Chapter 12

"Mom?" I tried the doorknob of my mother's white clapboard cottage. Finding it unlocked, I let myself inside. The tiny foyer was dark, but there was a light in the kitchen. "Mom? It's me, Talon."

"In the kitchen," she called in a voice raspy from too many cigarettes. She was smoking one now, a shot glass and a half-empty whisky bottle on the kitchen table in front of her.

All my memories of her were infused with the odor of tobacco and whisky.

Back then, the small cottage had been falling down around us while Esposito tossed away his pay—and most of my mom's, too—playing poker or on get-rich-quick schemes. These days, the building was freshly painted and in good repair. I made sure of that, just like I'd hired a woman to come in a twice a week to clean and cook dinners for her. It was the only way I could be sure my mom was eating regularly.

"Hey there, sweetie."

Smiling up at me, she nudged the shot glass and bottle to the side, like I wouldn't realize she was drinking alone and in the dark except for a light over the stove. At least she was awake and relatively sober.

I dropped a kiss on her lined cheek and leaned against the counter, my hands braced on the countertop behind me. "How are things?"

"Not bad." She stubbed out the cigarette in a dented brass ashtray that was older than me. "How about yourself?"

"Not bad."

"I thought you were away."

"Yeah? Where did you hear that?"

Her eyes shifted sideways. "You know. Word gets around."

I grunted. No one but Brien, Cain, Twilight, and a few of the castle staff had known I was off island.

"Was he here?"

"No. You said yourself he'd better not come to the island."

"So you went to him, then."

She shrugged, fiddling with her shot glass.

Of course she'd been to see him. Now that I looked closer, I saw the signs. Her salt-and-pepper hair had been recently cut in a stylish cap that feathered around her face; she was wearing an outfit I'd never seen before—a soft cream sweater and khaki pants—and she was trying not to drink.

When Esposito crooked a finger, she went running—to Montreal, Toronto, Vancouver. I knew about it, of course, but she was an adult. Yeah, I could've stopped her, but she was still my mom, even if she was piss-poor at mothering.

The only good thing about it was that when she was with Esposito, she drank less. Sometimes she even stopped altogether for a few months.

I folded my arms over my chest. "Where is he?"

And how the hell had he known I was off-island, anyway?

Her mouth pinched. "Is that the only reason you came to see me? To grill me about Marc?"

I clenched my back teeth. "You know that's not true. I check in on you every few days. I was here Tuesday night, and the Friday before that."

Instead of replying, she patted the chair to her right. "Sit down. Tell me what you were doing on the mainland."

"Mom—"

"I said, Sit."

When she took that tone, I knew she'd dug in. I wasn't getting any more information out of her until she was ready.

I lowered my ass to the damn chair. "I wasn't on the mainland. Well, not in Canada anyway. I was in New York. Syndicate business," I added to forestall further questions.

She snagged the whiskey bottle and glass and poured herself a double shot. "The primus sent you?"

I looked at her without speaking.

"Hm." She fingered the glass.

She took her whiskey neat. Ice melted and diluted the alcohol, she said. I expected her to toss it down, but she only ran a fingertip around the lip. Yeah, my father was definitely in the picture.

"I always wanted to go to New York," she said. "See a Broadway show, go to the museums."

I reached for her hand. It was lean and strong, but she had age spots and a few wrinkles now. Sometimes I forgot she was almost sixty-seven.

"You want to go, then I'll take you. Say the word and I'll arrange it."

She squeezed my fingers. "I'd like that."

"When, then? Would you like to go for the holidays? See the decorations?"

"Next month?" She wrinkled her nose, then made an excuse like always. "I don't want to miss Christmas with you and my friends. Maybe in the spring, when it's warmer."

"Okay. Sure. The spring."

I probably shouldn't be leaving the island right now anyway, not with the way things were with Eden.

"You're good to ask," she said. "You always did your best. I know I wasn't a great mom."

I moved uncomfortably on my seat. "You did okay."

"No, I didn't." She stared at her whiskey. "You ran wild and we both know it. Everyone knew it."

I rolled a shoulder. "It worked out in the end."

"Yeah. The prima made you a vampire, didn't she? Because she thought you had parents who didn't care."

"Mom. It's done and I'm happy. Don't beat yourself up about it. I'm a fucking lieutenant now—you can't get much higher than that."

"I suppose so." Her mouth pulled sideways. "These days, you look more like my grandson than my son, you know. It's…strange."

It was true. I lifted my shoulders, let them drop.

"So," I said. "About Esposito. When did you see him last?"

"I don't know. Why don't you text him yourself?"

"I did," I said, tight-jawed. "He changed his number again."

Esposito changed his phone number as often as other people changed their shoes. And when I'd had the PI track down his new number, he hadn't responded.

"It's your fault, you know. If you treated him with any respect, he wouldn't—"

"When did you see him last?" I interrupted.

She narrowed her eyes at me.

I grabbed for my patience. "Please. I need to know."

"Why?"

"That, I can't tell you. But it's important."

She stared at me for a beat, then shrugged. "A couple of weeks ago."

"In Halifax?"

A shake of her head. "Montreal. We went out, had some fun."

"Montreal. He was gambling again, right?"

"He played a few hands of poker, yeah."

I suppressed a sigh. "How much did he lose?"

"Nothing." Her smile was triumphant. "He won—big. He bought me this." She pushed up the sleeve of her sweater to show me a delicate gold chain dotted with what looked like real diamonds.

"Huh." My stomach twisted. Esposito only gave her gifts when he wanted something.

Her mouth turned down in disappointment. "That's all you have to say?"

"It's pretty," I made myself add.

