Page 161 of Roaring Flames

“They found you, didn’t they?” she whispers, then swallows.

She couldn’t mean…?

No.

No.

“You know what I am, don’t you? You’ve always known.” Shock thunders through me.

Tears fill my mother’s eyes, but they don’t fall. They merely hang suspended like crystalline raindrops.

“I didn’t want you to get involved with them. I should’ve known they would find you.” Her voice takes on a hollow edge. “As soon as you brought the wolves and that girl home, you were fucked.”

I flinch at hearing my mom swear. She sometimes will let loose an expletive during a particularly bad outburst, but she never curses during normal, everyday conversation.

“That girl has a name,” I say, a tiny bit of indignation entering my tone on Izzy’s behalf.

Mother’s lips purse. “I know who that is. Delaney.”

Ice trickles into my veins. “No, Mom. We talked about this. That’s not Delaney. That’s Izzy. Or Isabella. Her mother is a woman named Helena Craft.”

Mother cocks her head to the side with rigid tension. “Helena?”

“Yes, Mom. Do you know who that is?”

Her eyes glaze over, turning distant, before she nods once, the barest dip of her chin. “Yes…I know Helena. She was…kind.”

My breath quickens at the revelation that my mother knew Izzy’s biological mom. Maybe I can finally get her some answers.

“Everybody loved Helena,” Mom continues in that dazed, singsong voice. “She always had men following her around. One in particular worshiped the ground she walked on.”

I wait with bated breath, unwilling to speak and disrupt whatever spell my mother seems to be under.

“She met…those shifters. It was the talk of the town.” A timid smile curls up her lips before it falls. “Delaney wasn’t happy.”

“Who is Delaney?” I press gently.

“Helena’s sister, of course.” Mom turns towards me before immediately dropping her gaze back to her teacup. “I didn’t like Delaney. She was mean.”

Holy shit.

Holy. Shit.

Izzy has an aunt?

But wait…

“Why was she mean, Mom? What did she do to you?”

Tremors reverberate through her tiny frame, and she begins to shake her head from side to side, tears misting her eyes. “I did what I had to do. I did what I had to do. I did what I had to do.”

“Mom.” I gently but firmly place my hand over hers—the one that isn’t gripping the mug for dear life. “What happened?”

Grief crowds her face. “She was never supposed to find out about you.” One of her shaky hands comes up to cup my cheek. “You were my miracle baby. When your father and I found you?—”

“Wait.” I pull back from her palm in order to see her face better. “You found me?”

She offers me a serene smile that seems out of place at the moment. My stomach is in tight knots, and there’s this incessant pounding in my head.

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