17

AIDA

"Your son's going to try and kill you?"

I lean in, whispering so no one else at the table will hear.

After the confusing confrontation in the hall, Byron led me to a large dining room designed in the same minimalist aesthetic as the bedroom and hall.

Most of the long table was packed, and I'd been distracted by the curious stares of those seated when my daughter shrieked my name from where she was sitting at the far end.

We'd hugged and checked each other over. I could tell she was being taken care of, and she felt safe. After she'd come to see me, she'd run off with a group of kids her age.

Once I'd assured myself she was okay, Byron and I had served ourselves from the abundant buffet of roasted and stewed meat, fruits, and bread lining one side of the room.

Byron spoons another mouthful of stew into his mouth. "Kill me or make me submit. The rules don't say it has to be a fight to the death."

He delivers this practical explanation around his mouthful of food. He's focused on the other side of the table, where the son in question watches him with narrowed eyes.

I assess the younger man, noting the similarities in their looks. "Byron, he doesn't look like the submitting type."

"He's not." They continue their stare-off as we talk.

"And you're definitely not the submitting type."

Byron snorts. "Where do you think he got it from?"

"So you're just going to kill each other?" My voice rises.

Byron, calmly chewing like we aren't talking about him and his son, presumably trying to murder each other, is sending me into a slow panic. The food I've already eaten turns awkwardly in my stomach.

Sighing, he ends the stare-off with his son and places his spoon down to shift and face me. "Listen, like all politics, shifter affairs are complicated. I love my son, and everything will be fine."

"So you're not going to kill him?"

He rolls his eyes like the idea is ridiculous. "He's one of the only things I have left of my first mate. I'm not fucking killing my son."

Again, I'm caught off guard by how calm he is. If Zora had expressed the intention to fight me to the death, I'd be going out of my mind.

"So what are you going to do?"

He makes another face like I should know the answer. "He may not look like he'll submit, but I'm his father. I used to wipe that cub's ass. He'll have to be reminded of that."

I don't have a response as he goes back to eating. I try to focus on my food again, but too many thoughts campaign for space in my mind, although one keeps pushing its way to the front.

"Is it because of me?"

Byron's eyes cut to me again before returning to his bowl. "Don't worry about it, Aida."

I stifle a groan. "Byron, we can leave. I'll find someplace safe to go with Zora, but you can't fight your son for me."

He doesn't look away from his plate, but his spoon halts on the way to his mouth. "Eat your food, mate. Let me worry about my son."

"Mom, Byron, some of the other kids are going to pitch tents in the yard and sleep outside tonight. Can I?" Zora drops beside me with a plate full of fresh fruit and grilled vegetables. Her eyes are wide with excitement, and it's like seeing the old Zora again.

She looks between us, and the fact that she addressed Byron and me both for permission—like we're her parents—registers.

"Uh," I look at Byron, who's holding an easy smile.

He shrugs. "Up to you. She's safe here. Don't doubt that no matter what."

"Yeah, sure, I guess. Is it mixed, like boys and girls?"

Zora rolls her eyes. "Geez, mom. Yeah, but we'll have separate tents, and according to them, I'm not a shifter, so they're not interested."

She jumps from the table and runs to a group of teens around her age waiting by a set of French doors that lead outside, leaving me stunned.

I hinge my head in Byron's direction. "She knows?"

His mouth compresses apologetically as he nods. "I'm sorry. I meant to mention it, but we had to tell her before arriving. There are young people here who have a harder time managing the shift. I didn't want her to be startled."

I look back to where my daughter has just disappeared with a group of unstable teenage shifters. "Is that safe then? I mean, if they can't control it. Will they attack her?"

Byron opens his mouth to reply, but the chair across from us scraps back, drawing my attention.

"Beast and man—or woman—are the same thing." The guy who sits across from us tears into a chunk of bread, chewing with a smirk. "They'll know Zora in either form, and she'll remain a friend."

"This is Ishaaq. He's one of my closest friends." Byron reaches a fist across the table that the other man bumps with his own.

Familiarity flashes through my mind, and I narrow my eyes, searching for the memory. "You were in the van looking after Zora."

"Yeah. She's a good kid. Smart. Barely blinked when we told her we were shifters."

