“No, it was easier for you to disappear and leave her to answer all the questions, to navigate everything on her own.” Zane practically snarled, his voice deepening, taking on a primal edge Aimee had rarely heard. He’d sounded like that when he’d threatened the arsonist tied up in the truck.
“I don’t remember asking you anything,” her mother whispered, glaring at him. “This conversation is between my daughter and myself. No one invited you up here.”
The tension in the room was thick enough to cut with the knife still sitting on the board. Aimee cleared her throat, feeling for all the world like she was lost at sea kicking her legs, waving her arms, trying to keep her head above water with nothing to hold on to.
Her mother turned back to her, smiling. “You’ve done well for yourself, though. I always knew you would.”
“With no help from you.”
Her mother’s eyes widened like she was hurt. “That’s not fair.”
“Oh, isn’t it? It’s not fair to call you out for disappearing on me all this time? You could’ve at least told me you were still alive. There was a memorial service for you and everything. And I had to stand there, alone, with nobody to support me just like I’ve had to live the rest of my life since then. Alone.”
“You were never alone, Amelia. I was always with you. Every step of the way.”
“What’s that supposed to mean? How could you possibly—”
She couldn’t bring herself to finish because there really was no question to be asked. Because now she finally understood, all of it, every bit. The enormity of it threatened to crush her where she sat. It felt like her body was shrinking, like she was curling up on herself. The pressure was just too much.
Lydia’s expression was one of penitence. “Honey, let me explain. Please. I know what you must think.” She went to her then, rounding the island and taking Aimee by the shoulders.
It was like blasphemy. It was something filthy and evil and wrong, to be touched by this woman, to be comforted by a mother who hadn’t been a mother in so long, who was so much more than the woman Aimee had imagined her being.
Even so, she couldn’t bring herself to shake her mother’s hands off her shoulders because she’d wished for this for so long. So many times, she’d told herself it didn’t matter why her mother had to go away, so long as she came back. She would forgive her anything so long as she came back.
But how could she have imagined this?
“You’re the reason they put that thing in my arm, aren’t you?” she choked out, horrified. It all made sense now. No matter how much she didn’t want it to, it did.
Lydia’s smile was sad, soft. Regretful. “I needed to know where you were, didn’t I? You were too important.”
“Mom. No, this can’t be true. How could you arrange for something like that? Who are you that you were able to do that?”
Lydia smoothed down the shoulders of her T-shirt, patting her arms. “Someone in a position to have their daughter protected.”
“Protected? Wait a second.” Now, she found it in herself to push her mother’s hands away. “How did you protect me? You’ve been tracking me all these years, following me around? Right?”
“Right.” She didn’t even have the grace to sound apologetic.
“So, you knew what I was doing. You had to. But you didn’t stop me? That would’ve been protection, Mother. I didn’t have a choice—I had to do something when I got home. I didn’t have any family to fall back on, anyone to take me in, no future. There you were, always in the background, aware of where I went and what I did, but you didn’t do a thing to stop me.”
“Because she was the one who sent them to you,” Zane grunted. Funny, but for a second she’d almost forgotten he was there, standing in the living room, just behind her.
“Shut your mouth,” her mother warned. She was vicious, nearly enraged.
“Don’t talk to him that way,” Aimee warned. “I’ve seen what he can do to people who threaten him—and me,” she added, enjoying her mother’s grimace.
“Amelia, don’t you see what’s been happening all this time? You don’t even know who you’ve been with. I know, which is why I had no choice but to come here. As I said, this isn’t how I wanted it to be, but I simply had to step in when I knew the danger you were in. He’s not who you think he is.”
“You’re one to talk,” Aimee snickered. “Like you have any room to accuse somebody of not being who they seem to be. You, who lied to me my entire life.”
“Everything I did was for you!” She turned to Zane, her face contorting in a mask of rage. “How was I supposed to know you would find each other? This was exactly what I wanted to keep you from!”
“What are you talking about? Would somebody please explain to me what this means?”
“He’s a shifter, Amelia!”
The room went deathly silent, the sort of silence that fell after an explosion when everything suddenly… stopped. It was like all the air had been sucked out of the apartment, leaving her struggling to take a breath.
“What the hell are you saying?” she croaked. “A shifter?”
“Yes. A shifter.” Zane sounded resigned, dejected. “That’s what they did to me. That’s what I couldn’t tell you. That’s what we had to escape from.”
Aimee looked at him, then at her mother. The two of them glared at each other with utter loathing, the deepest sort of hatred. “But that’s not possible. How is that even possible?”
“It’s possible,” her mother assured her, never taking her eyes from Zane. “Granted, that isn’t what we intended, but it happened. It was supposed to be our great achievement, what we’d been working toward for years. All those endless days, combing through research, comparing studies, compiling statistics—mortality rates per category of injury, degree of injury, rate of healing, how much it cost the government whenever a soldier was wounded, killed. How we could change that. How we could fortify our armed forces to make ourselves unstoppable.”
She was insane. That was the only explanation. The gleam in her eyes, the conviction in her voice. People sounded that way when they talked about a religious experience, like a fanatic.
