Fatal Temptation: Between Two Alphas

Chapter 53

Chapter Fifty-Three

MIA

She looks like me.

That’s my first thought.

Same eyes. Same shape of the nose and chin.

She doesn’t even look much older.

Wolves are long-lived, but even with our regenerative abilities, she looks, I don’t know, ageless or

something.

I have the odd thought that if Morgan’s coven wanted my genes, they really should’ve started with this

woman.

Cam has his hand on my back, supporting me, and as too many emotions bubble up, I’m eternally

grateful he came to be here with me.

“Theo. Crius. Azreal. Rhea.” She addresses the ‘Other’ beings. She doesn’t acknowledge the wolves.

Aside from a nod in their general direction.

She wears a fitted white dress. It sets off her tanned skin and is paired with heels that look expensive.

Her hair is swept up and the hat that sits at a jaunty angle on her head looks both stylish and practical

for this New Orleans heat.

She removes the hat as she draws even with the table.

Cam’s hand tenses between my shoulderblades. Is he getting the same vibe as me?

She doesn’t fidget or convey any sense of nervousness or even excitement.

This is my mother who hasn’t seen me in close to twenty-five years. Maybe she could smile or show

some warmth or move in for a hug or something.

Nope.

I stand up slowly. “Adriana, I believe?”

She nods.

The music continues to play.

I can feel the heavy stares of the Ravens and wolves, Cam and the Others.

What now?

I can’t say that I’m happy to see her. I didn’t even know she existed until a day ago. I thought she’d died

when I was a child. So any warm, motherly attachments are unknown to me.

Is there resentment?–oh yes.

Not so much that I’m bubbling with anger or wanting to lash out. It’s just a low, pervasive bit of

negativity.

This woman deserted me. Content is © by NôvelDrama.Org.

She chose her gift over her child–children.

Which begs the question–is it just me and Ashley? Or do I have other siblings out in the world that I

also have yet to meet?

She sits at the table and begins preparing herself a plate of food. She glances at Theo. “Pour the Louis

Roederer. I believe we stored that vintage twenty years ago for this day.”

Theo’s eyes flash white.

In under a minute a servant brings the bottle, a giant magnum and several other servants bring a table

with enough flutes for everyone.

“You’re dismissed,” he tells them. “Clear the mansion.”

Nala growls.

I glance at Corinne. She’s avoiding looking at me. She definitely isn’t looking at my mother. That smell

is back. The one I detected when we first drove into this city.

Death.

I don’t get the impression that this Seer is telling anyone nice, feel-good predictions of long lives and

prosperity.

Theo keeps his hand on Corinne even as she slides into the chair next to him.

She’s tense. And he’s angry about that if the slight flare of his nostrils and the tension in his shoulders

tells anything. But outwardly he acts the perfect host.

The music continues to play, an upbeat jazz melody.

When I glance through the trellised archway to the first courtyard, I see the mist gathering. It weaves

and ebbs like a living thing. Inching forward then drawing back as if tasting the direction it wants to

take, even as it expands to cloud the sunlight and the building from the street.

Cam?

I see it, he tells me.

The Champagne is poured and passed.

The MacPhearson warriors focus on Corinne, taking their lead from her. They don’t touch their glasses.

Don’t raise them.

My ‘mother’ stands. She sniffs the bubbling flute appreciatively, holds up the glass and marvels at the

color.

Theo raises his glass in toast.

I watch my mother, noting how she is relishing this speech, and how her gaze lands on each person

seated at this table.

“There is power in our birthright. Power in being female. Some ancients thought to suppress that gift–to

lock our women away and deny them the world. But the Sight is a gift steeped in life–in a woman’s

ability to give and nurture life. To give and receive pleasure.”

I like the feminist perspective and the sex positivity–I was intimate with Cameron only minutes ago. A

fact I’m sure every wolf at this table is acknowledging. But where is this all going?

“Life, like this perfect vintage–or like love… is fleeting. Our purpose is carved out of interactions that on

the surface appear random but are in fact an interwoven tapestry that spans across millennia.”

Her gaze finally changes. It’s sad and resigned, and for the first time, I feel a tug of connection to her.

“I raise my glass to you, warrior women.” She salutes Corinne. “It is only the bravest and boldest who

do not shy from Fate but who embrace their destiny. You make your ancestors proud.”

I don’t like the sound of this. Not one bit.

Chills crawl up my spine.

“Some lives are cut short too soon,” she says to the native wolves. Then she tilts her head at Corinne

again. “For others…death is just the beginning.”

What the hell does that mean?

She turns to the Others. “To you, Titans of our world–”

Titans?

“May you continue to watch and guide, ensuring a world for all beings.”

What is this about–she’s being inclusive and acknowledging everyone at this table, but I barely know

any of them.

I don’t know her.

“... To you, protectors of my bloodline.” She toasts to Cameron and all the wolves before she finally

looks at me. “And to you, my daughter…”

I meet her gaze and there are so many things I want to say. I have so many questions. They bubble up

like the wine in my glass. But when I open my mouth, I don’t know where to begin.

I only know that I feel a void.

An emptiness growing inside my chest and it causes physical discomfort.

The mist is in this courtyard now. It paints the walls and dims the sky. It swirls in a way that makes this

early sunny day seem like the center of a storm.

Cam, I don’t like this. What’s happening?

He’s tense beside me. His eyes flutter.

It’s the pack, he tells me. They’re trying to reach me, but I can’t connect with them.

NOT good. None of this is.

We need to leave…

He grabs my hand and we stand abruptly.

Adriana–my mother–lifts her glass and drains it. When it’s empty she stares at us. “There’s nowhere to

run. They’re already here.”