Kade

by Dana Archer

  “What?” I reach for her phone. She turns it off and shoves it in her back pocket.

  “On second thought.” She swings her legs to the side, hops off the hood, and steps away from me. Brushing her hair back from her face, Zoe adjusts her stance, shifting her weight from one foot to the other. “There are a few things I want to do while I’m here.”

  “Then you’re staying?”

  “For a day or two.”

  “Let’s get you home, then.”

  Zoe raises her gaze to me. “My home, not yours. Josh told me the apartment at the Black Widow is mine for whenever I come around.”

  An argument sits on my tongue. I lock my jaw, stopping that mistake. There’s no need to invite a verbal spat. I have a key to Zoe’s apartment too.

  Three

  Zoe

  The sound of something dripping furrows my brows, but I don’t open my eyes. Sleep evaded me for too long to give up on its comforting embrace now. I roll to my side and pillow my head on my hands. The rhythmic drips grow louder, echoing in the quiet of my apartment behind the Black Widow. Cursing as consciousness pushes back the shadows of sleep, I tug the blanket over my head, exposing my feet in the process. Cool air teases my skin. Something warm slides over my inner arch. Another drip of liquid slips between my toes.

  With my lips pressed hard, stifling my cry, I open my eyes as a hand caresses my foot, then moves higher, stroking up my inner calf.

  “Wake up, little queen. Our time is almost upon us.”

  I yank my foot back, pulling my blood-covered leg under the blanket with me. I know it’s blood. And I know who’s talking. I made her—one psycho-induced delusion at a time. “Go away.”

  The covers are thrown off, and a woman stretches out on the bed next to me. Blood covers her, matting her purple-tipped pigtails, and red flames burn in her blue eyes. “I can’t. Not until you pay your debt to me.”

  “Over my dead body.”

  The woman who looks like me wraps her arms around me, her body melting into mine as if we’d never been apart and her voice resounding within me. “I can’t wait.”

  * * *

  On a gasp, I shoot up in bed and toss the covers back. After a moment, the banging from the radiator in the main room reaches me. It’s loud. It’s annoying. But the sound of trapped air isn’t what woke me.

  With my hands pressing into the mattress and my heart beating a mile a minute, I let the nightmare fade and scan the room. Everything is the same as I left it—my duffel bag on the floor of the otherwise empty space. There’s no blood, no crazy doppelgänger or anybody leering at me. Nobody at all. I’m alone.

  My caught air escapes on a hiss. “A dream. Only a dream.”

  The details slip away, but soon they’ll linger, haunting my waking hours as much as my sleeping ones. My nightmares are always like that. A few more nights in this area and I won’t be able to escape the memories of my past. Only running will save me. The nightmares don’t follow me. She doesn’t follow me.

  Too bad I can’t pick up and leave just yet. My past is ready to swallow me whole. One text reminded me of that. My gaze drifts to where I left my phone charging next to the outlet on the opposite side of the room. The flashing indicator light taunts me. It has since the text arrived last night. I need to respond to it. Well, I need to read it first, but I know exactly what it’ll say. One look at the sender was enough to clue me in. The automated notification will alert me to an update on Vincent Catania, the man who took my family from me and got away with it.

  Pain radiates along my arms to my jaw. Blowing out a slow breath, I flex my fingers and roll my neck, easing the tightness. The anger won’t help now. Only getting out of this area will soothe the sting of injustice and calm my nightmares. Soon, I’ll be free. First, I need to deal with whatever that text has to say about Vince.

  “Maybe the jerk killed himself.”

  With a bounce to my step, I hop from bed, my hope feeding my excitement. Vince, dead, would be a dream come true. Sure, it’s a long shot, but a girl can dream. I tug the charging cord free and turn on the phone.

  Cracks distort Josh’s background image. Years ago when this phone had been new, my fiancé’s picture had greeted me every time I used my phone. My shrink had suggested I replace BJ’s photo with another important man in my life. My brother was it. Josh is still it.

  I love him, and I’m happy for him. He has everything he ever dreamed about.