That was who Lydia Niles had become. A fanatic. Probably after so many years spent with the same people, like-minded, all of them pushing for the same goal, feeding off each other, feeding into the others’ madness, all of them in a bubble of their own making.
Aimee looked to Zane for answers, but it was clear he had none. “I was gonna tell you,” he whispered, pulling his gaze from her mother and looking at her with clear, undeniable regret. “When we got to the house, I was going to. I swear. I didn’t—”
“Stop talking,” her mother snapped. “You’re nothing but a freak we’ve been meaning to rid ourselves of for years. You’ve hidden your selves well up to now. I have to give you credit for that much. How you escaped is still a mystery, but I admire your guts, I really do.”
“Just… just stop talking! Both of you.” Aimee stood between them, looking back and forth. “I need to make sense of this, and with you both talking, I can’t think.”
She turned to the woman she’d mourned for ten years, still struggling to believe she was looking at her actual mother. Maybe because she felt like she wasn’t, like this person who might have looked like Lydia and sounded like Lydia was nothing more than a pale imitation.
Or maybe it was the other way around. Maybe the woman she thought of as her mother was the imitation, and this was the real person in front of her now.
“You were working for the government all this time?”
“An agency close to the government,” her mother corrected. “Affiliated with but not strictly part of.”
“Of course. You would want to keep herself a secret. You were doing tests or experiments. Right?”
“Right. The work meant needing to relocate, and I couldn’t bring myself to take you with me. You could never thrive in a place like that, never live a normal life. I had to leave you
behind.”
“Do you think I’ve lived a normal life? Is that seriously what you think?” Laughter bubbled up in Aimee’s chest. “Don’t act like a martyr, please. Like you sacrificed something all these years. You did what you had to do for yourself, for your work. It wasn’t about me.”
She turned to Zane, who looked and sounded roughly as dangerous as she’d ever seen him. His teeth were bared, his chest heaving with each ragged breath he took. “And they turned you into something else. That’s what you escaped from, a hospital or a lab. And that’s why you’ve been hiding from them because you weren’t supposed to have survived.”
“There’s my smart girl,” Lydia murmured, approving.
Aimee shut her down with just one look. “I don’t want to hear it,” she warned, holding up a hand. “Don’t act like there’s anything warm or maternal between us. Not now.”
“How can you say that?” Lydia whispered, holding one hand to her chest. “All these years, I’ve been with you, watching you, guiding you, protecting you.”
“It was you all along. You sent them to me, whoever they were. You knew exactly how to get to me, what to tell them to say. You used me. You used me to do your dirty work. You twisted me up. You made me accessory in your screwed up little game.”
“It was the only way I could imagine to keep you under my protection! So I could watch you from afar. Besides, don’t pretend you weren’t good at what you did. You’re special. Everyone you ever served under spoke of how special you are. I knew you could be trusted with work like this. I’ve been so proud of you.”
“I’m a killer, Mom. That’s who you turned me into. A murderer. I’ve killed so many people. I’ve lost so much of myself.” She wiped a tear from her cheek, frustrated with herself for crying. “Are you proud of yourself? For what you’ve done to me? How am I ever supposed to live a normal life?”
“Who wants to live a normal life?” Lydia countered, laughing. “You aren’t normal. You’re special, Amelia. You’ve always been special. I could trust you. I could rely on you and your intelligence and your instincts, even from a young age. You knew how to accept responsibility. You knew how to live up to the expectations placed on you. You always did your best. How could I not be proud of you? How could you ever want to be normal when you are anything but? You are my exceptional little girl.” Lydia reached for her, but Aimee stepped aside before she could make contact.
“Don’t touch me. Please. I can’t stand it.”
It was like magic the way everything changed.
That loving, maternal, warm and gentle demeanor vanished like it had never been there at all. “You ungrateful little bitch. Everything I’ve given you, you would throw back in my face? Who do you think you are? I am the only reason you are alive—and no, I don’t mean because I gave birth to you. They wanted to eliminate you. I’m the only thing that stopped them. You think he saved you?”
She raised an arm, pointing at Zane and laughing bitterly. “No, my daughter. I’m the one who kept them away from you.”
“What about the arsonist?” Zane asked, and Aimee felt a perverse sort of victory when Lydia’s face went slack.
She smiled. “Oh, your buddies didn’t tell you about that? About the fact that they sent someone out to kill me? Last night, in fact. He set fires to all the homes around the one I was in, hoping to flush me out. He was gonna put a bullet in my head.”
“You’re lying,” Lydia whispered.
“No, I’m not. That’s how I learned about the device in my arm too. How do you think I found out about that? It’s not there anymore.”
“I nearly died when the signal stopped,” Lydia admitted, sounding human for the first time since Aimee found her in the kitchen. “That’s what brought me here. I was so sure—”
“Don’t worry about it,” Aimee advised, cutting her off. If she had to hear one more of her mother’s attempts at sounding loving and concerned, she would throw up. “Zane protected me.”
Thinking back on the fires brought to mind the man who’d set them. The wolf. Keep the wolf away from me. It all made so much sense now, even if she could barely bring herself to believe it.
