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My case still rests. The nuts in the cookies brought her to the hospital if the so-called “Patty” is bringing her chocolate. I’d give her all the chocolates she wanted in the world if she so much as asked me.

“Yeah? How about we wait for Patty together?”

I sit beside her, still holding Bear, still listening.

My wolf isn’t moving. He just watches. Listens. And in the back of my mind, one thought won’t go away.

Lina looks familiar.

A little too familiar.

Chapter Eight

LILA WINTER

On the one day that I desperately need to be somewhere, traffic decides to be hell and nothing but a crawling mess of honking cars and angry drivers yelling at each other.

My fingers drum against the steering wheel, my arms trembling despite my best efforts of trying to remain calm. Goddess, this isn’t helping. Nothing is.

I try to tell myself that Lina is fine, that if the worst had happened. Patty would have sent another text or called again if not, but fear licks my throat and leaves it dry.

More than fear, guilt overrides every feeling inside me.

I made my baby girl breakfast this morning, half-listening as she chattered about Bear and her new best friend Millie. I was too preoccupied with work, with Alaric’s schedule, with everything but the most important thing—her.

I should have noticed if something was off.

I should have paid attention last night when she asked to sleep in my bed instead of brushing it off as one of her whims.

What kind of mother am I if I can’t even tell when my daughter is unwell?

By the time I pull into the hospital parking lot, my nerves are frayed and my fingers are stiff from gripping the steering wheel too hard. I try calling Patty, but my calls go straight to voicemail.

The only thing keeping me from spiraling into a full-blown panic attack is knowing that this hospital caters specifically to werewolves, so my daughter is in safe hands. It doesn’t get better when I sprint inside, my heels clicking against the polished floors of St. Bishop’s Hospital.

The only clean thing in the hospital is the floors.

The air reeks of something metallic and sterile, a poor mask for the underlying scent of sickness and despair.

The waiting room is overcrowded, patients slumped in chairs, family members murmuring in hushed voices, nurses rushing past with harried expressions.

The thought of Lina being treated in a place like this makes my stomach churn.

I don’t have time for this. I stride to the reception desk, heart pounding in my chest.

“Ma’am, I’m afraid you’ll have to wait like everyone else,” the cranky nurse says without looking up, her voice as tired as the dark bags under her eyes. She looks like she’s battling divorce and life’s hurdles all at once.

“I’m not asking for special treatment,” I snap, “My daughter was brought in a few hours ago. She’s four years old. Her name is Lina Winter. If you can please point out the direction to her room, I will– ”

Her lips purse. “Like I said, you need to wait—”

“She’s probably scared right now. I don’t even know what happened to her, but I can assure you that she needs me. Please. I'm her mother, and she needs me.” My voice cracks. “Please.”

The nurse exhales, giving me a long, scrutinizing look before typing something into her computer. She probably realizes thatgiving me Lina’s hospital room number will be better than dealing with me.

“She was placed in another ward since the pediatric ward was full. But rest assured, we have her and she’s in her own bed. She's just down the hall. Take a right.”

I don’t waste another second.