  The sentiment echoes within me. It’s the truth. I know it in my heart and soul. I’m happy Josh is married—and mated—to the woman he loves. I’m happy he’s expecting triplets. And I’m happy he’s living the life he always wanted.

  “Really. I am.”

  Speaking the words out loud doesn’t help. It simply reminds me how unhappy I am.

  “Whatever, Zoe. Your happy-ever-after ship sailed, then sank. Deal with it.” And if anyone heard me talking to myself, they’d suggest I go back to my shrink. No way. He liked to talk to my crazy side. They got along great.

  “Not happening.” Gripping a section of my hair on the top of my head and holding it in a sloppy high ponytail, I tap the screen, opening the message I’ve avoided since it arrived last night. The time and date of Vince’s parole hearing shows in the alert box, but it’s the second message from Shifter Affairs that stops my heart.

  Shifter Affairs—not the West Virginia prison system—wants to confirm my attendance at Vince’s parole hearing.

  Dozens of little details and flashes of memory mix with the words of my shrink telling me to…forget.

  A sharp pain right behind my eyes doubles me over. I curl forward, hugging my gut. Nausea hits as fast as it did yesterday while talking to Jarah and leaving me with the truth I’d forgotten.

  Vince is a shifter.

  The phone I’m holding rings. I drop it on a yelp. Cursing, I pluck it from the floor and answer.

  “Zoe Conway?”

  The unfamiliar woman’s voice straightens my spine. Nobody knows my number except Kade and…the police because of Vince.

  I press a balled fist to the center of my chest. “This is her.”

  “My name is Ella Montgomery. I’m the head agent of the West Virginia Shifter Affairs office. I’ve been informed that you’re fully integrated into the shifter world, so I’m not going to censor my words, but if I say anything that confuses you, please speak up. Ignorance is not bliss. In fact, in the shifter world, it’s deadly. Do you understand?”

  “Yes.” I drag the sheet off the bed and partially wrap it around my body. “I understand.”

  “Good.” Ella blows out a breath. “Then let me get right into the reason for my call. Vincent Catania, the man you accused of killing your fiancé and causing your baby’s death, is up for parole. I’ve pushed to have his hearing here in West Virginia rather than at the Shifter Council headquarters in Ohio, as I think you’ll get a fairer outcome on our turf.”

  “Vince is a shifter.” With the heel of my free hand pressed to my forehead, I squint against the pressure building behind my eyes. “That’s why you’re calling me, isn’t it?”

  “Yes.” Ella sighs. “Vince is a Royal feline. An important Royal feline who should never have been tried and convicted as a human or spent a single day in a human prison, and if you don’t show up to this hearing, he’ll walk. More than just walk. His file will be wiped clean. I don’t want to see that happen. Will you be able to make it to the hearing?”

  So many thoughts and emotions swirl within me. Part of me wants to break down. The man who took everything from me is a shifter. I knew it then. I even told the EMTs in the ambulance. Those weren’t knife wounds ripping open my belly. They were claw marks.

  Another shooting burst of pain explodes behind my eyes. I shake my head, scattering the compulsive orders telling me to forget.

  No! I won’t forget.

  “—at the prison Vince has been incarcerated at.”

  Ella’s voice chases back my shrink’s words. I work my jaw, and
the popping clears the pressure. The world comes into focus. I grip the phone tighter. “I’m sorry. My phone cut out. What did you say?”

  “The hearing is slated for six tonight at the prison Vince has been incarcerated at. I know that’s unconventional to have this after business hours, but this isn’t a standard case.”

  Of course it isn’t. The why has always been there. I’d just forgotten. “Because Vince is a shifter.”

  “Yes, and shifter-related crimes are dealt with in unorthodox ways.”

  “I understand. I’ll be there. Do I need to prepare anything in advance?”

  “No.” The relief in Ella’s voice is easy to pick up on. “Just prepare yourself for seeing Vince in person. He’s matured since you last saw him, and the man he is now is nothing like the teenager you remember. Do you need directions?”

