Chapter Three

Loria’s POV

The stairs creak beneath our feet like they're bracing for what’s coming—every step a countdown. Andy walks just behind me, silent for once, and I can feel the tension rolling off him like steam. I don’t think either of us is ready for this conversation, but it’s coming whether we want it to or not. The kind of thing you can’t outrun, even with four legs.

Mom’s waiting at the bottom of the stairs, holding two mugs. The faint scent of chamomile clings to the rising steam. She doesn’t say anything—just offers me a cup with a tremble in her hand and eyes that look like they’ve already cried too much. I take it and follow her into the living room.

Dad is pacing. He’s never been the pacing type. He’s always been a sit-down-with-a-beer kind of guy. Steady. Predictable. Right now, he looks like a grenade waiting for someone to pull the pin.

I sit on the edge of the couch, gripping the mug too tight. Andy lowers beside me, hands clasped in his lap, trying not to draw attention to himself. He’s in this with me, but this isn’t his fight. Not really.

Mom sits across from me in the armchair, but Dad doesn’t sit. He just keeps walking back and forth, muttering to himself like he's trying to put reality back together.

“I think we need to talk,” I say. My voice surprises me—it’s firm, steady, way more composed than I feel. “Really talk.”

That stops Dad in his tracks.

“Oh, you think?” he snaps, whipping around to face me. His eyes are wild. Red-rimmed. “You think now’s a good time for a talk, Loria? After what I just saw? After you turned into—into some kind of monster right in front of us?”

The word hits me like a slap. I flinch.

Andy shifts beside me. “She’s not a monster.”

“Don’t you start, Andrew,” Dad growls. “You don’t know what this is. You don’t know what this means.”

“Neither do I,” I say. “That’s why I’m asking you. I need you to tell me what you know. About me. About what I am.”

Mom’s lips press into a tight line. Dad looks at her, eyes narrowing. “Don’t,” he warns. “Don’t do this.”

“She deserves to know,” she says quietly. “We always said we’d tell her when she was older.”

Dad scoffs. “She’s seventeen, not twenty-five! How the hell is that ‘older’?”

“She’s not normal!” Mom snaps, standing up now too. “You saw what she did. How long do you think we could keep pretending?”

“I didn’t pretend,” he barks. “I raised her. I loved her. I still do. But that thing upstairs—that wasn’t my daughter.”

My throat closes. I feel like I can’t breathe.

“I’m still me,” I whisper. “Dad, I’m still me.”

He turns away.

Mom takes a breath and sinks back into the chair, eyes fixed on her mug like it’s a crystal ball that might explain everything for her. “We didn’t adopt you through any agency,” she begins, her voice calm but raw. “We… found you.”

Andy stiffens. I feel the blood drain from my face.

“What?” I ask.

She nods slowly. “You were just a baby. Barely a few days old. Someone left you on our porch—wrapped in a blanket, with a note pinned to it.”

I can’t speak. My throat is burning.

“The note said, ‘Please take care of my baby.’ That’s all. Except… it had one other line.” Her eyes flick up to meet mine. “It said your name was Loria.”

The room goes still. Even Dad stops pacing. My heart is pounding so loud it drowns out everything else.

“No return address. No explanation,” she continues. “We called the police. They opened a case, but no one ever came forward. No one claimed you. And the longer we had you, the more we couldn’t imagine life without you.”

“So you just… kept me?” My voice cracks.

Mom nods, tears finally spilling over. “Yes. I know how that sounds, but it felt right. It was right. You were ours.”

I feel like the floor is falling out beneath me. The mug in my hands is shaking.

“You lied to me my whole life,” I say.

“We protected you,” Dad interjects.

“No,” I say, standing now, my voice rising. “You lied. You knew something was different about me, didn’t you? You knew all along.”

“We didn’t know anything!” Dad’s voice booms. “All we knew was that you were ours, and we weren’t going to give you up!”

I stare at him, breath coming in shallow bursts. Andy’s hand closes around mine, grounding me.

Zerina stirs at the edge of my mind, quiet but present. I feel her anger like static under my skin.

“You had seventeen years to tell me,” I say. “And you waited until I shifted into something else in front of you. Why? Because it was easier to pretend I was just your daughter until I wasn’t?”

“You are our daughter,” Mom pleads.

“But not by blood,” I whisper. “And not by truth either.”

Next to it, a strange pendant glints in the low kitchen light—silver, shaped like an eye, or maybe a wolf’s. The metal feels warm when her mother lifts it out, like it remembers being touched.

“This was around your neck when we found you,” her mom says. “The note was in the basket. It just said—”

“I’ve read it,” Loria murmurs. “You kept it all this time?”

Her mom nods, and tears pool in her eyes. “We didn’t understand what you were. We thought maybe someone was running. Or hiding. But we raised you like any other child. Even when strange things started to happen.”

“Like what?”

“You had night terrors, but not like normal ones. You’d wake up and the room would be freezing cold. Sometimes lights flickered when you screamed. Full moons made you restless. You could hear things we couldn’t. Smell things.”

Loria stares at the pendant in her hand, feeling something ancient press against her heart. Like the metal recognizes her. Or maybe the thing inside her does.

“I’m sorry,” her mom says, voice cracking. “I should’ve told you sooner. I just… I didn’t know how. But you are loved, Loria. You are so loved.”

Her father turns away, jaw clenched so tight his face is white.

And then—without a word—he storms out.

The front door slams hard enough to rattle the window panes.

The sound of his truck pulling out of the driveway leaves a silence so complete, it roars.

Loria swallows hard. “Is he coming back?”

“I don’t know,” her mom says honestly.

Then she walks around the table and kneels in front of Loria, taking both her hands.

“But I’m not going anywhere. You are mine. And you are not alone in this.”

Andy slides his hand onto her shoulder. Warm. Steady.

“You have me too,” he says. “Always.”

For a moment, the air settles.

Then Zerina’s voice echoes gently inside her again:

“This is your pack. For now.”

Later, Loria sits on the floor of her bedroom, legs crossed beside Andy, the lockbox open in front of them.

She turns the pendant over and over in her fingers. The eye at its center seems to glint like it’s watching her.

She smooths the folded note across her thigh, rereading the handwriting like it might change.

Andy watches her. Doesn’t push.

“What kind of mother gives away a baby with nothing but a necklace and a name?” Loria murmurs. “What did she know that she didn’t want to face?”

Andy is quiet for a moment. Then: “I don’t know. But we’ll find out. You’re not doing this alone.”

Loria leans her head against his shoulder.

“I used to think my biggest fear was being alone,” she says softly. “Now I think it’s losing the people who chose to love me anyway.”

Andy squeezes her hand. “Then we don’t let go.”