Page 42 of Glass
Poppy tenses, and I’m sure she can already sense what direction this story is going.
“It was hard to shift unnoticed in that area; no one was used to dealing with rogues since they mostly stuck to areas easier to blend into. But that year, a few barely-shifted rogues started hanging around, putting everyone at risk.” I squeeze my eyes shut to try to keep the visual memories at bay. It was already traumatizing enough without picturing every horrible detail too.
“The pack thought they could handle the rogues, attacking them just enough to scare them off, but Red Rock Pack wolves weren’t raised to fight. My mother’s hind leg was practically torn from her body.”
“Felix,” Poppy whispers. She puts her hands on my chest and pushes up, and I open my eyes to meet her gaze, even though it pains me. Tears gather at the corners of her eyes for me.
“With no pack doctor, she worsened quickly. By the time they found someone close and willing to help, it was too late. Doc Warwick showed up the day after she died, and he ended up helping us bury her body.”
“That’s horrible.” Poppy barely manages to choke the words out. “What about your father?”
I wince.
“You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to,” she rushes to say, but we’ve already come this far. She might as well know exactly who she’s mated to.
“I saw my father once a year around my birthday, but we never had a relationship outside of that. It would have been impossible because… He was human. A local.” I shut my mouth and grind my teeth, waiting for Poppy to react.
The only change in her expression proving she heard me is a slight twitch of her left eyebrow. I reach out and smooth the tense skin before letting my hand fall to rest on the small of her back. Admittedly, I hold her tightly to me in fear that she’ll get up and scramble away from me at any minute.
“So you’re only half-shifter?” She seems confused.
“I wouldn’t say that exactly. I can shift, so I’m a shifter. That’s how I see it, at least. All shifters are part human and part wolf; I don’t imagine the percentages of each really matter in the grand scheme of things.” I’ve practiced saying these words hundreds of times, certain the exact question would come someday. I’ve been lucky that those of The Lost don’t ask too many questions.
“That’s true,” Poppy muses, and the thoughtful way her lips purse makes me dare to hope that she won’t care what my parents were. After all, she came from her own troubled parent situation.
She’s quiet for a long moment, studying my eyes like she’s still looking for answers from me. She nibbles at her bottom lip, and I wish I could say something to prompt a real response out of her. But I wait, giving her the time to process her thoughts before she voices whatever’s on her mind.
Eventually, she drops her gaze. “Does, uh, having one human parent…” She trails off and fingers a string hanging loose from the sleeve of the robe.
“What?” I press, ready to answer anything for her. I have to be if I want to keep her.
She turns her head to stare at a blank wall as her lips quirk in a nervous smile. “Could it affect you having pups of your own?” she asks softly.
That’snotwhat I was expecting.
I wait patiently for her to look at me, not wanting to have this conversation with the side of her face. The silence between us stretches uncomfortable and thick as I turn her question over and over again in my head. Surely she wouldn’t ask something that intimate if she wasn’t personally invested in the answer.
Is it possible her mind is changing, even the smallest amount? I’m still too damn scared of her up and disappearing to have any real hope.
I have to remind myself it’s only been twenty-four hours since she tried to run away from me. Just because she seems warmer toward me now doesn’t mean she won’t still try to bolt with the kids the first chance she gets.
She’s been clear about what she wants. I can hope she changes her mind, but I can’t count on it for fear of being massively disappointed.
Poppy finally looks at me expectantly.
“I don’t know,” I answer honestly. “But maybe one day if I’m lucky, we’ll have the chance to find out.” I hope she understands that myweis specific to her and I, and not a generalwe.
She clears her throat. “Could you maybe get me a glass of water?”
“Sure.” Yeah, I’m not damaged by that emotional whiplash at all. I guess her non-response is an answer in itself of whether or not there’s any fucking hope for us.
Poppy slides away from me on the bed so I can get up. It’s hard to drag myself away from where she lies comfortably on the bed—especially when I can’t help but wonder if there’s anything under the robe. But I do it because I want her to know I’ll do anything she asks.
I might be the chosen Alpha of The Lost, but I’ll happily serve my mate until she’s gone. For whatever amount of time that is.
I rub at the knot in my chest as if it will relieve the ache that seems to have taken up permanent residence there. I feel like a ghost moving through the kitchen, silent and moody, as I grab a clean glass from the cupboard.
My phone chimes from the edge of the counter where I left it after my call with Doc. I glance over and see his name flash on the screen with a message.