Chapter 112

Abigail

Mark sat cross-legged on the floor, silent as ever, his long fingers delicately grasping the tiny porcelain teacup from my make-believe set. The little thing looked ridiculous in his hands—big, rough, and scarred like something ancient. But he held it so carefully, like it was something precious, something breakable as his tail tapped the wood.

I poured the imaginary tea with the grace of a royal hostess, making sure to keep my pinky up, just the way I had taught Owen. He never cared about tea parties before, but he was sitting beside us now, watching Mark closely.

Besides, it’s all we could do while we waited for Mom and Dad to come get back from the… meeting.

Mark didn’t speak much. Barely at all. But that didn’t seem to matter. I talked enough for both of us, and Owen—well, Owen just understood hime. It was weird. A little freaky, even. They didn’t need words, just looks. A shift of the eyes, the tilt of a head, and somehow, they just knew what the other was thinking.

It was…weird.

But maybe I shouldn’t have been confused.

Mark had it. The thing Owen was diagnosed with when he was little—something that could have killed him. Only, Owen had hospital worker like my mom, retrained social skills and the help he needed to cope.

Mark hadn’t.

It was worse for him, way worse, born with…more of a struggle. I could see it in the way he moved. Like how he was huge, taking up the spac eof a couch, but he wasn’t fully here, like part of him was still locked away.

But hey… we had an uncle now. Which was something. What a week.

I stirred the pretend tea, thoughtful. “You know, Owen was really lucky.”

Mark blinked at me, like I’d pulled him out of some faraway thought.

I smiled, stirring once more. “Mom mating with an Alpha saved him. Otherwise…” I let the words hang, my eyes flicking to Mark’s half-shifted ears and tail, the faint glow of his eyes, how they seemed lost, gone.

Owen stiffened. “Abigail,” he warned under his breath.

I didn’t get why he sounded mad. It was true.

But Owen’s jaw clenched, his shoulders going tight. “Yeah,” he admitted after a second. “I got lucky.”

Mark didn’t react. He just… looked down at the teacup in his hands, turning it over between his fingers. Slow. Thoughtful.

Owen shifted uncomfortably. “Hey, uh—”

But Mark wasn’t listening. Or maybe he was. He set the teacup back on the tray, adjusting it like it had to be perfectly aligned.

I hesitated, suddenly feeling like I’d said something wrong.

“Mark?” I asked softly.

No answer.

I fidgeted, glancing at Owen. Maybe I should change the subject. “What happened when you were younger?” I tried instead. “Why did they lock you up? Why did your mom—”

The door creaked open.

We all turned as the door opened.

Lauren

The moment we stepped through, I felt the weight of the meeting still pressing on my chest. The tension, the scrutiny, the barely veiled hostility from some of the pack members—it clung to me like a second skin.

The kids met us at the entrance, Abigail nearly bouncing on her heels, eyes wide with curiosity. “So? How bad was it?”

Owen stood beside her, his expression far more reserved, but the concern in his gaze was obvious. Mark lingered near holding a tea cup, not quite meeting my eyes, but I could feel his quiet attentiveness.

My brother…

I tried for a smile, though my body still felt stiff from the weight of all that had been said. “It was… long.”

Abigail scrunched up her nose. “That means bad.”

Alexander sighed, raking a hand through his hair. “They weren’t thrilled, but we got through it.”

Owen frowned. “Because you told the whole truth?”

I swallowed, glancing between my children. “Because of a lot of things.”

The kids exchanged glances, and for a moment, I saw the unspoken question in their expressions—what does this mean for us? For me? For them? For Mark?

I reached out, running a hand over Owen’s hair before brushing my fingers along Abigail’s cheek. “We’ll talk about it tomorrow. Tonight, let’s just… breathe, okay?”

Abigail hesitated, then nodded, reaching for Owen’s sleeve to tug him toward the stairs. “Come on, we’ll tell Mark about the time you got your head stuck in the fence.”

“I did not—” Owen sputtered, but Abigail was already dragging him away, her giggle echoing down the hall.

“Actually,” I swallowed, forcing my voice to stay steady as I eyed Mark. “Can we talk?”

Mark lifted his head slightly, his pale, eerie eyes locking onto mine. There was no fear in them, no expectation.

Mark stood without a word, following me to the couch, Alexander trailing behind. The space was dim, the fire in the hearth flickering low, casting long shadows across the shelves lined with books.

Mark didn’t sit.

Neither did I.

I faced him, taking in the sharp angles of his face, the way he stood so still, like he wasn’t even breathing.

“I didn’t know,” I said finally. “Not about you. Not about any of this. I thought you were dead and… I owe you an apology.”

Mark’s gaze flickered. A reaction, but a barely-there one.

Alexander leaned against a desk, arms crossed. “Your mother went to great lengths to hide it. Don’t blame yourself.”

My mother, who was dead now. Another thing that was my fault.

I hadn’t a moment to even think about how I felt about that. Did I care? Why didn’t I… care?

I inhaled sharply, my hands curling into fists. “She kept everything from me. Lied to me. She made me believe we were nothing—” I cut myself off, exhaling hard. “But we never were, were we?”

Mark didn’t answer.

Instead, his fingers twitched, as if debating something. And then, slowly, he reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a small, battered book.

My breath caught.

Abigail’s book. The one she stole from my mother’s things.

He handed it to me without a word, and I hesitated before flipping it open. The pages were old, the ink smudged in places, but the words—the stories—were clear.

The Lycan bloodline.

The curse in men.

But the only women given access to the power of Alphas.

It made sense now.

Why the bloodline had been nearly wiped out. Why the few remaining Lycans had been slaughtered, erased from history.

Because the men wanted power. To be Alphas.

And a female Alpha? A woman with power that could rival or even surpass them? That was a threat.

I turned the page, my fingers shaking.

My daughter.

My daughter was in danger.

I swallowed hard.

Owen, too.

If Owen had bypassed the curse thans to Alexander’s blood, but that meant…

It meant that a male could still inherit the power.

It meant that with the right bloodline, a male could take the Moon Goddess’s gift.

GrimMaw must know this to have come after us… or something like it.

Did Dalverious?

Maybe they had always known.

Theo.

I felt my stomach twist. Releasing him had been a mistake. He had been too close to the kids, too invested in Owen and Abigail.

I exhaled, my hands trembling as I clutched the book.

Mark watched me, his expression unreadable. But in his eyes, I saw something else. Something raw.

Loss.

He had lost everything.

Our mother. His childhood. His future.

I hesitated—then stepped forward, wrapping my arms around him.

For a long moment, he didn’t move. Didn’t breathe.

Then, slowly, he lifted his arms and hugged me back.

The weight of it hit all at once.

The grief. The regret. The understanding that no matter how much time had passed, no matter how much pain there had been—

We were still family.

I finally let out a few tears, but I wasn’t sure who or what they were for.