CHAPTER 20: MOTHER DEAREST

EMBER'S POV

No. Not possible.

Knox's eyes narrow. "Her mother?"

"We haven't really spoken in eight years," I say, voice tight. "She disowned me when I married Gale."

"She's very insistent," the nurse continues. "And… she's sobbing. She's saying she flew in from Beijing the moment she heard what happened. She's threatening to call the police if we don't let her in."

Knox stands, and the casual way he moves is somehow more threatening than if he'd exploded.

"Tell security she's not to come anywhere near this room without my express permission."

"Wait." The word escapes before I can stop it.

Knox turns, studying me with an unreadable expression.

"Maybe I should see her," I hear myself say.

"Why?"

"I don't know." And I don't. "She's still my mother… Maybe I should."

The truth is more complicated than that. When I fled Seattle two days ago, I was headed home to Alaska—to my parents' house in Anchorage. It was an impulsive decision, born from desperation and nowhere else to go.

My mother is rarely ever around. She's always flying somewhere—Dubai, Paris, Beijing—doing everything except being a mother.

My father would either be too drunk to notice I was there or not home at all. I figured I could slip in, hide in my childhood bedroom, and figure out my next move in peace.

But I never made it there. Knox happened instead.

And now she's here. When I needed her years ago, she denied me most calls and the privilege of having a mother. But suddenly I'm newsworthy, and she's on the first plane out.

Knox watches me for a long moment, then nods curtly to the nurse.

"Five minutes. No more."

The door opens again and my mother sweeps in like she owns the place.

Devika Aragon looks exactly as I remember—expensively dressed in cream designer everything, dark hair perfectly styled, makeup flawless despite the supposed emergency flight.

But her eyes are red and swollen, tears streaming down her cheeks.

"Oh my god, Ember!" She rushes to the bed and throws her arms around me, sobbing into my hair. "When I heard what happened at the dinner, I got on the first plane. Are you hurt? Are you okay? Did he—"

I go completely rigid.

This is the same woman who told me years ago that I'd made my bed with Gale and should die in it.

The same woman who didn't answer when I called her crying about the bruises. The same woman who chose business trips and social climbing over her own daughter for my entire life.

"I'm fine, Mom," I say automatically, the word foreign on my tongue.

She pulls back, cupping my face in her hands. Her fingers are cold and trembling.

"These eight years without you have been torture. I was wrong, baby. So wrong about everything. I should have been there when you needed me. When Gale was hurting you—" Her voice breaks convincingly. "I'm so sorry. Please forgive me."

The performance is flawless. Almost believable.

Almost.

Knox clears his throat.

My mother immediately straightens, rearranging her expression into something gracious and humble as she turns to him.

"Your Majesty," she says, inclining her head with perfect deference. "I can't thank you enough for keeping my daughter safe. For protecting her when I failed to."

It's too perfect. Too rehearsed. Like she practiced in the mirror on the flight over.

Knox's eyes are flat as he watches her. "Mrs. Aragon. Ember needs rest. She's had a traumatic evening."

"Of course, of course." Devika squeezes my hand, careful and theatrical. "I just needed to see with my own eyes that you were alright. But tomorrow, sweetheart, we'll have lunch. We'll talk properly. I have so much I need to explain."

There's something in her eyes—something calculating beneath the tears—that makes my skin crawl.

But I nod anyway.

Because part of me—the desperate, broken part that still remembers being seven years old and waiting for her to come home from another trip—wants to believe she means it. Wants to believe people can change.

Even when I know better.

She leans down and kisses my forehead, and it should feel like comfort. Like forgiveness.

Instead it feels like a trap.

There is nothing maternal about it. It's strategic. A chess piece moved into position.

Before she can leave, I hear myself say, "Knox—can she stay at the resort? Just until we have lunch tomorrow?"

Devika stops in her tracks, turning with a pleased smile that she doesn't quite hide fast enough.

Knox looks at me like I've lost my mind. "Ember—"

"Please."

Queenie appears in the doorway behind my mother, having clearly heard everything.

She looks appalled, shaking her head at me like I'm making the worst decision of my life.

She's probably right.

Knox studies my face for a long moment, jaw tight, clearly warring between protecting me and giving me what I'm asking for.

Finally, he nods once.

"Fine. But if you cause any problems, Mrs. Aragon—any scenes, any drama—you're out immediately. Am I perfectly clear?"

My mother's expression flickers—just for a second, something cold and calculating flashes across her face—before she recovers with a grateful, trembling smile.

"Perfectly clear, Your Majesty. Thank you for your generosity."

She glides out with a security guard, leaving the scent of expensive perfume and lies in her wake.

The second the door closes, Knox turns to me.

"Why?" he asks simply.

I look down at my hands, picking at the edge of the hospital blanket. "I don't know. Maybe because she's still my mother. Maybe because part of me is stupid enough to think people can change."

"She doesn't care about you." His voice is flat, certain. No room for argument. "That woman came here for a reason, and it has nothing to do with maternal love."

"You don't know that."

"I know what a snake looks like when I see one." Knox sits back down on the edge of the bed, closer now. "She's got venom in her eyes, Ember. I saw it the second she walked in."

I know he's probably right. I know my mother doesn't suddenly care about me after eight years of silence. I know she's here because I'm with the Lycan King, because suddenly I'm useful to her in a way I never was before.

But I'm exhausted and vulnerable and some pathetic, childish part of me still wants a mother who actually loves me.

"I'm still having lunch with her," I say quietly.

Knox nods like he expected this. "Fine. But Nathaniel will be nearby. Close enough to intervene if needed. And if she threatens you in any way—if she even makes you uncomfortable—the meeting is over immediately. Understood?"

"Okay."

He leans down and kisses my forehead—the same spot my mother kissed just moments before—but this one feels different. Heartwarming.

"It's been a long night," he murmurs against my skin. "Let me get the doctor to clear you so I can take you home."