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“He’s a good baby, Xander,” Melony called back to me. “He’s so quiet and sweet. He barely needs anything at all.” There was a pause, then her voice shifted tones. Baby talk. “Shh. There you are, sweetie pie. Oh, don’t fuss, darling. Daddy’s here now. Your family is all here.” Melony emerged from the bathroom, clutching a bundle wrapped in a blue blanket to her chest. “Here he is. Do you want to hold him?”
My heart sprang to my throat. He was so close. Ryder was right there. When I breathed in, I could smell him.
“Of course I do.” I held out my arms, and Melony drew close.
With motherly tenderness, she shifted Ryder over to me.
As soon as she let go, I could tell something was wrong.
He was too light. Too cold. Worst of all, he wasn’t moving.
I pulled the blanket away from his face, and my heart dropped.
“What the fuck.”
I let the bundle of blankets fall to the floor and backed away quickly.
That was no baby.
That was certainly not my son.
“Grayson! No!” Melony dived for it, sobbing and panting. “You dropped him! Why would you do that, Xander? He’s your son… your only son.” On her knees, she lifted the bundle to her chest again. From the folds of the blanket, a limp arm tumbled out. The plastic hand at the end of it was curled in to a fist. “Come here, baby. Mommy’s got you now. Don’t cry, poor thing. Everything will be okay.”
Dumbfounded, I stared at her.
I’d known she was unhinged—that had never been the question—but I’d never dreamed she was so far gone that she was convinced a doll was a living, breathing baby.
“Melony, put it down,” I snapped as she stared up at me, looking positively heartbroken.
“No!” she snarled. Mascara tracked down her cheek as her tears spilled over. “You may be willing to throw your own child away, Xander Miller, but I’m not.”
“My own child?” I roared back at her. “My own fucking child?”
Whatever restraint had been holding my temper at bay had snapped the moment I realized my son wasn’t here. Had never been here.
I tore the blanket from her arms, letting it unfurl and fall to the floor. I ended up holding the doll upside down, dangling limply from my fist by a foot.
“Look at it, Melony.” I shoved the doll in her face, shaking it so she could see the way its fingers failed to uncurl, the way its plastic mouth failed to move, and its painted eyes didn’t blink. “Take off the goddamned rose-colored glasses, look at this thing, and tell me, genuinely, that you truly believe it’s a living child.”
She did look at it, then. She stared, teary-eyed, looking between the doll and me.
“But he… he is real.” Melony blinked, then blinked again. Her face fell a little more every time she opened her eyes. “He… he was. Just a moment ago…” She reached out for the doll but came just short of touching it. “Oh, God.” Horror marred her expression as she recoiled, rocking back to sit on her knees. “Oh, God. Xander… Xander, please help me. I’m so scared.” She wrapped her arms around her trembling body. “I think I’m losing my mind.”
I dropped the doll. It fell, face up, onto the blanket between us.
“I think you are,” I said coldly. “Now, tell me where the hell my son is.”
“I… I don’t know.” She sniffled. “It’s been like this ever since I gave you that blood oath. When Grandma Doris made me do it. I wanted to keep my word. Honestly, I did. I wanted to… to do right by you.”
“Then, why the fuck didn’t you?”
She shrank down, making herself look small. “You’re not the only alpha I’ve sworn an oath to, are you?”
“Your dad?” I guessed.
She nodded.
Christ. Two blood oaths. One to Quincy. One to me.
