I pushed the heavy oak door of the Pack House open. The storm raged behind me, soaking the back of my hospital discharge clothes.
"Mommy!" Bill's voice echoed from the grand staircase.
He bounded down the carpeted steps, his little feet thumping against the wood. He stopped a few feet away, his hands shoved into the pockets of his pajamas.
"Are you better now?" he asked.
I stared at the boy I had carried for nine months. My throat still throbbed from the intubation tube.
"I survived, Bill," I said.
"Oh." He didn't smile. He kicked the edge of the woven rug. "What a pity."
"A pity?" I asked, dropping my plastic hospital bag onto the hardwood. The thud echoed in the quiet foyer. "You wanted me to die, Bill?"
"Aunt Jessica can't be my mom now," he complained, crossing his arms. "She promised we would go to the amusement park tomorrow if you didn't come home."
"She told you to give me that cake?"
"She said it was a magic test. If you were a fun mom, you'd eat it."
"I am allergic to peanuts. It stops my breathing."
"Aunt Jessica says you're just dramatic," Bill retorted, tilting his chin up. "She says you pretend to be sick so Daddy will stay home."
"I was in the hospital. I almost didn't wake up."
"You're lying!" Bill yelled, stamping his foot against the floorboards. "You just want to make Aunt Jessica look bad. You're jealous because she's a genius and you're just a Beta's daughter!"
That phrase hit me like a physical blow. A five-year-old didn't invent that insult.
"Who taught you to say that?" I demanded, stepping closer.
"Everyone knows it," Bill sneered. "Aunt Jessica has a Master's degree. She went away to study during the war. You just stayed here and trapped Daddy into marrying you."
"Trapped him?" I repeated, my voice shaking with a cold fury.
Five years ago, the Iron Blood Pack bled into the soil. George's fated mate, Jessica, packed her bags and fled to the safe interior rather than risk dying beside him.
I was the one who stayed. I married the broken Alpha to unite the remaining fighters.
"I fought for this pack," I told my son, pointing at my own chest. "I gave you life. I taught you how to read, how to respect our elders. When you were sick with the winter fever, I stayed awake for three days holding you."
"Aunt Jessica says you only did that to look like a good Luna," Bill shot back.
"She told you that?"
"She tells me the truth. She says Beta wolves are sneaky."
"I am your mother!"
"You're not my fated mother!" Bill screamed. "Daddy was supposed to marry her!"
Three months. That was all it took.
Jessica returned with her fancy degree, slipping into our lives as Bill's highly-paid tutor.
Since then, George barely came home. And my son had just tried to kill me.
"Go to your room, Bill," I commanded softly.
"I don't have to listen to you," he snapped, turning his back on me.
"Keep your voice down," a deep baritone commanded from the staircase.
George descended the steps. His white shirt was unbuttoned at the collar, his hair slightly rumpled.
He didn't rush to my side. He didn't ask why I wore a hospital wristband.
His gaze swept over my damp clothes with mild irritation.
"You smell like antiseptic," George noted, wrinkling his nose. "Where have you been all evening?"
"The clinic," I answered, testing him.
"Right. The storm," he dismissed, not even registering my raspy tone. "You should have called a driver instead of walking in the rain."
"I couldn't call anyone," I stated flatly. "My phone was left in the kitchen when I collapsed."
George finally reached the bottom step. He placed a protective hand on Bill's shoulder.
"Why are you upsetting the boy?" my husband asked.
"He's upset because I survived," I replied.
George rolled his eyes. "Always the victim, Rebecca. Stop exaggerating."
"The hospital called the Pack House. They sent a runner."
"I gave orders not to be disturbed," George snapped. "I had important matters to attend to."
"More important than your Luna going into anaphylactic shock?"
George frowned. He finally noticed the red marks on my neck from where I had clawed at my own throat.
He didn't apologize. He merely sighed. "You're clearly fine now. You're standing right here."
"My heart stopped, George."
"And yet, you have the energy to argue." He walked past me.
"Daddy, tell her to stop yelling," Bill whined, burying his face in George's side.
"Your mother is just tired," George soothed him. Then he turned back to me. "The rain is too heavy tonight."
I braced myself against the mahogany banister. "And?"
"Jessica will stay at the Pack House for the night," he announced, his tone leaving no room for argument.
"Absolutely not," I said.
George's eyes flashed with Alpha authority. "I wasn't asking for your permission."
"She has an apartment in town. Send a driver."
"The roads are flooded," he countered sharply. "She's terrified of thunder. She had a severe panic attack earlier."
"She had a panic attack?" I laughed. A harsh, grating sound that scraped my raw throat.
Tears should have fallen. Instead, my chest shook with dry amusement.
"I was on a ventilator, and you were holding her hand through a thunderstorm?" I asked.
"She is our guest," George warned, his voice dropping an octave. "She is Bill's tutor. Show some respect."
"Respect? She fled when the pack was attacked five years ago. Now she comes back with a degree, and suddenly she's the victim?"
"She made a strategic choice for her education," George defended her instantly. "She secured alliances with the interior packs while we fought on the front lines."
"She ran away," I corrected him. "She left you bleeding in the mud. I was the one who pulled you out."
"Do not bring up the past," George growled, stepping closer. "You agreed to this marriage knowing the circumstances. We needed a Luna, and you were available."
"Available," I whispered. "Is that all I was?"
"You've had a comfortable life here," George continued, oblivious to the cracks forming in my heart. "You have status. You have Bill. Don't ruin it by being petty over a thunderstorm."
The insult landed perfectly, right in the center of my chest.
"She is staying in the east wing," George declared.
The east wing. My old suite before we moved into the Alpha quarters together.
"Yay!" Bill cheered, pumping his small fists in the air. "Aunt Jessica gets to stay!"
I looked at my son. I looked at my husband.
They stood together, a united front against the woman who bled for them.
My nails dug into my palms. The sharp sting grounded me, leaving tiny crescent moons in my skin.
"Fine," I smiled bitterly, releasing my grip on the banister. "Let her stay."
George blinked, clearly expecting a longer fight. "Good. See that she gets extra blankets."
"I'll handle it," I lied.
He nodded, taking Bill's hand and leading him toward the kitchen for a late-night snack.
I stood alone in the dim foyer.
A floorboard creaked above me.
I tilted my head up. Jessica stood at the top of the landing.
She wore George's oversized black shirt. Her legs were bare.
And dangling from her fingers was the silver necklace I had worn on my wedding day.