That takes me by surprise. "Really?"

If Byron hadn't come to me the way he did, in the safety of the dream, I doubt I would have believed what he was.

Ishaaq chuckles. "Actually, she called bullshit, and we had to show her."

I narrow my eyes again. "She said ‘bullshit'?"

"Nah," he shakes his head. "Her exact words were, ‘Get the fuck out of here,' but don't say anything. Like I said, she's a good kid."

I roll my eyes at his attempt at covering for her but relent with a swell of pride. "She is, and thank you for looking out for her."

He shrugs, lifting some animal's entire leg and tearing it into it. "Family. It's what we do."

***

"That looks fun. She hasn't had a lot of opportunities to do stuff like this in a while." I watch from the open French doors where Zora and the other teens sit in the grass in front of their tents, taking turns looking through one of the three telescopes they can view from.

One of the people here is an astronomer. He sets up sky viewing for the kids once a month, and she's lucky enough to have caught it this time.

A sudden tightness has me clearing my throat. "I kind of messed things like this up for her."

"You do that a lot." When I look at Byron in confusion, he continues. "Down yourself about being a mother. I don't know what went on to make you feel like you don't deserve the grace of every human being on the planet who makes an honest mistake, but from what I've seen, you always put that girl first—even," he peers closely at me for emphasis, "when you've got four fractured ribs, a fractured wrist, and a concussion."

I want to believe him, but I still look away. "Yeah, but that's my job as her mother. The one time I didn't put her first like I should have, I—" Shaking my head, I shrug. "Anyway."

"Sure." His smile tells me that he isn't going to force it.

"Sorry, I don't want to interrupt."

We spin at the familiar voice to find Byron's son standing behind us with a tentative but hopeful look.

Immediately, Byron's face lights up. He grins before launching himself at the younger man, clasping him in a hard hug.

I blink in shock but then sigh in relief. Thank god they've managed to squash things.

Byron lets his son go and claps him on the back before shifting to face me. "Son, this is Aida, my mate."

I offer a warm smile and stick out my hand. "It's good to meet you again. I'm glad things are better between you two."

He chuckles. "Wrong son."

Byron chuckles, too, and slaps the flat of his palm to his son's chest. I cringe at the heavy thud, but the other man doesn't seem to register it. Like his father, he's solidly built.

I, however, am confused as I glance at Byron.

"Twins. The one who wants to kill me is Preston, the older. This is Destin—Dez."

"It's good to meet you, too, Aida," Dez drops my hand and then surprises me by stepping in for a hug. His arms band around me, the hard muscles flexing in a way that I'm sure only hints at his strength, but he's gentle as he squeezes just enough before letting me go. He's smiling even wider when his face comes back into view. "She smells like a mother. I forgot what that was like."

"Her daughter, Zora, is out with the other kids." Bruce gives him a pointed look, which the other man acknowledges with a nod.

Clearing his throat, Dez looks at his father. "Now, where the fuck is my idiot brother?"

***

"Can I borrow you for a moment?"

I look up from where I'm, admittedly, low-key, hovering on the bench below the window that looks out to where Zora and the other kids are now roasting marshmallows for s'mores over a fire pit.

I got a little nervous when I saw the flames roaring into the air, but one of the adults is supervising nearby, and the kids seem to be taking precautions around the fire.

Ishaaq follows my gaze back out the window. "I'm sure Byron has told you, but I meant it when I said she's safe here. No one would let a hair on her head be harmed—or singed. Besides, it's a magic fire that extinguishes if anyone touches it."

"Really?" My gaze swings back out the window, my eyes widening.

Beside me, Ishaaq laughs. "Nah. I made that up. But she's good. Come on."

Feeling ridiculous for being so gullible, I follow Ishaaq out of the dining hall. He leads me through what I'm realizing is an impressively large compound of connected dwellings to an area that morphs into the sterile halls of a clinical facility.

"What is this place?"

"On-site lab and hospital."

We pass a door that looks like it leads to an operating room, and I peer through the window to see the distinct overhead lights and equipment needed for surgery.

"Is it fully functional?"

Ishaaq nods. "We have a few surgeons on hand." He rattles off a couple of names that have my eyes widening in fangirl shock.

"Are you serious? Those are like majorly renowned doctors."

