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Dr. Lizbeth Ellington, Felicity’s ex-OBGYN during our time trapped at Morrow Manor. The woman Denny claimed was wanted for forcibly sterilizing human women in shifter relationships. The woman Samuel had ordered to cut my twins out of Felicity on the day of their birth, and who had seemed all too eager to comply.
Next to her was a bassinet, almost identical to the empty one that was waiting for Ryder back at the lodge.
I glanced at Denny. He nodded again. A shadow would have made more noise than we did as, together, we crept toward the bassinet.
Ryder, my son, lay nestled inside it. He wore a soft-looking blue onesie and a tiny stocking hat. His eyes were closed, but his tiny belly rose and fell slowly with every breath he took.
My boy was fast asleep.
My chest caved in. He was bigger than I remembered. In the time we’d lost, he’d grown. But still, he was so small. So innocent. Sleeping so peacefully, oblivious to the den of evil he’d been placed in. Anger and elation warred inside me, then collided with my grief. But soaring over all of it was a tsunami of love and hope that wiped out everything else in its path.
What did we do anything for if not for love?
I glanced at Lizbeth. She didn’t stir. Still, my hands hesitated over Ryder’s body.
I wanted nothing more than to pick up my son and clutch him close to my chest, but I needed to approach this with care. Getting into Du Pont Manor had been shockingly easy, but getting back out undetected with Ryder would require a little more finesse.
If he began to cry, or even fuss, we risked waking Lizbeth. And if we woke her, the rest of the manor would soon be on us like flies on dogshit.
My hands trembled. It never should have scared me so much to hold my own son, but here we were.
Carefully, I scooped him into my arms. My heart had never pounded harder, but as I drew him to my chest, he didn’t make a sound.
Relief. Denny and I shared another nod. We were in the home stretch now. I played our route back to myself in my mind: out the door, down the hall, down the stairs, through the kitchens. Outside, across the lawn, down into the tunnels, up through the exit where Dylan was waiting for us on the other side.
Denny moved first, heading for the door to hold it open for me. I fell in behind him, willing Ryder to stay silent, sleeping. I wished there was some way to explain to him how imperative it was that he didn’t cry out, but he was so small. So new. Babies cried because they were hard-wired to believe that if they made sound, they would receive comfort.
A two-month-old child was never meant to be in a position like this, where even cooing in his sleep could be the difference between freedom and imprisonment. Life or death.
I was halfway to the door when it happened.
An ear-splitting crackle of explosions shattered the silence. Bright lights flashed through the windows outside.
Shit.
I froze. So did Denny.
Was the manor under attack?
The cheers that sounded a second later said otherwise.
Outside, over the ferals’ camp, someone was setting off fireworks.
And in her rocking chair, Lizbeth stirred.
“What…” She looked around wildly, but the lights were already gone.
The only disturbance left for her to see was Denny and me, standing in the nursery, taking Rylan away.
“You!” Lizbeth hissed, staggering to her feet as she glared at me.
She threw herself forward, her dress tearing and fringed shawl slipping to the floor as she shifted.
“Go!” Denny hissed, rushing to meet her.
He shoved my shoulder and launched himself at Lizbeth as I turned and hunched to protect Ryder.
They clashed together as I stumbled toward the door.
