Chapter 37

Thirty-Seven

IZZY

M y brain switches off, rationality replaced by panic.

All I can think is—I don’t want to hurt Ansel’s mom.

She lunges at me with a scream of anger, and I lift my hands up in defense. I’ll do what I need to do to protect myself, but nothing more. This woman is obviously unwell.

Before she can make contact with me, however, she’s knocked to the side. The knife slips free from her hand and slides across the floor.

Ethan jumps off of the woman immediately, his features pinched tight and his face abnormally pale.

“Mom!” Ansel races to his mother’s side and kneels beside her.

I step forward as well—instinctively—but then think better of it. Emery and Ethan move to stand on either side of me, their shoulders brushing against my own.

“Ansel? Baby?” His mother blinks wearily.

“I’m… I’m going to call an ambulance.” The nurse appears shaken, her dark skin bleached white, but Ansel shakes his head.

“No. She’s fine. Why don’t you give us a second, Shelby?” Ansel says, helping his mother into a sitting position.

Shelby looks as if she wants to argue but nods once and hurries out the door. It slams shut after her, the noise ominously loud in the sudden silence that descends.

“I’m… I’m…” Mrs. Harthorne’s lower lip begins to tremble. “I’m sorry. I don’t know…”

She absently rubs at the back of her head and slowly turns to face me once more. I expect to see blind fury in her gaze. Hatred.

I take a step back automatically, prepared to leave the room and deescalate the situation, but her next words stop me.

“You’re not Delaney, are you?” Her voice is quiet, timid almost, and wavers.

“My name is Isabella, Mrs. Harthorne,” I tell her gently. “I go to school with your son.”

“She’s my friend, Mom,” Ansel says, rubbing soothing circles on her back.

She blinks up at us, her eyes going in and out of focus, before she dips her chin once in something akin to acknowledgment.

“Friend.” She repeats the word as if it had been spoken in a foreign language, as if it’s something she’s unfamiliar with.

“Yes, Mom. Friend.” Ansel takes her arm and helps her to her feet. She sways slightly but manages to remain upright. “And these two guys are my…friends as well.”

Ansel stumbles over the word “friends” but keeps his expression blank.

“Your friends with wolves?” She tilts her head to the side curiously as she studies the twins.

Emery and Ethan both still on either side of me. I’m not even sure they’re breathing.

Ethan breaks the silence first, shuffling from foot to foot as he rubs his hands down his jeans. “I’m sorry for tackling you, ma'am. I just panicked?—”

She waves a flippant hand in the air and perches on the bed. “Wolves protect their mates.”

Every muscle in my body locks together.

What is she talking about?

Is it possible that she…knows?

Questions rise on the tip of my tongue, but I don’t dare ask them. She’s obviously in a fragile state, and I’m not sure what her limits are. To be completely honest, I’m not even sure I should be here. She tried to attack me, not once but twice.

“You called my friend Delaney.” Ansel kneels before his mother and places his hands on her knees. She looks so much smaller than him. So fragile. “Why?”

“Ansel, you don’t need to do this,” I say softly.

Ansel ignores me. “Who’s Delaney, Mom?”

Mrs. Harthorne slowly tilts her face in my direction. Those vacant eyes roam over me without ever sticking for longer than a second. Her tongue snakes out to lick her dry upper lip.

“You… You look so much like her. But you’re not her, are you? She would be older. Much older.” She rubs at her arms as if to fend off a sudden gust of cold air.

Something occurs to me then, an idea so staggeringly impossible that I feel sick to my stomach, and I stumble forward a step. “Delaney. You don’t mean…? Could this be my mom?”

But no. That’s not possible. My mother’s name, according to Hale and Gerry, is Helena.

“You look so much like her,” Mrs. Harthorne whispers.

She extends her hands as if she means to touch me but drops them back to her lap.

“Is Delaney related to a woman named Helena? Helena…” I swallow the burning ember in my throat. “Helena Craft?”

Mrs. Harthorne keeps her gaze locked on her hands. Her fingers twist together repeatedly, the repetitive action seeming to soothe her.

When she doesn’t respond to my question, Ansel gives her knees a squeeze once more, garnering her attention.

“Who is Delaney, Mom?” he asks again. “Is she related to Helena Craft?”

Gratefulness envelops me instantly. I didn’t tell Ansel—or anyone else for that matter, besides Christian—about what Hale and Gerry told me concerning my birth parents. So for him to ask that question…

A bubbly sensation detonates in my stomach, buoying me up.

“I’m tired.” Mrs. Harthorne pulls away from her son and lies down on the bed, curled on her side. She folds her hands underneath her head. “I’m going to go to sleep.”

“Mom—” Ansel presses, but I grab his hand and shake my head.

It’s obvious that Mrs. Harthorne reached her limit for the day. I don’t want to push her past it, not with how fragile she is.

Ansel bites his lip but nods once in understanding.

As I watch, my heart battering my rib cage, Ansel pulls a blanket up to her chin and then kisses her forehead. The tenderness he exhibits with her…

Goose bumps erupt on my arms.

The four of us file out of her bedroom, an uneasy silence permeating the air. I can tell the twins are fixated on her use of the words “wolves” and “mate.” How did she know? Or was it merely a coincidence—the unhinged ramblings of a crazy woman?

In the living room, Shelby sweeps up the last of the glass.

She glances up when we arrive and shoots Ansel an indecipherable look. “How is she?”

“Sleeping.” Ansel tucks his hands into his pockets and rocks back on his heels. “She seemed to have snapped out of it, but…”

“I’ll call her doctor as soon as I’m done cleaning up here.”

“Thank you, Shelby.”

The nurse waves away his praise. “You four should head back to school. Everything will be okay.”

Ansel opens his mouth as if to protest, but Shelby casts him a pointed look.

“Go. I got this. It’s what you’re paying me for, after all.” She chuckles and sweeps the glass into a dustpan. “You wouldn’t want to lose your valedictorian spot to that one asshole, would you?”

Ethan glares at Ansel, and the tips of Ansel’s ears turn a brilliant shade of red.

“Um…I guess not.”

Shelby shoos us out of the house, and the four of us meander back to the car. I can tell school is the last thing on any of our minds.

Who the hell is Delaney? Is she related to Helena? Is she a relative? These questions continue to tumble around and around in my head, but I know I won’t get any answers. Not yet.

My extensive Google search into Helena Craft proved futile. I only found one article, dated eighteen years ago, that talked about her apparent suicide, exactly as Hale and Gerry described. Besides that, there was nothing. No mention of her on social media. No obituary. Nothing. Maybe I need to start looking into this Delaney chick.

But is her last name Craft as well? Is Delaney even a relative, or is she a friend? Does she even know my birth mother?

“Is it horrible that school is the last place I want to be?” Ethan asks, wincing. His words pull me out of my thoughts.

Emery places a hand to his chest in mock offense. “What is the world coming to? The great Ethan doesn’t want to go to school?”

Ethan shoves at his twin.

“I really don’t want to head back either,” Ansel confesses.

This time, both Ethan and Emery gape at Ansel in disbelief.

“It’s official. I’m in the Upside Down world,” Emery says seriously.

“Do we want to play hooky?” Ethan asks, the word “hooky” sounding strange and foreign leaving his lips.

I can’t imagine he has ever skipped school before, barring serious illness or injury.

All three men turn to stare at me.

Emery’s eyes twinkle with a familiar mischievousness I haven’t seen in way too long. “What do you say, pretty girl? Wanna skip school and get into trouble?”