Ishaaq chuckles. "It's the shifter senses. It makes us good for things that have to do with the body's composition. We can smell disease, see minor imperfections, and have steady hands." He shrugs. "We try to use it for good as we can."

"Oh my god." Something clicks in my head as I say it, and I halt, staring at his back. "Holy shit, are you Dr. Ishaaq Adeen?"

He pauses, too, turning with something of a bashful look. "It's not a big deal."

I throw my hands up, sputtering. "Wait, wait, wait. You are Ishaaq Adeen? The best brain surgeon in the world, and you're just walking around acting like you're some regular guy?"

He chuckles, shaking his head. "I am some regular guy, and I am the second-best brain surgeon in the world."

I snort. "Please. Who's better than you?"

"My brother Musa, although he hasn't attended school for it and has never had formal training."

I roll my eyes, crossing my arms on this nonsense. "If he didn't go to school to be a surgeon, how do you know he's better?"

Ishaaq strolls back to where I stopped and shifts his body to the side, using his hand to part the thicker side of his fade to reveal a long, thin scar.

I probably wouldn't have noticed it if he hadn't pointed it out.

"Two bullets to the head. One grazed, but the other went in. Musa got that bad boy out in the field so my beast could heal me. Barely left a scar."

"Wow."

His brows jump. "Yeah, he's amazing, but when you meet him, don't mention it. His head is big enough, and we have a hard time reining him in as it is."

He waves me along with a wink, and I follow again, still a little star-struck.

"Besides," he starts when we've started walking again, "you're a pretty big deal yourself, Doctor."

He emphasizes my title, but unlike with Umansky, it doesn't feel like a slight. I feel my chest puff a little at the reminder of my accomplishments.

"That's why I wanted you to come with me. We were able to copy the data from Genesis, and we'd like some help understanding exactly how far you got in the synthesis."

"Oh," I pause, a little embarrassed that I was involved. "When they asked me to synthesize Byron's shifting hormone, I didn't know why at the time because, obviously, they were full of shit. They told me when they hired me that it was cancer research."

We've come to a door, and Ishaaq pauses outside to face me again. "And did you replicate it?"

I shake my head. "Once I realized they were up to something, I purposefully slacked on completing it. It felt wrong, and not just because it was Byron. Even if there was some use for humans with the hormone, it doesn't belong in the hands of Genesis."

Ishaaq listens, but his eyes have narrowed slightly. "You're sure you didn't replicate it?"

I shake my head. "No. But they brought in another scientist since I took so long." My eyes widen. "Shit, did he?"

His sighs. "Maybe. We're not sure, but everything we've pulled from the data says they had what they needed to complete the synthesis." Turning, he pushes the lab door open. "Not that it matters."

"Byron said the same thing, and my preliminary findings suggested the same. Why is that?" Following inside, I walk quickly to keep up with him as he passes a couple of guys in lab coats working on laptops and leads me to a station in the back of the room.

"Because this isn't the movies, thankfully. Shifting isn't a virus or an infection. We're a completely different subset of beings. But that doesn't mean—"

"What?"

Even though he's dismissing the notion that shifting can be transferred to humans, worry creases his deep brown eyes. "It doesn't mean we can't have an effect."

"Do you think that's possible?"

He shrugs. "We don't know. They've been trying to get to us for a while, but we held some comfort in the fact that there was never anyone smart enough to successfully synthesize our shifting hormone—until you."

Guilt rushes through me that I've contributed, even reluctantly, to exposing their people. "I'm sorry. I never should have been there. I was just—honestly, I needed the money."

"Yeah," he nods. "I'm in the science community, so I know what happened." He pauses, holding my gaze. "Does he?"

I shake my head, not needing to ask who "he" is.

"You're not a shifter, so you won't understand this fully yet, but there is no part of him that will reject you."

I meet his eyes, doubt at his words making my mouth pinch, a subconscious tell of my intention to keep my shame to myself.

He shakes his head. "You're his mate, Aida. There is physically no part of him that will reject you. But more importantly, his priority is to protect you. His wolf will demand it, and he can't fulfill that instinct if you keep part of who you are from him. Whoever the woman was who found herself in the situation you found yourself in, he'll want to protect her too. Think about it."