He’d been talking about Zane.
Lydia snickered. “Protected you, is it? This monster? This freak of nature? He shouldn’t even exist; none of them should.”
“You made them,” Aimee whispered, shaking. “It was you. You did this. You ruined their lives just like you ruined mine. Why couldn’t you have just let me go? Why did you have to do what you did to me? Why did you let them use me? No,” she added, ready to face the truth. “You used me. It was you. How could you do that your own daughter?”
Rather than answer, Lydia reached behind her pulled a pistol from her waistband, a pistol she aimed at Zane’s head.
Aimee gasped, lunging forward purely out of instinct, but Zane’s sharp cry stopped her. “No!”
“That’s right,” Lydia whispered, staring at Zane but talking to Aimee. “Because it’s not you I would ever want to hurt, baby. One day, you’ll understand why I did what I did. When you have children of your own, you’ll understand. Not with this… thing.” Disgust rang out in her voice, practically dripping from it.
She waved the gun slightly. “Show her.”
“What are you saying?” Aimee asked, looking from her mother to the gun to Zane.
“I want you to see him for what he is before I put him out of his misery,” Lydia snarled, staring at Zane. “I want you to know for sure so you can never doubt me. You’ll know what I’ve helped you avoid. There would be no life for you with him. He has no future. He doesn’t belong—don’t you see?”
“Okay, hold on a second. You’re getting way too ahead of yourself.” It wasn’t exactly true, but Aimee would’ve said anything just then to stop the insanity unfolding in front of her. “There’s nothing like that between us. You don’t have to hurt him!”
“Amelia, grow up. I can practically smell it on him myself. He’s in love with you; he thinks you’re his mate. Probably wants to mate with you in some disgusting, unnatural way. I won’t allow that. He’s an abomination. He was not supposed to survive, and I won’t have him destroying your life.”
She thrust the pistol toward him. “Shift, I said!”
“Zane, you don’t have to do this.” There was so much more she wanted to say as she turned to him, but none of it could be said with her mother there.
“It’s all right,” he murmured, one eye on Lydia at all times. “It’ll be fine.”
And with that, he closed his eyes. Aimee held her breath, torn between fascination, disbelief, and the terror of not knowing what she was about to see.
And just like that, he was gone, and a wolf twice the size of any normal wolf stood in her living room, surrounded by shredded bits of clothing and shoe leather.
She fell back a few steps, leaning against the island. How did a person react the first time they saw something like this? How was she supposed to react? She wished there was a way of knowing. Somewhere, deep in the back of her mind, she knew she didn’t want to hurt his feelings. She didn’t want him to think he scared her or that she was afraid or disgusted by him.
“See?” Lydia crowed. “A wolf shifter. Look what I saved you from. Look what I’m going to spare the world of.”
Aimee’s heart nearly stopped. “Mom, he never hurt me. I’ll give him up. I’ll never see him again, only please—”
“Sometimes, a mother knows best,” Lydia whispered, staring at the snarling wolf. He was monstrously big, his fur the same chocolate brown as Zane’s hair. Powerful, all compact muscle, ready to spring at a moment’s notice.
And his eyes continued to move back and forth between the gun and Aimee.
It was the strangest thing. Maybe she was imagining it, but it was almost like she could hear his thoughts. He wanted to attack Lydia—who wouldn’t? But he held himself back for her sake all because he was afraid she might get hurt, maybe hit by a stray bullet.
“I am
begging you. Please, don’t kill him,” she pleaded in a choked whisper.
“Not many things can kill him,” her mother murmured in a chillingly calm voice. “Most things, he’ll heal from right away. That’s one thing we managed to get right. We never intended to turn them into actual wolves. Needless to say, it was a regrettable mistake.”
She leveled the pistol, and from Aimee’s vantage point she knew the bullet would strike him between the eyes. She wanted to scream out, to tell him it was all right, that he could attack. He could defend himself. Even if he defended himself against her mother, even if he killed her. No, she didn’t want her mother to die, but she couldn’t lose him. What was she supposed to do?
“Mom, please. Let him go. Don’t do this. I’ll never forgive you!”
“There’s one thing a mother knows, Amelia,” Lydia whispered. “It’s that no matter how many times their child says they won’t forgive them, they always do once they see Mother was right all along.”
A shot rang out.
The earsplitting crack echoed off the high ceiling, the walls, the hard floor.
Aimee cried out, her heart tearing in two. She lowered her arm to her side, the pistol Zane had left on the counter still in her hand.
She went to her mother who’d collapsed on the floor. Lydia had dropped the gun—Aimee kicked it farther away just in case she decided to try to get a shot off at the last second.
She looked down into her mother’s face, into eyes as familiar as her own. All the while, a dark red patch grew over the front of her white blouse.
“I’m so sorry, Mommy.” Aimee smoothed the hair from her forehead, stroking her face. “I’m sorry for what they did to you. I’m sorry for who you became. I love you so much, but I couldn’t let you kill him. Not for something he had no part in. Forgive me. I couldn’t let you do it. Please. I’m sorry.”
Wolf Shield Investigations: Boxset Page 97
