Page 8

Chapter Eight

L ILA 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 that giving 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.

I walk down the hall, trying not to focus on what the nurse said. What does she mean when she says the pediatric ward is full? What kind of ward do they have my daughter in?

I take a right, my lungs seizing in my chest.

There are a ton of beds lined up on both sides of the hall, and they are all separated by thin curtains that barely act as barriers. Walking along and trying to recognize my daughter’s pink clothes or Patty's familiar honey-blonde hair spikes my pulse.

I’m almost on the verge of giving up, turning around and going back to the cranky nurse to release hell on her if she doesn’t explain in detail where they have my daughter when…I see her.

The nurse was right.

They gave Lina her own bed and one that’s far away from the rest of the patients. It’s near a window, no less.

Watching her swing her legs against the bed with a smile on her face makes me release a sigh of relief.

My legs are already walking toward my little girl, tears are already on my cheeks, and yet, ten feet away from my daughter, the sound of a man stops me in my tracks.

“Who’s Millie?”

The voice is smooth, rich, and unmistakable.

Alaric?

I go still, my heart leaping into my throat.

Slowly, I turn my head, and there he is. He’s seated next to Lina, impossibly large even in the hospital chair, holding her teddy bear, which looks absurdly small in his hands.

I duck behind a pillar, pressing my back to the cold wall as my heart jackhammers against my ribs.

What the hell is Alaric doing here?

I left him at work. How did he get here before me? How did he…

“My friend,” Lina chirps, her eyes bright. “She’s cool like Bear.”

“Yeah?” Alaric asks with that cold, unreadable expression he uses in the office, but underneath it, there’s something calm, something soft, and panic grips me when he looks at my daughter like he’s somehow amused rather than annoyed.

Lina nods. “She likes playing hide-and-seek with me. And sometimes, when her daddy picks her up, he buys us ice cream while I wait for Mommy to come pick me up. Millie and her daddy are the best. Do you have a daughter, mister?”

Something flickers across Alaric’s face, gone as quickly as it appears. “No. I don’t.”

Lina looks down at her boots, her voice quieter. “I don’t have a daddy either.”

Goddess, my breath hitches.

“Mommy says he’s in heaven,” she continues. “But sometimes…I wish he’d come visit me.”

My hands clench into fists. My legs shake beneath me.

Alaric studies her for a long moment, then does something that makes my chest ache—he tilts her chin up gently, offering her the softest smile I’ve ever seen from him.

“Your daddy might be in heaven,” he says, “but you’ve got your mommy, little one. And Bear. And Millie. And Patty.”

He hesitates. Then, quietly, “And now you’ve got me.”

Lina’s face lights up. “Really?”

My heart breaks for her because Alaric will never be there for her. Not while I still breathe. I’ll never let her go through the same kind of pain I went through with this man. Whether or not he might be her dad.

“Yes.”

“But Mommy won’t like that. She doesn’t like people who take me away from her. Like her boss.”

Oh, Goddess. My stomach plummets.

Alaric’s brows lift. “Her boss?”

“Mm-hmm. Mommy says her boss makes her work late, so we don’t get to spend much time together like we—”

Before she can say anything else, before she can reveal too much, Alaric’s phone rings sharply. His attention shifts, and at the same moment, Patty appears, breathless and clearly flustered.

“Patty!” Lina squeals.

Alaric glances at the older woman, assessing her for a beat, before explaining, “I kept her company.” Then he turns back to Lina, handing her Bear. “I have to go, kiddo. No more cookies, deal?”

“Deal,” Lina sighs, clearly disappointed.

Alaric waits until Patty sits beside Lina before answering his call and striding out of the ward. His scent lingers, wrapping around me like a ghost, impossible to ignore.

I wait for a moment before stepping out from my hiding spot. My legs feel weak as I move toward my daughter, my ears still ringing with Alaric’s words.

“Mommy! You came!” Lina squeals.

“Lila,” Patty says with equal surprise.

I hug Lina in my arms, the image of her and Alaric together ingrained in my mind.

I can’t shake that image of them sharing a moment that should have never happened. A moment that shouldn’t hurt this much.

Tears cascade down my cheeks as I kiss my daughter’s cheeks over and over.

“I came, baby, and mommy is so sorry for not taking better care of you. I should have been here sooner.”

Lina wraps her hands around my neck tighter, “Don’t be sad, mommy. I promise, no more cookies.”

“Lina is right, Lila. She had an allergic reaction to some cookies that had nuts in them. I know I promised to take better care of her, so this is on me. I’m so sorry, Lila. This is not your fault, dear,” Patty sympathizes.

I untangle myself from my daughter, wiping her hair from my face, “Are you okay?”

“Mmhm. I was itchy, but I'm fine now, Mommy. The big man kept me company. He was nice.”

I know what big man she’s talking about, and yet, I still chastise her. “What did we say about talking to strangers, baby?”

She pouts. “He didn’t smell like a bad man. He was nice.”

Didn’t smell like a bad man?

“Strangers are still strangers, baby. Promise me, no more talking to strangers, okay?”

“Okay.”

I stand up, about to have a word with Patty, when a middle-aged man with a white overcoat and a warm smile stops short of where we are all standing.

“Hi Lina. Are you feeling better?”

My daughter looks at me innocently before nodding at the man.

“That’s good. I’m told by one of my nurses you are Lina’s mother?” The man is the healer here, and he extends a hand. “I’m Dr. Well. Can I have a word with you in private, Miss Winter?”

I assure Lina that I’ll be back, and the healer pulls me aside for a chat. Although I’ve been told everything is okay, I can’t help but get anxious about what the healer is about to say to me.

“I was told you caused quite a stir at the reception desk. Which is understandable, but we are a little understaffed. Trust me, Miss Winter, as soon as Lina was brought in, I checked in on her. She had a mild allergic reaction, which temporarily constricted her airways, hence the passing out. Luckily, the antihistamines we gave her worked fast enough to counter the reaction.”

He pauses. Nothing good ever came from healers pausing mid-sentence.

“But?” I ask.

“I noticed something in her bloodwork.”

My stomach clenches.

“Nothing serious, of course, just an unusual protein marker. It’s probably genetic. As of now, it poses no threat to her.”

“As of now? What’s that supposed to mean?”

“In cases like this, it might be serious, but in Lina, the protein marker is dormant. This is not to worry you, but to give you all the information about Lina’s tests. She’s a healthy little girl at the moment, and you can take her home today.”

“Thank you, Dr. Well.”

Ten minutes later, after Patty says her goodbyes, I buckle Lina into her car seat, looking in the rearview mirror to see if she’s okay.

When she gives me a smile, my fingers grip the steering wheel as I take one last look at the building in front of us.

I stare at the paint that’s almost cracking off the walls, but then a piece of a childhood memory comes to my mind in the form of a sharp pain.

Daddy, I don’t like it here. It smells like medicine.

I know, moonflower, but your mommy is waiting for us, and she’ll kill us if we don’t go inside.

This hospital…it didn’t always look like this.

It’s almost like I’ve been here before. With my parents?