EPISODE 6

Dr. Winter’s POV

Do you know that feeling where it seems like you're moving, but the ground is shifting under your feet? That's how I feel right now as I flounder across the dance hall, searching for Kael.

The party is buzzing with life, and no one seems to pay attention to the lady who's losing her mind, asking every drunk attendee she crosses. They probably think I’m drunk.

“Have you seen my son?”

“Sorry to interrupt, have you seen a little…”

“Did you happen to see…”

No one had seen Kael. Tears are rushing down my face, and I feel like hitting myself for being so careless with my son.

Worst mom of the year.

Am I sure Mom and Dad were not right about me when they said I was good for nothing? If I can't keep my only child safe, then maybe I’m truly a failure.

Good-for-nothing Raina.

I shake my head as the mere thought of that name sends chills down my spine. Raina is dead. I'm Dr. Winter now, and unlike Raina, I refuse to fail. I have to find my son!

Geron meets me in the middle of the dance floor, sweat marring his face.

“Have you seen him?” I ask, trying to raise my voice above the loud noise of the speakers.

Geron shakes his head, and my heart literally collapses into my stomach.

Almost as if he can see the turmoil brewing inside me, Geron wraps his arm around my shoulder and leads me to a seat, away from the booming crowd.

“You need to calm down.”

“Calm down?” I flare up. “My son is missing, and it's all Xavier's fault. He…”

Geron interrupts my rant as he passes me a tissue to wipe my tears. “I’ll find him. I promise.”

His brown, coffee-like eyes have served as a safe place for me for years, and Geron is the only man I trust—at least to an extent. So when he says he’ll find Kael, my nervous system believes him even when my brain and heart are going haywire with panic.

I watch him slowly fade into the crowd, and my panic reignites. What-ifs cloud my mind until my brain flashes out.

A young female waitress passes with a tray of champagne in her hands, and I wave her down.

She smiles politely and begins to drop a glass of champagne on my table when I hold her hand to stop her. “Can I get something else?”

She looks a bit concerned but keeps her worries to herself. Over here in WestMoon, offending a guest or a high-ranking member can be treated as harshly as treason, so most Omegas and rankless wolves serve quietly with mechanical smiles on their pale faces.

“Sure, ma’am.” She nods. “Like what?”

I shut my eyes to think of something, but my brain circuit is fried and all I can hear are the haunting voices of my past ghosts. My eyelids spring open with a low groan. “I don't know. Can I have the strongest drink in here?”

“Right away.” She nods and does a double-check on me before heading to the bar. She returns a minute later with a glass of a mixed drink. It looks green and disgusting, but right now I can't care less, so I order two more glasses.

I’m in the middle of the third glass when Jayda slips into the chair beside mine. “Hello, Doctor,” she coos.

My head feels heavier than a granite rock, but I manage to lift it enough to meet her gaze. “Hi.”

She crosses her legs and leans forward, planting her elbows on the table. From this distance, I can smell her perfume, and it makes my eyes water. Years might have gone by, but I guess my twin sister’s love for candy scents has not matured. It is redolent of an ice cream shop.

“You look wasted,” she notes with a condescending tone. “Is that how professionals in the South behave? Get drunk in front of high-profile clients and potential investors?”

I would have rolled my eyes at her statement, but I fear I might faint if I dare tempt my staggering conscious state. “Yes, I’m wasted, but unfortunately, I’m yet to see the so-called high-profile clients or investors. Do you know where they might be?”

She heaves an exhale, glowering. “You're rude.”

I chuckle and shake my glass, watching the liquid bounce the reflection of the chandeliers above us. It's been a while since I’ve met anyone as arrogant and pompous as Jayda. I’ve definitely not missed her, but I’ve missed the highs of watching her massive ego get crushed.

“I’ll overlook the insult and your lack of manners,” she says, adjusting herself on the chair and leaning backward so her bony shoulders are on display. It is akin to when a peacock spreads its train.

She waits for an apology but gets none. Her powdered fingers wave down another waiter, and she picks up a pineapple cocktail. “Not all of us drink grass water, or whatever that is.” She sighs and laughs with the tense waiter, who scurries away as soon as he can.

“Why am I here?” I ask, exhausted by all the theatrics Jayda has been playing all night. I am dying to know why Xavier invited me to WestMoon and what they want from me.

She drops her cocktail and smiles. “The Alpha didn't tell you?”

“Just talk,” I hiss, my head starting to pound from the drinking.

“Your business in WestMoon is simple,” she says matter-of-factly. “Help me get pregnant and make the baby survive.”

I’m midway through emptying my glass when a laugh erupts, and the drink sprays through my lips, landing directly on her made-up face.

She looks horrified, squealing insults and curses incessantly, but I can't hear her. My head is turning, but all I can hear is my own loud laughter.

“What's so funny?” she snaps as soon as my laughter dies down. Her face is reddened like a tomato and squeezed tight.

“So the perfect Jayda can't get pregnant?” I say, amused.

She raises her eyebrow. “How do you even know my name?”

My heart drops, and I feel like slapping myself out of this drunken state before I end up exposing my cover tonight. “You're the Luna of WestMoon. It's not hard to figure out.”

She tilts her head as her pride swells again. “So what do you say, Doctor? My husband and I are willing to pay you handsomely. Enough money so you don't need to touch a scalpel in your lifetime again.”

Heat rises to my chest, churning like a brewing volcano ready to erupt. This spoiled brat who's never worked for anything in her life believes my dream and life’s work can be traded for measly currency, gold, or diamonds?

I manage to rise to my feet. The whole room is turning in circles, and Jayda’s sprayed face is blurring within imaginary lines.

“Save some college money for your little boy,” she says, grinning.

I hate that smile on her face and the way her teeth veneers sparkle under the lights. Staggering, I lean forward, resting my hands on the table until my lips are near her ear.

“No.”