Ava “Mine. Mate.” It cannot be, and yet his touch against my cheek yesterday lingers even now. And then there is his scent. It is in every inch of this house, taunting me with its effect on my body and senses. I prickle, feeling as if I am constantly on edge. Every cell in my body buzzes with a vibrancy, a vitality that was missing until days ago. Aliana woke up a short while ago, and after taking a long overdue shower on both of our parts, she is now running around her room and touching everything. She opens drawers and pulls out clothing that is somehow there —in Aliana’s size. She squeals as she pulls out a pretty blue and white dress with little white flowers dotting the bottom half. It is exquisite. “Mommy, look. Can I put it on?” Big grey eyes plead with me, and while I want to say no, want her not to acc ept these things in this room, I can’t tell her not to. “Fine. But you are only borrowing it. We won’t be staying here forever. Don’t get comfortable.” Those words are met with the bedroom door swinging open and the Black Death waltzing into the room like he owns it—which I suppose he does— but still. “It’s yours. And get as comfortable as you want because you won’t be going anywhere.” I roll my eyes at his arrogance. “I see you have forgotten what happens when you roll your eyes. We will have to start from scratch. But I don’t mind.” The way he says these words sends a shiver down my spine, and I frown at the reaction, my traitorous body and my mind on opposite sides. I needed to get them in sync. This was the enemy we were interacting with. He smiles at Aliana, who matches his with one of her own, the two of them looking like little r eplicas of each other. I want to deny that he is Aliana's father, but even I must admit the resemblance is uncanny. I would need a paternity test to be absolutely sure. And what if it was true? I can’t even go there. The panic that that thought evokes almost sends me into a full-blown panic attack—one thing at a time. He shifts his attention to Aliana, who struggles to zip her dress. His massive hands deftly work the zip, and in no time, he has her zipped up and spinning while she holds his index finger. He is a natural, and my stomach tightens as I watch them together. She was never like this with Jerry. This comfortable. This free. She giggles, and I take the distraction she creates to peruse the man who, by all accounts, seems to be my mate and Aliana’s father. A lethal combination, if that is indeed accurate. He is wearing a pair of faded blue jeans and a black T-shirt. No biggie. On a twiggy. Any average man would look unremarkable in that ensemble. But the way Mr. Muscles over there, hunched down to test the limits of the stitching of said jeans, fills them in, is far from ordinary. His body is a mass of muscles and testosterone, delicious and appealing. I can’t help but compare him to Jerry, who fails miserably in comparison. Then there is his face, which has not been done justice by the photo I had tucked under my bed. Probably left behind as we were taken with such haste. Yet, I had memorized it. At night, when Aliana was asle ep in her bed, I would take the photo out, and like a dirty secret, I would wonder what it felt like to be kissed by that mouth. For that mouth to be all over my body. Dammit, I hated how he made
me feel—lusting after the enemy like I was now. But even in that worn photo, he called to me. Just like he does now in the flesh. The Black Death smirks and then looks at me, making my cheeks flame a red so bright I turn away from him, afraid he can read my thoughts. I swear I even hear him chuckle as I do, the sound infuriatingly attractive. God, I must get out of this room and away from him. “Aliana will spend the day with the other children at the school.” His voice directly behind me makes me jump, and when I turn around, he has my daughter in his arms. “Mommy, your cheeks are red.” Aliana’s little finger points at my face, and her voice is concerned. The Black Death smirks, making me feel even hotter under his scrutiny. “It’s the heat in here. Must be the lack of oxygen due to someone's inflated ego,” I mumble, st epping away from the Black Death to create some space. Better. “I don’t think it’s a good idea for us to be apart,” I say, pointing at my little angel, “or that Aliana becomes too comfortable here.” My tone contains a warning that he chooses to ignore and which my daughter clearly doesn’t recognize. “A school? With other girls and boys! Oh, Mommy, please, please, can I go?” Huge grey puppy dog eyes stare at me, and my resolve crumbles, a big sigh indicating as much. She knows this as she squeals out in delight. “Yay. Can we go now? How many children are there? Can I take my new teddy bear? Will the other children like me?” Aliana fires off question after question as they exit the bedroom and head downstairs. The way the Black Death is with Aliana, his patience and affection, is chipping away at the defensive wall I have created. No, I must not be deceived. Nick's voice saying Aliana's name makes me smile. Thankfully, someone I know. He will be my ally in this and get me out of here. “Nick and Samuel will take you to school. One of them will be there with you the whole time in case you need anything.” Nick swings Aliana in the air, her laughter filling the space and making me smile even under the circumstances. “Damn, Ava, she looks just like you and her—” Samuel clears his throat, halting Nick, who looks at him and then nods. They are mind-linking. That means Nick is part of this pack. I wonder why this didn’t dawn on me yesterday, but it becomes clear as I look at him and the way he is looking at Samuel. “You are mates,” I say quietly, realization hitting me like a ton of bricks. When I try to think back to the last time I saw Nick, I can’t. Until I saw him yesterday, I actually hadn’t thought about him once in the previous four years. How is that possible? We are best friends. I remember him from when we were in my home pack, but when I try to pinpoint a time before Aliana was born, I cannot. And until yesterday, it was like he didn’t even exist. “Are you okay, Ava?” The Black Death st eps towards me, and I st ep back, swatting my hand in the air.
“My name is Avril. My name is Avril.” Breathing is becoming hard as panic sets in. “Aliana, go to the school with Uncle Samuel. We will look after Mommy, okay?” The Black Death's voice comes to me from far away as the world starts spinning. “Ava, breathe.” His hands are on my shoulder as breathing becomes more difficult. I try to remember, but nothing comes to me. Why can’t I remember anything? Then everything goes black. I don’t know how much time passes before I hear mumbling again. “What is wrong with her? Is it the silver?” It’s the Black Death's voice. “No. That video they sent must have been real. All the silver has been removed from her body. Her blood toxicity level is normal—as normal as you or I. She does, however, have antibodies that make her extremely valuable to the human world—to The Underground. They will not be happy to have lost her. She holds the cure to nearly all major human diseases known to man.” This voice, while familiar, is not a voice I know. I must be in a hospital. I can smell the antis eptic. “That must be why they k ept her alive. What did they do to her memories? She can’t remember me. She can’t remember being here in this pack. Everything is gone.” The Black Death sounds truly anguished, and I actually feel sorry for him for a moment. “Dr. Lewis says they must have blocked her memories. She will assess her when she is awake.” What if what they were saying was right? What if The Underground had taken me and done this to me? That would mean that Jerry was actually one of them. I think back, trying to remember my first memory of him. The thing is that when I do, there is a memory preceding the last four years—one memory—but it was when I was young—around seven years old. It crashes down on me, vividly appearing as if it happened just yesterday. A lady was holding my hand, leading me towards an office. She told me that I would meet a man in a mask. That I mustn’t be afraid. She knocks on the wooden door, and the voice on the other side sounds rough and mean. “Come in!” It is scary. “I don’t want to go in there,” I say to the lady, taking a st ep back. She is getting irritated with me, but I can’t help it. I am afraid. So afraid that I start crying. “No, please! I don’t want to!” I pull my hand away but fall backward before trying to crawl away. I don’t make it far before the door swings open, and rough hands grab my ankles painfully, pulling me into the office. “You’re mine, Ava.” It is not the voice I am afraid of. This one is younger —maybe sixteen years old—and calling me a name I now recognize as my own. When I turn my head to see who it is, brown eyes stare back at me. And a cruel smile is plastered on the boy's face.
A boy's face I now recognize, even as a man. One whose scent has been around me for the last four years confirms it as the pieces fall into place. Jerry.