Chapter 212

Iris

Finally, after six weeks of recovery, of being monitored, and of physical therapy to ensure her heart is healthy, my mother has been discharged from the hospital.

“You don’t have to fuss over me like this,” she says as I adjust her pillows for the third time in as many minutes. She’s propped up on the sofa in her favorite room, the sunroom, with a tray of her favorite tea and a veritable mountain of fruit and pastries that the housekeeper insisted on making for her return. “I’m not an invalid.”

“The doctors said to take it easy for at least another week,” I remind her. “And Dad made me promise I wouldn’t let you overexert yourself while he’s at work.”

My mother rolls her eyes, but there’s no real heat in it. “Your father has always been a worrier.”

I settle into the armchair across from her, suddenly unsure what to do with my hands. A lot has been on my mind lately, and there was a period of about two weeks when her condition was still pretty touch-and-go. She had to have a second surgery due to internal bleeding and her wolf even went dormant for a while due to her weakness.

Now, with the house quiet and empty save for the two of us, I finally have the chance to ask the question that’s been burning in my mind for months now.

“Mom,” I begin, my fingers fidgeting with the hem of my yellow cardigan, “can I ask you something?”

She smiles gently at me over the rim of her teacup. “Of course, darling. Anything.”

“A while back, you said something about Dreamers. About me being one. What did you mean?”

My mother’s face changes. She glances toward the doorway, as if checking to make sure we’re truly alone, then leans forward slightly.

“I was wondering when you’d ask about that,” she says quietly. “I’d hoped to have this conversation under better circumstances.”

“Better than me helping you recover from a stab wound?” I try to joke, but neither of us laughs.

My mother sighs and takes another careful sip of her tea before setting the cup down. “Iris, what I’m about to tell you is something very few people know. It’s a family secret that’s been guarded for generations.”

I sit up a little straighter at that.

“Have you ever had dreams that came true?” she asks. “Or visions of things that hadn’t happened yet, but later did?”

The question catches me off guard. “I… yes. Just what I already told you, though; I saw a she-wolf in my dreams, and then later when I was awake. She warned me about Nora and Veronica.”

My mother nods, unsurprised since I’ve already told her about these experiences. “And Miles? Has he mentioned having strange dreams?”

“He dreamt about Arthur coming back to us,” I admit.

She hesitated for several long moments, considering, then says, “We’re Dreamers, Iris. It’s a rare genetic trait that runs through my bloodline, passed down from mother to child. It gives us the ability to see glimpses of the future.”

I blink. “Like… psychics?”

My mother laughs softly. “Nothing so dramatic. Our abilities are subtle, unpredictable. We can’t choose what to see or when to see it. The visions come in dreams, in moments of extreme stress or danger, sometimes during meditation if you know the right techniques. They’re cryptic and symbolic, and often difficult to interpret until after the event has occurred.”

“So that’s why I’ve been seeing the she-wolf,” I muse.

“Yes.” My mother nods. “And it seems her warnings came true.”

I think about this for a moment, remembering the dream I had about invisible hands pulling me down into a sea of blood. The invisible hands were the people who hated me, the blood was my own. Veronica wrapped herself around my mate and nearly stole him from me for good.

But I can’t help but ask softly, “Why didn’t you tell me about this sooner?”

My mother’s expression turns sad. “I didn’t know you had inherited the trait until you mentioned your visions. Not everyone in our line does—Caleb doesn’t, for instance. I didn’t want you to think I was crazy, not so soon after we’d been reunited, so I didn’t say anything.”

There’s more to it than that; I can tell. My mother isn’t telling me everything. “Tell me the truth,” I insist.

She hesitates, then nods. “The Dreamer trait is very rare, Iris. And very valuable. Throughout history, people with our abilities have been sought after by those in power—kings, generals, politicians. Used as tools, as weapons.”

“Weapons?” I repeat, confused. “How can seeing vague symbols in dreams make someone a weapon?”

“In the right hands—or rather, the wrong ones—a Dreamer can be trained and conditioned to focus their abilities. They can become powerful tools for espionage, for predicting enemy movements, for gaining advantages in conflicts.”

A chill runs down my spine as the implications sink in. “And you think someone might want to use me that way?”

“You’re an adult, with a fully formed mind and will of your own, and as of right now, no wolf, so your powers are less profound. You would be difficult to manipulate,” my mother says. “But Miles…”

“Miles is just a child,” I finish, my stomach dropping. “His mind is still developing. And he’s already showing signs of having a wolf, unlike me, so his abilities are more powerful.”

My mother nods grimly. “Children with the Dreamer trait are especially vulnerable. Their abilities are more adaptable. They can be molded to serve specific purposes. In the past, such children were sometimes taken from their families and raised in isolation, trained to use their gifts for the benefit of whoever controlled them.”

The thought of anyone taking Miles and using him like a tool makes my blood run cold. “But that doesn’t happen anymore, right? This is the modern world. People don’t kidnap children for their psychic abilities.”

“The world may have changed, but power and ambition remain the same,” my mother says gravely. “And now that you’re in the public eye, now that you’re set to marry the Alpha President of Ordan… you and your son will be watched more closely than ever.”

“Does Arthur know about this? About Dreamers?”

She shakes her head. “Very few werewolves know of our existence. It’s been kept secret, partially because werewolves have historically been… less than kind to humans with unusual abilities.”

Great. Another complication in my already complicated life. “So what am I supposed to do? Hide Miles away? Never let him out of my sight?”

“No,” my mother says firmly. “Live your life as you see fit. But you must teach him to understand and control his abilities as they develop. And you stay vigilant.” She reaches across the space between us to take my hand. “I’m not telling you this to frighten you, Iris. Knowledge is protection. Now that you know what to watch for, you’ll be better prepared to keep Miles safe.”

I nod. “Arthur and I will protect him. No matter what.”

“I know you will.” She smiles. “The three of you are unstoppable together.”

We spend the rest of the afternoon talking about lighter topics—my upcoming wedding, the art program at Marsiel, Miles’ grades at school. By the time my father returns from work, the conversation about Dreamers feels like a distant dream itself.

Later, Arthur and I lie in bed in silence, Arthur staring at the ceiling while he considers everything I just told him about Dreamers. We’ve been laying like this for some time, just processing everything.

“I think we need a break,” I finally say, breaking the silence. “Just the three of us. The Winter Solstice is coming up soon.”

Arthur runs his fingers through my hair. “What did you have in mind?”

“I’d like to go to the ranch again,” I suggest. “Miles has been asking to go back. And it’s probably beautiful this time of year.”

And so it’s settled. Over the coming days, we make plans for our family vacation; Arthur clears his schedule for the holiday week, I contact the ranch to make sure the house will be ready for us, and Miles is ecstatic when we tell him.

But by the third morning, it happens.

Morning sickness.

I was wracked with it when I was pregnant with Miles, so I know what it feels like. It hits me when I’m cooking eggs for breakfast, and before I know it, I’m doubled over the toilet and emptying my stomach.

I’ve been avoiding it, but I think it’s time to take a test.

Later that morning, after dropping Miles off at school, I stop by the pharmacy. The clerk barely glances at me as she rings up the pregnancy test, for which I’m grateful. The last thing I need is a tabloid headline about the Alpha President’s mate buying a pregnancy test.

At home, I pace the bathroom floor, the unopened box in my hand. Another baby. Another little soul to care for, to worry about, to protect.

But also another little person to love. Another piece of Arthur and me combined. A little sibling for Miles, something that I’ve always wanted. The thought makes a smile break across my face.

Without wasting another moment, I tear open the box and take out the test.