Page 17 of Tangled Threads Of Fate

They declared Mrs. B deceased, loaded her onto a gurney, and wheeled her out the door. Probably a heart attack, the EMT told us—after all, she was very old.

When the cop asked Nate why we had come down to check on her in the middle of the night, he shrugged. Shit, we hadn’t gone over that.

I looked up at the cop, my eyes brimming with tears. “Pregnancy instinct, maybe? Something felt wrong.” I’d heard about that kind of thing. Sounded like something a mom would develop. Mrs. Byrne had certainly had those instincts.

The cop gave me a soft smile, and Nate tucked me under his arm. “Oh yeah. That mom gut feeling. Once, my wife woke up in the middle of the night with a bad feeling. Caught our three-year-old on a chair, trying to escape out the front door of the house. That mother’s instinct is some wild stuff.” He reached out and rubbed my arm. “I’m sorry for your loss. We’ll get out of your hair and let you grieve.”

Nate kept me pressed tightly to his chest as he bid the officers and EMTs goodnight. Then he led me up the stairs into his apartment, and I slid beneath the covers of his bed like I’d done it a hundred times before.

“Sleep, little one. I’ll guard you tonight,” he whispered, going to sit in the chair across the room.

But he couldn’t guard my dreams, and when I drifted off to sleep, it was filled with shadows and monsters, and Mrs. B’s fear-filled face, which would be forever etched in my mind.

Chapter 8

WREN

Grief sat heavily on my chest, weighing me down so it felt nearly impossible to climb from Nate’s bed. As soon as I set foot outside the apartment, it would mean that it was all real. Shadow monsters and Mrs. Byrne’s death would be more than a nightmare. The supernatural would be real.

So I stayed in bed. Even as Nate left to go and make arrangements for the funeral, I stayed in bed. He brought me food that I ignored, and water, which he watched me drink, standing over me and muttering about staying hydrated.

He was gone now, and I had to pee. Grabbing my stomach, I shuffle-rolled from beneath the blankets. I grumbled at the babies for sitting right on my bladder even as I stroked my belly soothingly. It was odd how quickly I’d no longer felt alone.

I was still scared. Petrified, actually. Dusk was starting to settle, and I hoped that Nate returned soon, even though it made me feel like a complete chicken shit. Apparently, I was going to develop a phobia of the dark at the grand old age of twenty-two. Every shadow now seemed more ominous, and I only felt slightly guilty as I flicked on every single light switch between the bedroom and the bathroom.

Much like my apartment, there was only an open-plan living room and kitchen, then a bathroom and bedroom side by side. I stepped out into the living room, and my eyes snagged immediately on the giant ax hanging on the wall, looking like a normal ax that you might use at a renaissance festival, or LARPing. It wasn’t a beacon of glowing light, though if I concentrated, I could almost imagine a hum of power emitting from the etched blade.

Averting my eyes, I hurried to the bathroom. After relieving myself, I stared in the mirror. I looked like crap. My eyes were red-rimmed and sunken. My hair was lank around my face, a rat’s nest forming on the back of my head from tossing and turning.

I looked like absolute shit, but I didn’t care, because Mrs. B was dead, and it was kind of my fault. I quickly splashed water on my face before I started crying again.

Hearing the front door open, I froze. I didn’t breathe, my hands hovering over the sink as I waited, my heart pounding in my chest. What if it was back?

“Wren?” Nate called, and I didn’t miss the panic in his voice. Apparently, last night’s attack had shaken us both.

“In here.” I moved back toward the living room in time to catch the relief on Nate’s face.

“Are you doing okay?” he asked softly, moving toward me as his eyes ran over my body repeatedly, looking for injuries or illness, or something that only he could see.

Shrugging, I sat down on his couch. “Okay is relative.”

He gave a tight nod and walked into the kitchen, pulling out a plate of sandwiches from the fridge, covered by plastic wrap. “You need to eat now.”

It wasn’t a request anymore. Apparently, now that I was out of the fetal position, he was going to shuck at least one of the kid gloves.

He dropped the plate in front of me on the coffee table, and I felt my stomach rumble. I was hungry, even if the thought of eating made my stomach turn. But I sucked it up, taking a nibble of the first perfect triangle. It was chicken salad, and tasted like ash.

Swallowing hard, I gave him a grateful smile. “Thank you.” I chewed another mouthful, and then another, until that triangle was gone.Okay. I can do this.“How did… arrangements go?”

I couldn’t say the word funeral. Because that would mean she was gone and never coming back.

I watched his jaw flex. “Fine. It’s set for Friday.”

The ball of grief grew in my chest. “So soon.”

He nodded, sitting down beside me. “She was old, and it was clearly a heart attack.” A heart attack caused by coming face to maw with a monster. “I went and saw the lawyer. I was the only beneficiary of her will, but I told him to sign half the house over to you too.”

“What?” My eyes went wide as my brain tried to grapple with what he was saying.

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