Killing her won't bring Maya back," he said, his voice hollow with grief.

I stared at him, disappointment washing through me. "You're too weak to avenge your own sister? She had Maya skinned, Cedric. Made into a rug."

"Killing won't bring Maya back," he said, his voice hollow with grief.

I turned back to Margaret, darkness gathering around my hand like a blade. "Perhaps not. But it will ensure she never hurts another child."

As I raised my hand, Margaret cowered, whimpering pathetically. The darkness pooled in my palm, ready to strike—

Suddenly, I was knocked sideways, my concentration shattered. Cedric had lunged at me, his eyes glowing amber with his werewolf nature partially emerging. He'd actually attacked me.

"I can't let you do this," he growled, standing between me and Margaret.

For one heartbeat, the world seemed to stop. He had attacked me. Betrayed me. Chosen her.

Rage exploded through me like a supernova, obliterating all thought. The temperature plummeted instantly, frost crystallizing across every surface. My vision narrowed, darkened. Pure, ancient fury took control.

I struck without words, darkness erupting from my body in violent waves. Cedric tried to dodge, but my power was everywhere at once. When he lunged again, I met him head-on.

Our powers collided—his primal strength against my unleashed darkness. Windows shattered. Furniture splintered. Margaret screamed somewhere in the background.

Cedric managed to deflect one attack, then another, his werewolf reflexes keeping him alive—barely. But my rage made me stronger than I'd been in centuries.

I caught him mid-movement, darkness slamming into his chest. The impact threw him against the wall with enough force to crack the plaster. Before he could recover, I was on him.

I grabbed his face, ready to send darkness into his mind.

"Don't kill her... please," he whispered, his final words before consciousness left him.

Darkness flowed from my fingertips directly into his mind. His eyes widened in shock, then rolled back as he collapsed unconscious at my feet.

I turned to Margaret, who cowered beneath an overturned table.

"You get to live," I told her, my voice barely recognizable, "but not unmarked."

I branded her face with darkness, leaving a pattern that would never fade, ignoring her screams.

"Contact hunters again, and I'll finish this."