She pulled the sleeve back over her wrist again. "He asked about you, you know."

Ah. "What did he want to know?"

"How you were, that sort of stuff. I told him you were a lieutenant now, and he said to tell you congratulations."

"Tell him I said thanks," I said, to make her happy.

Esposito would be asking for more money any day now. He always needed money. Maybe he really had won big this time, although it wouldn't be the first time he'd lied to my mom about it. But even if he had, what he hadn't spent buying her presents, he would've lost at cards.

"Did he say anything else?"

"Just that he'd be in touch. He's changed, Talon. If you spent some time with him, you'd see. He wants to be a father to you."

I stared at her. If Esposito had actually changed, then I was an eight-legged kraken. But he was her weakness; she'd always see him through rose-colored glasses.

And she'd always choose him over me.

I'd had enough. I pushed back my chair and rose to my feet. "I have to go. But if you hear from him, let me know, is that clear? This is important."

She rose, too. "Sure, honey. You can count on me."

No, I can't. And I never could.

In fact, until I'd met Cain and later, Brien, the only person I could truly count on was myself. But what was the point in saying it? I'd only hurt her, and it wouldn't change anything.

I rounded the table and squeezed her shoulder. "You got everything you need?"

"Yeah, I'm good," she said, reaching for another cigarette. "Love you, sweetheart."

"Love you, too."

I'd ridden my motorcycle from the castle. She followed me onto the narrow porch and leaned against the porch rail, smoking the cigarette, as I rode off.

As soon as I was back in my apartment, I sent for Eden, then poured myself a glass of blood-wine and sank onto the couch.

Eden appeared immediately like she'd been waiting for my summons. No ripped jeans and soft blue sweaters tonight, though. Tonight she wore tight, body-hugging black—leggings and a sleeveless top that showcased her full tits.

"Hey, there." Her smile was tentative.

Holy fuck.

I stilled, the wine glass partway to my mouth.

It was Catwoman with short, dark-tipped yellow hair and a baby bump—and I'd always had a weakness for Catwoman.

Whatever Eden saw on my face made her smile broaden. She sauntered toward me.

I managed to unfreeze my vocal cords. "Hey," I returned, and without taking my eyes from her, set my glass on an end table. As soon as she was close enough, I snagged her hips and practically dragged her between my knees.

She leaned into me, her hands on my shoulders. "I went to Olivia's today. She says everything's fine."

"I know." I caressed her hips. The tight black pants looked like leather, but they were some other, shiny material. "I read her report as soon as I got up."

A nod. "She…told you it was a boy?"

"She did—and that he's healthy." And I thanked all the gods for that. "You will take better care of yourself going forward," I added, because it still pissed me off that she'd been too scared of me and the syndicate to get the medical care she needed.

What the fuck would've happened if I hadn't found her in time? Would she have given birth in that apartment with only Rio to help her?

She grimaced. "I will, I promise. Thanks for setting it up. I know I should've gone to a doctor sooner."

"Yeah, you should've," I returned.

A small sigh. "I'm sorry. Another thing I fucked up."

I smacked her ass. "Don't worry, I added it to the list." I was only half-joking.

She dragged her teeth over her lower lip and swayed closer, putting those tits right in my face, clouding my brain with her sweet, Eden-scent.

I fingered the zipper of her clingy black top. "Did you wear this for me?"

She dipped her chin. "D'you like it? It's vintage—one of the things I bought the other day."

"Fuck, yeah." I slid the zipper down, exposing soft breasts barely covered by a filmy black bra. "I withdraw my objection to second-hand clothes if this is what you're buying. But this outfit makes me want to do bad things to you." I teased her nipple through the gossamer fabric. "Is that why you wore it?"

Her answer was to arch her back, a hungry whimper slipping from her lips.

I gripped her throat, lightly but firmly. Her lids closed in pleasure, and beneath my thumb, her carotid artery pulsed and throbbed. My mouth watered with the need to suck on that spot, to drag another of those sexy whimpers from her, but I also wanted a straight answer from her.

No, I needed it. Was she trying to play me? Or was she truly sorry?

"Answer me," I told her. "Tell me why you wore it. The truth."

Her eyes met mine, her expression stark. "Because I don't want to fight with you. I want to get back what we had."

Gods, I wanted to believe her. Too much.

I stroked my thumb down her the side of her neck. "Then you shouldn't have left like that. You shouldn't have taken money to spy on Twilight."

"You're right. And I'm sorry. I promise I'll do better. I know it doesn't make it right," she added, "but I'm going to keep telling you until you believe me."

I did believe her. Jones had reported her conversation with her mother to William, the castle's steward. Eden could've made trouble for the syndicate by crying to her mom, but she hadn't. She'd come back to face me another night, not knowing what I'd do to her next.

So I believed she was sorry. That didn't mean I was ready to forgive her.

She'd humiliated me in front of Brien and Cain.

Attempted to hide my own spawn from me.

She owed me, and I intend to collect. If that made me a bastard, then I'd own it.

"You abused my trust, Eden."

"I'm sor—," she started to say, but I put my hand over her mouth, stopping her.

"Words are cheap," I said and released her.

She lifted her gaze to mine, finally understanding where I was going with this. "What can I do?" she asked huskily.

Oh, baby. So many things.

"Show me." I sat back, widening my legs. "Show me how sorry you are. Show me how you can do better." I rubbed my hand over the hard ridge my dick was making in my jeans.

She swallowed, her gaze glued to my crotch.

The woman was going to kill me. I had to clamp my molars together to stop myself from grabbing her head and forcing her face between my thighs.

I didn't, though.

An apology should come willingly—or not at all.