Page 120 of Fanged Embrace
I watched her grow, slowly, and I witnessed her very first smile, all gummy and pink when she giggled up at me. It was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen. I watched her sleeping in her cot, and when I woke up at night, terrified to be so far from her, I went to fetch her. I held her in my arms and let her sleep on my chest, lulled by the steady beat of my heart.
These memories were Laurie’s, not mine, but they shook me to my core. I felt the overflow of love imbued in every snapshot, so much so that my heart ached in tandem with hers. I loved Dandelion like she did, and it brought tears to my eyes. Laurie’s eyes were watering too; I felt hot tears rolling over my fingers where I gripped her face.
Then came the bad memories, the stressful memories, thememories riddled with tension. I watched Dandelion taken away by the nurses and I paced the corridors, anxious and terrified for her safety, desperately waiting for them to bring her back. The moment they did, I gripped her tight, checked her all over for signs of injury despite the nurse reassuring me that all they’d done was give her shots. She told me nobody was going to hurt my daughter. I didn’t believe her. I knew it was only a matter of time before they started experimenting on Dandelion too.
Laurie jolted abruptly, nearly forcing me right out of her head before the next memory could play out. Her nails dug into my forearm and I smoothed my hands down her neck, gently gripping her shoulders and whispering reassurance. “It’s okay. I’m here with you. We’ll face this together.”
Her fingers relaxed but she was shaking, and I held her steady in my grasp as the final memory unfolded before my eyes.
I saw smoke, fire. Sirens blared all around me and red lights flickered overhead. I stumbled from my bed, and Dandelion wasn’t with me. I had to find her. Something was wrong and I had to find her. I rushed through the dark, crashing through the stream of bodies that swarmed in the hallway. Hybrids, doctors, scientists and nurses—everyone was in a panic. Someone mentioned fire and my heart leapt into my throat.
I made it to the baby room, where Dandelion was sleeping in her cot. I knew the door code by heart, I’d snuck in so often by then the nurses had given up trying to stop me. I heard her crying and rushed over to her, scooping her up and wrapping her in my cardigan. I realized, with a jolt, that this was my one chance to get out of here.
If there was a fire, and everyone was distracted, the two of us could slip out of the facility. We could escape for good, and the scientists would never get their hands on Dandelion. We would be free, and Dandelion could have a normal childhood.So I made a split-second decision and I ran. Holding her tight to my chest, I made a beeline for the exit. We would escape and then everything would be okay.
But there was so much smoke. It was too hot. I couldn’t breathe?—
Laurie’s sob jolted me out of the memory and I pulled her into my arms. “You’re doing great. It’s almost over, I promise. I’ve got you. I’ve gother. It’s okay.”
She clung to me, rattling out a breath, and with that final exhale, she placed the last memory of her daughter in my hands: Dandelion's very last breath. Her terrifying, impossible stillness, and the crushing grief that followed. It filled my heart, squeezed it tight enough I worried it might burst.
The memory ended and I held it all—and I held Laurie too. I took every fragile shard she’d handed to me, every bittersweet, aching memory of the child she had lost and I sewed it into myself. I made a space for Dandelion in my heart, and there she would stay. She would be an ache in my chest, but not a bad one. I would carry her memory forever, for Laurie’s sake, and like that, she would live on.
Laurie let out a sigh, a long, shaking exhale as the final weight slid from her shoulders.
Tears streamed freely down my cheeks but I had one last task to complete in the confines of her head. With careful, delicate machinations, I removed Laurie’s memory of our deal, erasing the knowledge that I’d taken her memories in the first place. I left no gaps, no gaping chasms that could alert her that something was missing. Then I smoothed over the scars and drifted out of her mind, leaving it lighter than when I’d first entered.
When I sat back, Laurie blinked up at me, slowly emerging from the haze, before confusion crinkled her brow.
She leaned forward to brush a tear from my cheek. “Uh, why are you crying? Wait—” she rubbed her sleeve over herown eyes and looked even more confused when it came away wet. “Why amIcrying?”
Then she swayed in place, and I hurriedly coiled my arms around her before she could topple right off her seat. She slumped against me, murmuring into my shoulder. “Why am I so tired? What happened? Are you okay?” Her words slurred and her eyes fluttered shut as fatigue rolled over her drooping body.
“Don’t worry about it,” I whispered, stroking her hair and swallowing around the lump in my throat. My chest ached and my body felt heavy, but a rush of relief had me sighing over her shoulder. “It’s over, and you and me are gonna be just fine.”
And just like that it hit me. This was the vision I had seen back then. The vision that had sent me searching for her in the first place. I had glimpsed the future, and I’d seen this very moment—the two of us, together in this godawful bar, with Laurie in my arms and me whispering those exact words in her ear. The odds of it all playing out exactly right had been slim to none, but fate had brought us together, and now we were here. We’d made it.
A sudden thrill shook my body and I gasped. Like a damn bursting its banks, visions played behind my eyes and suddenly I saw it all: Laurie’s future, clear as day, vibrant and lively, unfolding before me. I saw the two of us together, happy, fated mates bound from the very beginning. I was hers and she was mine, and we had a long, wonderful life to look forward to.
60
Laurie
Sunlight slanted gently through the window, catching on the little dandelion pendant hanging around River’s neck. She sat cross-legged on the rug across from me, her eyes narrowed in deep concentration as she stared down at the chessboard between us. Her fingers drummed on her knee, and her brow furrowed as she attempted—I suspected—to subtly peer into the future to see my next move.
I lifted a brow, clucking my tongue. “Cheating again, are we?”
“Hmm?” She blinked long lashes at me, the picture of innocence. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Sure you don't.” I rolled my eyes and aimed my chin back at the board between us. “It's still your move, by the way.”
River huffed and hunched over the game, one arm propped up on her knee. She reached out to shift her bishop. “Fine. There.”
I barely glanced at the board before sliding my queen into position. “Checkmate.”
“Oh, come on!” River threw her hands up in exasperation. “That’s impossible. I saw at least three moves ahead?—”
I leaned back and shot her a sly smirk. “You should know by now, you can always expect me to do the unexpected. Maybe factor that into your cheating.”
