Page 75 of Witch's Wolf

“That’s pathetic. How does someone give up their own child?”

I let out a dry, humorless laugh.

“Be a cold-blooded whore,” I snap, my stomach twisting. I take a deep breath, holding it as I try to brace myself for this next part. I don’t want to tell him, but I have to. “Sam, you remember Michael? That article you found in the shed?”

“Yeah?” he says, his face unreadable.

“Sam… she… she killed him.”

Sam doesn’t react, not openly. There’s no shock, no denial on his face, only grim acceptance, like he already knew what I was struggling to process. I swallow against the tightness in my throat.

“Did she explain?” he asks.

“It was… ridiculous. Insane! She said he wasbelowme,” I say, the words tasting like ash on my tongue. I let out a shaky breath and press the back of my wrist to my lips, trying to hold back the nausea churning inside me. “God… what am I supposed to do? Do about her? With her?”

Sam moves closer, taking me in his arms. I meld against him, pulling on his strength but the silence stretches. I force myself to look up and meet Sam’s gaze.

“We’ll figure it out,” Sam says.

“Sam, there’s more…” he runs his fingers through my hair, reassuring, but waits. “She said she wasn’t done with you.”

“I’m shocked,” he says, his voice dripping with mockery. “Of course, she’s not done with me. That’s okay because I’m not done with her, either. What about your father? Did you learn anything about him?”

“No,” I say too fast, too sharp. “She didn’t mention him, and I was too upset to ask.” My throat tightens, but I push forward. “Sam, I, uh…” I falter, the admission sticking like tar. “I canceled both of my gigs this week. I’m not going back to New York until this whole thing is resolved. One way or another.”

He exhales sharply in what sounds like relief. He nods grimly.

“This is going to sound cruel, but there’s only one way this will be resolved,” he says.

“You don’t sound cruel,” I assure him, taking his hand and intertwining our fingers. “You sound reasonable.”

“Let’s get you inside. You look exhausted.”

I manage a small smile and lean into him, letting the warmth of his presence fill me. He doesn’t say it, but I know he appreciates my resolve. He sees that I understand what needs to be done.

Roberta might be my mother, but that bond, if it ever truly existed, is nothing but a frayed thread. She made her choice a long time ago. Now, I’m making mine.

And I won’t hesitate.

42

ERICA

It’s been slightly more than a day since I last saw Sam. I know this, but even so, sitting here in his cabin, wrapped in his presence, it feels like it’s been a week, maybe longer. Back when I told him to leave me in New York, I wasn’t thinking about how much I’d miss him.

He’s in danger, has been in danger. An invisible axe has been hanging over him since we got involved. I didn’t know it and didn’t want to believe it when I did. Even worse, it’s not just him. His whole town, every member of his pack, is under threat. If he and his pack don’t stop Roberta, Dawson will fall into the hands of Adrian Dexter’s pack.

When he gets home at last, he’s calm. Impossibly calm. There’s not a hint of tension or fear in his expression or voice. Maybe he’s just good at hiding it. A lot of men are, but this is Sam. He’s never been one to hold back. Sam is the proverbial bull in the China shop when it comes to his emotions. Blunt, honest, and direct.

When he tugs me onto the couch and tells me to lay my head on his lap, I don’t hesitate. And somehow, in the span of tenminutes, he gives me something I haven’t had in a long time. The biggest thing that Roberta stole from me.

Peace.

The simple comfort of knowing he’s here, that we’re together, is enough to pull me under and I fall into a deep, restful sleep. When I wake up, the sun is streaming through the windows. I’m stiff from lying on his lap on the couch, but that sense of peace remains.

“Good morning,” Sam murmurs, playing with my hair.

“Why didn’t you wake me? We should have gone to bed,” I ask, pushing off his lap.

---