“Sounds amazing,” I reply, relief rippling through me like a physical sensation. “Exactly what I need.”
“Great,” she answers, smiling. “Bathroom is just down the hall. I’ll leave some clothes in the spare room next to it.”
Grace gets up to go to the kitchen, and I carefully pick up Sabrina and put her on the couch as I get up. When I get to the bathroom, I’m not surprised in the slightest to see the corners crowded with green ferns and flowering vines. The shower isn’t even covered in traditional tiles but in slabs of rock, so it looks like a forest waterfall.
I relax under the warm flow, feeling the comforting whisper of all the little ferns around me. It’s so peaceful that my thoughts rise and fall like leaves in a stream, and I can let them come without being affected by them. Slowly, my troubles fade.
Until I remember earlier today, the way Scarlett looked at me.
Why would she say that about being sick?
Suddenly, the dots connect in my head. My eyes flash open, and my body tightens with tension again. I think back, counting frantically on my fingers.
No, no, no…
I dismissed Scarlett’s suggestion so fast, I didn’t even remember it as I fled the house. But now, the evidence cannot be denied.
My period is definitely late. Really late.
It is very likely that I’m pregnant…with Brad’s child.
Chapter 17 - Brad
Two days later, I still haven’t found Alisha.
I have every spare Shadow on the job, with lookouts posted through the woods. Even though everyone is worried, I can’t expect every single person in both towns to completely drop their lives to search, no matter how frustrated I am.
More than one person has gently suggested that she might have left on her own accord. Even though I vehemently denied it, I know that my anger is fed by doubt.
She had every right to leave me. Why didn’t I just tell her the truth?
The morning of the third day, sitting on my couch and staring dismally into a cold cup of coffee, I force myself to consider the possibility that she really did just walk out of my life. The pain that lances through my chest is welcome—it clears my mind and allows me to see my own actions through the cold light of reason.
She’s spent her whole life running…from her hometown, then from her ex…of course, it would be the first thing she did if she didn’t want to face me.
I blink hard, trying to get the horrible, hot, itchy feeling in my eyes to subside, but it just makes it worse. Even though I sit down every few hours and try to rest, I haven’t been able to sleep.
I can’t lose her! How am I supposed to keep going without her, especially if I never find out what happened to her?
The idea fills me with sick horror. Days stretching into weeks, never knowing if she left me, or if I might stumble acrossher body while patrolling the woods, or never knowing anything at all—not a single trace, never knowing if she was dead or alive. It doesn’t help at all knowing that this is exactly what I did to her.
If I knew she was happy, that would bring me some peace. It would hurt like the fires of hell, but at least I’d know she was alright.
The coffee in the cup ripples a little as my hands tremble. Even right now, I’m being selfish, thinking more about my own closure than I am about her feelings.
My phone buzzes, and I jump so high in my seat, the coffee bounces, the liquid sloshing upwards and miraculously falling back into the cup without spilling a drop.
Why does shit like that always happen when there’s no one around to see it?
I put the cup down on the table and grab my phone, my heart pounding as I flick open the screen, my heart begging to see Alisha’s name.
When I see it’s one of the black ops commanders who went beyond pack bounds this morning, my pulse speeds up, practically roaring in my ears as I flick the message open. They agreed to do a little recon on my behalf, and if Alisha really did leave town—or was taken by her ex—these guys would have found a trail.
Unless she covered her tracks with magic…
I shake that uncomfortable thought out of my head. Alisha’s magic may be powerful, but she’s new at it. Any of our military-trained sorcerers should be able to track her, even if she used magical shielding.
My fingers tremble a little as I tap open the message, and when the squad leader tells me there’s nothing to report, my chest feels just a bit more hollow. My feelings have gone from frantic high alert, then to fear, and now a resigned, cold numbness as I begin to suspect this is how I might have to live the rest of my life.
