Chapter 37

Chapter Thirty-Seven

H arper

I take a deep breath in, school my face into something that looks innocent and not in the least bit suspicious, turn my key in the door and open it.

“Harper? Harper? Is that you?” My mom comes skidding towards the front door and barrels right towards me, the two pups racing after her. She flings her arms around my neck as the dogs jump up and down barking.

“Oh you poor darling! Are you okay? I’ve been so worried. You poor poor thing.”

“I’m fine, Mom,” I croak, struggling to breathe because she’s squeezing me so tight. Also not sure why I am a ‘poor thing’.

“You must be so drained, so exhausted. I know the,” she lowers her voice, “ heat thing can be so wretched. Let me look at you.” She takes a step back and cradles my face in her hands. “Oh, you actually look … I’ve never seen so much color in your cheeks.”

I reach down and pat Death’s head, followed by Terror’s.

“It wasn’t that bad.”

“But without an alpha.” She shakes her head as if I’ve been dragged through hell and back. By my tongue.

“It was fine.” I manage a smile. “I’m sorry I gave you a fright. It’s just, I lived abroad for so long. I’m not used to having to report in.”

“Of course. You’re an adult. You don’t have to report in.” She rolls her eyes. “It’s just we hear all about these kidnappings and–”

“It all worked out in the end,” I say, threading my arm through hers and leading her to the kitchen, the dogs trotting along behind her.

There are an array of cakes and pastries laid out on the table. The dogs eye them, creeping towards them, and my mom is forced to usher both pups out of the room.

“I popped by the bakery and picked these up. I know they’re nothing like your French cakes …”

“They look amazing,” I say, trying my best to smile. I just stuffed my face at the Stanton Pack house. I’m so full I had to unbutton my jeans on the drive home. And now I’m going to have to eat cakes.

“You’re always starving after a heat, and I know you crave sweet things. Sit down.” She forces me onto one of the kitchen stools. “I’ll make you some freshly squeezed orange juice.”

“Mom, it’s fine, there’s no need to fuss. A glass of water will do just great.”

“One glass of water coming up,” she glances over at me, “oh, don’t wait for me, Snuffles. I’m on a diet. These cakes are all for you. Go right ahead.”

I stare at them. They are possibly the most sugary, creamy-looking cakes I’ve ever seen. I take the smallest-looking one gingerly and nibble at the edge.

My mom slides a glass of water my way and takes the stool next to me. I force another smile and with a great amount of effort swallow most of my mouthful.

“Yum,” I say, half-heartedly.

“So, tell me, what happened.”

I choke on the remainder of the cake. “H-h-happened?”

“Yes, you went into heat suddenly. That’s unusual for you, isn’t it? You’re usually as regular as clockwork.”

I scratch at my neck and will my skin not to color, my body not to sweat and my voice to stay neutral.

“Oh, I have no idea. I mean,” I undo the buttons of my cardigan, “maybe it was something to do with the jet lag. Or maybe I got confused with my dates. There’s been a lot going on.”

“There has.” My mom strokes my cheek affectionately. “You could have had it here, though, Snuffles. You didn’t need to leave.”

“Ahh, Mom, no.” I pull a face. “That would’ve been awful for the both of us.”

“Well, I’m very grateful to Molly for taking care of you. She’s a very good friend.”

“Yeah,” I say, picking apart the cake with my fingers.

My mom rearranges the other cakes in the box, then says, oh-so-casually, not looking at me: “So were you alone? Or did she set you up with any alphas? You know, to help you through your heat?”

“Mom!” I say, “we are not having this conversation.”

As far as I’m concerned, we made an unspoken pact long ago never to discuss the things that happen in my heat. I have no desire to break that pact now. Especially given the circumstances.

“I’m only curious if you happened to meet any nice alphas during this heat, that’s all.”

“No, Mom, no alphas,” I lie.

“Maybe Molly might be able to find you some nice ones for next time. I suppose it’s as good a way as any to meet a man.”

“You think?” I say.

“Not really that different from those apps you kids are using for hook ups. Grindr?”

“Erm, Tinder.” I pick up my glass of water and take a large gulp.

My mom glances down at the other half of the cake I’ve destroyed.

“You don’t seem as hungry or as grumpy as you usually do after a heat,” my mom says, puzzled.

“Probably the effects of getting older.” I slide the half-eaten cake away. “Actually, sorry, Mom. I’m really not very hungry right now. In fact, I don’t have much of an appetite at all.”

“You don’t?”

I shake my head. “Sorry, Mom. I know you went to all this effort.”

“Don’t be silly, it was no effort.” She taps her fingers on the counter. “Maybe I’ll drop them over to Daxton.”

My heart stops beating. My cheeks blaze. I probably wobble on my stool.

“Daxton?” I squeak, my voice sounding so unnaturally high I’m surprised the dogs don’t start howling.

“Oh, yes, you won’t have heard seeing as you’ve been …” she waves her hand about, “incapacitated. Daxton and those poor boys have been really sick.”

“They have?” I say, wishing I was a better actress. Should I be pretending to be concerned? Surprised? Nonplussed?

“Yes, the poor loves caught something at the hospital. They’ve been in quarantine. They haven’t been able to leave the house. And no one’s been able to see them.”

“Oh my goodness,” I cry out, way too theatrically.

My mom stares at me, then shakes her head. “It’s okay, Snuffles. They’re going to be okay. It’s nothing too serious and they are young, strong, healthy men.”

I swallow. Yes, I’m aware just how strong and healthy they are.

“Are they better yet?”

“On the mend. I’m sure the cakes would help. I’ll drop them round later.”

“I can do it!” I say far too quickly but unable to help grabbing an opportunity to see the pack again and with good reason to – a reason that won’t have anyone growing suspicious.

“It might not be a good idea. You’ve only just finished your heat. Your immune system is probably low. You might catch something.”

“And you are a woman nearing her fifties. It isn’t a good idea for you to go, too.”

My mom bristles. “Thank you for that reminder, Harper.”

“You look fabulous, Mom. You certainly don’t need to be on a diet.”

“It’s hard, Harper. It’s not like when you’re in your twenties and you can stuff your face and not put on a pound. Now I only have to look at a cake and I can feel the fat cells multiplying.” She stares at a particularly chocolaty-looking cake with longing.

“Mom, eat the cake.”

“I can’t,” she says.

“Do it!”

“Fine.” She snatches the cake she was eyeing up and sinks her teeth into it. “Screw being thin. I love cake too much.”

“And life is too short to worry about it,” I tell her, thinking of my own situation as well. “I’d better go shower. Then I’ll go check up on those boys.”

I hop down from my stool.

“Thank you, Harper. I’ve been worried sick about all of you.”

“Really, Mom. I’m just fine.” I beam at her, then hesitate. I’m tempted to tell her just how fine I am. That in fact, I’m the happiest I’ve ever been.

Problem is, I can’t guarantee she’ll be as happy about the news her daughter is going to be joining her step-brother’s pack.