  “No.” I flex my fingers. Too bad they’re too short to wrap around Vince’s throat. Or that I’m not strong enough to strangle him. “I’m good.”

  “I can arrange for a lawyer to—”

  “No need. I’ve got this.” Because I won’t be trusting my future to the hands of another lawyer. The last one sat there while Vince’s fancy lawyer ripped my reputation to shreds and convinced the jury I was a drug addict and slut when I was neither.

  “Okay, then. If you need anything, you can reach me at this number.”

  “Will do.” I end the call, throw on clothes, and head to the main room, where the kitchenette is still stocked from my last visit. Luckily, coffee has a long shelf life. I’m going to need the caffeine boost. Today’s going to be hell, especially once I let Josh in on the news. Because if I “conveniently” forgot details about Vince, my brother did too. He’s the one who found me that night.

  The moment I open the bedroom door, the smell of freshly brewed coffee stops me dead in my tracks.

  A woman pokes her head from the archway to the kitchenette. “You’re awake.”

  Multicolored hair, gemstone cat eyes, and a perfectly sculpted face—Mira’s beauty is as striking as it was the last time I saw her. The happy glow surrounding her is new, however. She’s practically beaming. Her protruding stomach explains why. The same glow surrounded me once.

  Mira steps into the doorway. She slips one arm under her very extended stomach, supporting the babies she’s carrying while her free hand rests on the top of her belly. “I hope you don’t mind. I made myself at home, but I didn’t want to wake you. Josh said you got in late last night.”

  No apology for lying to me and allowing me to think she planned to cheat on my brother and mate Kade. No worries over frightening me by coming in here. And not even a welcome-home greeting. “Why are you here?”

  The palm rubbing small circles over her belly stills. “You’re still angry with me, then?”

  “Angry, no.” Envious, yes. Mira doesn’t need to know that. She likely already suspects it if my brother spilled the details of my past.

  “Spiteful, then.” Mira nods. “I can’t blame you. Turning you into an unknowing accomplice for the scam Kade and I planned to pull off was—”

  “You lied to me.” Hands fisted, I step forward. “Kade lied to me. Both of you let me think you planned to hurt my brother!”

  “And we’re sorry about that. It was the only way.” The skin around Mira’s eyes pinches, and a pained look flashes across her features as her fingers spread wide over her stomach. She casts her gaze to the floor. “At least it was our only option at that time. We couldn’t think of anything else.”

  Another memory returns. This time, it’s my midwife warning me about stress. “No, no, forget it. Kade explained things on the drive out here last night. I shouldn’t have brought it up.”

  “You have every right to bring it up, and if we’d known the things then that we do now, we wouldn’t—”

  “Hey, it’s in the past. Let’s forget it, okay? No hard feelings. It was one huge misunderstanding, and obviously, you and Josh made up. That’s all that matters.” I guide Mira to a chair at the small two-person table. Once she sits, I turn my back on her and pour a cup of coffee. “How are you feeling?”

  “As if I swallowed three basketballs.” Mira laughs, the sound one of pure joy, not the faked kind I usually resort to using around others. “I don’t know how else to describe it. I’m huge. I’m uncomfortable. And I’m turning into a worrywart. I’m constantly tapping into my cats’ senses to listen to the babies’ heartbeats. They just don’t have enough room to move much anymore. My human doctor says—”

  My baby was big too. Over eight pounds, probably closer to nine. That’s what my midwife guessed at. He didn’t move much those last few weeks either.

  The lump in my throat chokes me. Instead of clearing it, I hold my breath until the tightness passes while Mira continues talking.

  “—I’m in great health. The babies are doing great too. I hook up this monitor every morning so she can check on them remotely. Every day, I get the all clear from the doctor’s office. Seriously, nobody can believe I’ve kept them in this long or that I can still somewhat get around. They tell me all the time about how most women carrying triplets would’ve been on bed rest for months at this point or already delivered.” Mira’s giggle sucks the life out of me. “I just keep telling them I must have good genes.”

