Chapter 79

Iris

Six days after the accident, I’m packing my small bag of personal items to leave the hospital. The doctors are still shaking their heads, calling my recovery “unprecedented” and “medically inexplicable.”

According to them, my injuries should have kept me bedridden for weeks, maybe even months. The internal bleeding should have required multiple surgeries. The broken ribs should still be causing excruciating pain.

But instead, I’m up and walking around with just a slight limp and some tenderness in my chest when I breathe too deeply.

“I’ve never seen anything like it,” the doctor says as she signs my discharge papers. She checks my latest scans, still looking puzzled. “Especially for a human. Your body is healing at almost the rate of a werewolf.” She frowns and shakes her head. “It must have something to do with the Alpha President’s blood transfusion. He must have extremely potent healing capabilities in his blood.”

“Whatever the reason,” she continues, “you’re well enough to go home. Just take it easy for the next few weeks.”

Brian meets me in the lobby with a wheelchair. I make a face at him.

“Is that really necessary? I can walk.”

“Hospital rules,” he says with a shrug, then leans down to kiss my cheek. “Besides, you still look like shit.”

I snort, settling into the chair. “Thanks a lot.”

“Did I say shit? I meant absolutely radiant, darling.”

Despite everything, a smile tugs at my lips. Trust Brian to lighten the mood. He and Liam have been a godsend these past days, but I suppose they always have been.

And then there’s been Arthur.

I still don’t know what to think. He stayed by my side in the hospital, barely leaving to shower or eat. He gave me his blood, possibly saving my life. He had to leave today for work matters that he simply couldn’t miss, but he never let me out of his sight for days.

It was… sweet.

When we pull up to the apartment, my heart leaps into my throat. I can’t wait to see Miles. I practically bolt from the car the moment Brian parks, ignoring the twinge of pain in my side. He follows more slowly, carrying my bag and shaking his head at my impatience.

The elevator ride up to our floor feels eternal. When the doors finally open, I almost run down the hallway, fumbling with my keys. The door swings open, and I see Miles and Liam sitting in the living room. Miles is coloring on the floor, and Liam is—

“Mommy!” Miles shrieks, scrambling to his feet and racing toward me.

I drop to my knees, ignoring the sharp pain in my ribs, and open my arms wide. He crashes into me like a hurricane, and I inhale his familiar scent.

“Little wolf,” I murmur into his hair. “I missed you so much.”

“I made you pictures,” he says, and the sound of his voice—finally speaking to me after everything, and it’s sweeter than I remember—almost shatters my heart from making it so full. But then he pulls back and points. “The lady said I should color even more.”

I furrow my brow, looking up, and that’s when I see her. The woman who’s just rounded the living room corner—the woman who Liam was talking to when we entered, and the reason behind his puzzled expression.

“Iris, I—” Liam begins, but she cuts him off.

“You must be Iris,” she says, pulling a notepad out of her pocket. “I’m from Child Protective Services.”

My blood turns to ice in my veins. CPS? Here? Now?

I stand slowly, keeping Miles close to my side. “What’s going on?”

She consults her notepad. “We received a complaint that your child may be in an unsafe living environment. I’m here to conduct an assessment.”

“A complaint?” My voice rises slightly, and I glance at Brian, who looks just as baffled as I do. It seems she arrived while he was picking me up from the hospital. “From whom?”

“I’m not at liberty to say.” Her gaze moves pointedly to Miles. “Perhaps we could speak privately?”

I look down at Miles, who’s watching the stranger warily. “Miles, sweetheart, why don’t you go color while I talk to the nice lady?”

Liam and Brian immediately jump into action. “Come on, buddy,” Liam says. “Let’s put all your artwork on Mom’s bed so she can see it when she lays down for a rest.”

Once they’re out of earshot, I turn back to the CPS agent. “What’s all this about?”

The woman pushes her glasses up on her nose. “The complaint specifically mentioned that you left your child with a non-relative when his biological father was available and willing to care for him. In custody disputes, this kind of decision can be viewed as parental alienation.”

Custody disputes. So this is about Arthur after all. My heart sinks, a cold feeling of betrayal washing over me. Was the hospital all just for show? All that concern, all that devotion—was it just another manipulation tactic?

“May I see the rest of the apartment?” the CPS agent asks, although it’s clearly not a request but rather an announcement.

I nod stiffly, leading her through the small apartment. She makes notes as we go. She comments on the size of Miles’ bedroom, which is admittedly tiny compared to his room at Arthur’s place. She notes the fact that we’re still not fully unpacked, boxes stacked in corners. She points out the dust on the shelves, the sink full of unwashed dishes.

“Do you clean regularly?” she asks, running a finger along a windowsill.

“I’ve been in the hospital,” I remind her. “For a week. After a near-fatal car accident.”

She makes another note. “And before that?”

“Before that, we had just moved in. I was still getting settled.”

“And from my records…” She scans her notepad. “You’ve moved into three different homes in the past three months, including rendering yourself and your son homeless at one point in an attempt to return to Bo’Arrocan.”

I swallow hard, my throat suddenly feeling sore. “There were… extenuating circumstances,” I say. She doesn’t answer, of course; just adds it to her notes.

The tour continues, with the woman finding fault with nearly everything she sees. The lack of childproofing on lower cabinets. The medication on my nightstand, within Miles’ reach. The art supplies in my studio that a child could access.

By the time we return to the living room, I’m shaking—partly from exhaustion, partly from anger. Brian, Liam, and Miles are there, Miles proudly showing off a crayon drawing of what appears to be the three of us: him, me, and Arthur.

The woman crouches down to his level. “Miles, can I ask you some questions?”

He looks at me uncertainly. I nod, hoping my face doesn’t betray my fear.

“Are you happy living here with your mom?” she asks.

Miles nods.

“Do you miss your dad?”

He nods again.

The woman’s eyebrows rise slightly as she picks up the drawing. “You do?”

“...Yes.”

My heart cracks a little at his tiny voice. He’s frightened, and clamming up. After everything, the last thing I want is for him to feel uncomfortable again.

Just as I’m about to move toward Miles, the woman straightens up, turning to me. “I have some concerns about the living situation here. The apartment is small, clearly not fully childproofed. There are potential hazards with your art supplies.” She holds up the drawing. “And Miles clearly wants to be with both parents.”

“I’m an artist,” I say. “The Abbott Gallery residency is a huge opportunity for me. This apartment comes with the position. It’s temporary, until I can find something better.”

“And in the meantime, your child lives in inadequate conditions while his father has a perfectly suitable home available.”

“Please,” I say, my voice breaking as Brian and Liam move to my side. “I just got out of the hospital. I haven’t had time to properly set up the apartment yet.”

“Miles has been very happy with us,” Brian says. “He’s basically—”

She holds her hand up, silencing him. “I understand that, but my concern is for the child’s welfare. The boy can hardly even speak, he’s so traumatized.”

“He’s on the spec—”

“Given what I’ve observed today, I’m going to have to recommend he comes with me for the night.”

My mouth drops open. She can’t take my son. She wouldn’t dare—

Just then, the door bursts open. Arthur strides in like a thunderstorm, his presence filling the small apartment instantly. His eyes find mine first, then move to Miles, who lights up at the sight of him.

“Daddy!” Miles cries, running to Arthur.

Arthur scoops him up with one arm, striding over to stand beside me. To my surprise, he slides his other arm around my waist, pulling me gently against his side. The move is possessive, protective, and despite everything, I find myself leaning into him slightly even though I’m possibly more confused than I’ve ever been.

His eyes fix on the CPS agent. “What are you doing to my family?”