Page 17 of An Unending Claim

“Hello,moy malysh,” my mother said as I approached. She opened her arms and I bent to give her a hug and a kiss on the cheek.

“Dad,” I greeted my father, giving him a quick hug as well.

My mother chucked her tongue. “We heard about this morning and we wanted to make sure Peyton is okay.”

Fuck.

My mother’s tone was full of sympathy and motherly concern, which I appreciated. My concern lay with how she’d “heard” about the morning’s events.

“Calm down, Nate,” my father urged. “Asher came by. He thought Peyton might appreciate having your mother here for her.”

I nodded, relieved that they hadn’t received the news through the rumor mill. I hadn’t shared all of the details with Geoff’s family, conveniently omitting Peyton’s involvement for the moment. If the story spread, it would be because one of my enforcers ran their mouth. And even though the rational part of me knew I’d chosen them because I could trust them, when it came to Peyton, logic didn’t always win.

“Thank you. I’m sure she would love to see you. She’s asleep now, but I’d like to talk with you about something.”

“Of course,” my mother said with a fond smile. She went up on her tiptoes so her hand was high enough to pat my cheek as she walked into the house. I didn’t fight it—I’d long ago accepted that I would always be her baby boy. However, my wolf huffed,, annoyed at ‘;.being treated like a pup.

“Let’s go out back,” I suggested.

November had brought winter rolling in, but with our elevated temperatures, it didn’t seem as cold. It was also a warmer day with the sun shining brightly.

Once we settled on the porch, I twisted my hair into a bun high on the back of my head and rubbed a hand over my beard. I eyed my mother as I asked, “Has Peyton mentioned leaving in the time you’ve spent together?”

“No. But I had the feeling several times that she’d cut short whatever she was saying. So I assumed it was something like that.”

“Have you made any progress in that regard?” my father asked.

“Honestly, I’m not sure. Even with our emotional connection, she’s difficult to read. Her panther is less guarded, though, and she’s very open to the idea of staying.”

My mother tapped her lips for a moment before speaking again. “She mentioned that she spent a good portion of her childhood in France, but I couldn’t pry any more than that from her. What has she told you about her background?”

I curled my fingers into fists, channeling my frustration into the bite of my blunt nails into the skin of my palms. “Peyton doesn’t talk about herself. She fills in the blanks when you stumble across things.” My wolf chuffed. He wanted to break down Peyton’s walls as much as I did. “I only knew about France because of the deep dive we did into her when she arrived.”

My father scratched his chin and put his feet up on the low wooden table in front of the rocking loveseat where he and my mother sat. “What about before that?”

“Your guess is as good as mine.”

“Pardon?”

I leaned back in my chair and crossed my arms over my chest, brooding. “It’s as if she were born thirteen years old. There is nothing about her before the day she arrived in France.”

“What about the airplane manifest and where it took off from?”

“Wiped clean. There’s no record of the flight, the airport security video doesn’t exist anymore, and her passports were both issued with the address of her boarding school in France.”

“How can that be?”

“Peyton’s going to be pissed at me for telling you,” I sighed.

She’d get the fuck over it, though, even if I had to spend hours with my mouth between her legs. She’d scream yes to my request for forgiveness over and over until I believed she meant it. Part of me hoped she brought out her stubborn side and refused to give in—she was due for a good spanking. My wolf practically salivated at the images of eating Peyton’s pink, wet pussy that floated through my mind.

“Telling us what?” my mother prompted, drawing me out of my fantasies.

“Peyton is a world-class hacker. Only a handful of people know the identity behind her moniker, and she’s obsessed with covering her tracks, leaving no trace of herself once she’s gone, whether it’s real life or cyberspace. If she doesn’t want anyone to find out her history, they won’t.”

I expected my parents to have more questions about the hacking, so it surprised me when my mom backtracked our conversation. “So you have no idea what her childhood was like? Do you know much about her life during school and since then?”

“Only the snippets she lets slip and what I’ve been able to put together from the information I dug up, which isn’t much.”