  I open the cabinets, stretching to see on the top shelves until I spy the sugar I never use in my coffee. Then I hunt for a spoon I know I don’t have. There was only ever a fork, knife, and plate in this kitchenette. Still, I open drawers and rummage through the contents, but the silence grows. Mira’s no longer talking. I close the last drawer and press my hands into the counter. “Doesn’t she know you’re a shifter?”

  “No. Shifters don’t ever see doctors because of pregnancy, but Josh’s parents…your parents…well, they feel better knowing I’m being monitored by a professional. They worry. You understand?”

  Because they already lost one grandchild. Tightness radiates from my chest to my arms. I lick my lips. The silence is back. “Shifters have easy pregnancies, then? They don’t have to worry about doctors and such.”

  “Royals have easy pregnancies, yes. We might get as uncomfortable as every other woman, but we don’t suffer pain. We can heal anything from swollen ankles to nausea.”

  An unspoken “but” hovers between us.

  Giving up on the sugar I didn’t want in the first place, I lift the mug, turn, and prop my bottom against the counter. “But?”

  “Deliveries can be just as dangerous for shifters as they are for humans.” Mira uncaps her water bottle and sips. “More so for Royals, actually. At least for our babies. We heal faster than we can deliver, making labor excruciatingly long and painful because we have to push so much harder and for so much longer. We basically have to fight against ourselves to give birth, then start all over for the next baby as our bodies will immediately start to heal. The older we are—the more powerful we are—compounds the problem. Strong single shifters have the same issue, but since they tend to only have one baby at a time, it’s not as bad. Still, complications are usually a given, and stillborns are common.”

  Hot coffee soaks my T-shirt, burning my stomach. Cursing, I set the mug down and reach for the dishrag. Mira’s holding it out to me.

  “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have gone into such detail. Josh told me about your loss.”

  My hands are shaking so badly, I almost miss the worn cotton rag Mira’s offering, but my fingers brush the edge. I pry the rag free and turn on the sink. The corroded nozzle sprays cold water in all directions, wetting my shirt as much as the coffee had. I slam the heel of my hand against the handle, killing the flow, then pinch a section of my shirt and lift it from my stomach.

  Silence settles between us. I scrub at the stain until the awkwardness of this moment pushes me to speak. “So you’re going to have a C-section, right? Save yourself from the whole healing-while-giving-birth thing.”

  “It’s frowned upon, but yes, I’m planning on it.”


  I drop the rag in the sink and glance over my shoulder. “Frowned upon?”

  “Our society views women who resort to outside help as being weak. I know. I know.” Mira lowers herself onto the seat. “Ridiculous, but it’s not just a shifter stigma. I’ve seen the same among humans. Only real women give birth vaginally, but the babies I’m carrying are special. I can’t risk them. Royal children are mortal until they go through maturity. It’s more common than you’d think to lose a Royal baby during childbirth. I won’t lose any of my babies. Ever. People will just have to think what they want about me.”

  “Your babies… They’re half human, right? Because they’re biologically yours and Josh’s kids, so they’re not technically Royals. Does that change things? Make them weaker somehow or will it stop them from reaching maturity and becoming immortal like you.”

  “Yes, they’re biologically ours, but as to what they’ll be classified as and what that actually means…” The smile spreading over Mira’s face is equal parts amusement and excitement and gives the impression she knows a secret she has no plans of revealing. “We’ll have to wait and see. They’re the prophesized ones.”

  “Which means?”

  Smirking, Mira sips more water. “They’re special. All my babies will be special because of Josh.”

  And that’s the only explanation I’m going to get out of her. That’s clear enough from her expression. I shake my head. “As long as they arrive safely, I’ll be happy.”

  “They will. I have backup plans to my backup plans. Josh and I aren’t leaving anything to chance, and we’re ready to alter everything at a moment’s notice.”

  “That’s good.” I pry the wet shirt from my stomach and shake the material, trying to dry it while avoiding making eye contact with Mira.

  “But what I don’t have is someone to stop Josh from having a nervous breakdown.”