Suspicion gnaws at me, I think back to every single time I have woken and thought Mateo or Ezra weren’t here, but found Marge with the kids. And as soon as that happens, suddenly one of them pops up out of nowhere.
Her movements are too precise, like she knows how to get in and out of the nursery without stirring them or me.
Maybe it is just paranoia setting in from not shifting. It might be the craze of being a Gemini wolf, however, when she doesn’t say anything and instead places Eziah in his crib, it makes me alert. If she thinks she is being slick and will escape this questioning, oh, how wrong one can truly be.
“Marge?” I say her name right as I am about to place Marabella in her crib. I freeze next to the tiny crib and raise an eyebrow, waiting for Marge to speak up.
“Yes, dear? Did you say something?” She asks.
I press my lips in a thin line as I walk to Eziah’s crib. They settled earlier together, maybe we can try for one night and see how it goes.
I keep reminding myself how good the twins slept while they shared a crib, and carefully place Marabella down in the crib beside Eziah. I tuck the babies in and smile once I’m sure both are safe.
Marge turns the light projection on, it plays a lullaby and stars appear on the ceiling. The sound is soothing and soft, no wonder babies love it so much.
Once again, I nearly lose myself in my thoughts until I notice movement again. Marge quietly walks out of the room, and I follow her.
“I was wondering if Mateo has asked you to help me before?” I repeat the same question, using a more gentle tone this time, as we start down the steps.
“I really don’t mind. I love pups, such innocent little things,” she says, but evades my question.
Has everyone in this house lost their minds? Like, seriously? It should be obvious that if I ask a question and the person evades it – that will irk me. Fuck, how bad it irks me, I can’t describe it.
“So he has asked you to watch over me?” I press again, hell-bent to get my answer.
“They just worry, dear, I don’t mind. Beats sitting at home by myself,” she adds with a shrug.
“They, so Ezra has asked too?”
As the question leaves my lips, my stomach sinks, I feel like I am about to throw up. What the fuck do they think I will do that they are so worried about leaving me with my own children?
“Coffee?” she offers suddenly darting past me with the coffee cups and heading to the kitchen.
Her sudden need to distract me catches me off guard. I just stand aside and watch her hurry into the kitchen. It takes me a few seconds to understand what she is trying to do. I suppress the growl that threatens to escape me and chase after her.
I storm into the kitchen and instantly zero in on her. “You know something, don’t you? Don’t they trust me?” I ask and grab her arm.
I believe I am careful and gently grab her until she jerks away from me, and my claws slip down her arm.
The coffee cups shatter on the floor as they slip from her fingertips. I reach forward to heal her, but she shakes me off. The fear that flashes in her eyes, no matter how briefly it can be seen, startles me.
“Shit! Sorry, Marge, are you ok?” I ask her, but she steps back.
I pass her a tea towel, and she wraps it around her arm. “I’m fine, dear, it’s ok. I know you didn’t mean it,” she says as I bend down to pick up the broken glass.
Her voice sounds oddly distant. As if it is far, far away for a second. As I look up, I swear I see her eyes glaze over for a brief moment, but she just smiles at me.
Katya
I go back to picking up the glass. I can’t believe how much there is as I dump it in some paper towels, wrap them up, and carefully toss them in the bin.
Marge unravels the towel, and I let out a heavy breath of relief once I see it has already healed. I would feel like an absolute piece of shit if it hadn’t. Not that I’m feeling like I stand at the top of the world now, anyway.
Although I didn’t mean it, the damage is done, and I have to accept whatever consequences there might be.
I am about to try to approach her and apologize again, but the plan fails the moment I hear Marabella cry out. A silent cuss leaves my lips as I turn to the door, ready to head upstairs to calm my daughter.
However, I don’t get far as Marge rushes past me. “I will check on them,” she blurts out, sounding like she is about to have a panic attack or something of a sort.
I look at her with nothing but suspicion as I try to leave the kitchen, but she blocks the door and quickly slips out.
“No, sit down. I will go, just wash the blood off,” I order her and shake my head.
And again, I try to slip past her, but she grabs my arm gently. Something about her behavior is so damn off. It pisses me off that I can’t understand what she is doing. Why is she acting so strange?
“No, it’s fine, Luna. I don’t mind. How about you make the coffee?” She suggests as her eyes dart to the stairs nervously.
My brows pinch and I tilt my head to the side, staring at her. “Marge, are you afraid of me?” I press and get no answer, just more nervous glances past me, all directed to the staircase that will lead me to my babies. “I didn’t mean it.”
Still nothing. As much as I hate it, when all else fails, and she still refuses to speak. I force myself in her head. Her memories become mine.
I filter through them as quickly as I can, I catch on to the countless times Mateo or Ezra have asked her to watch me while they snuck off without me knowing. Always while I was asleep or preoccupied, as they went out to do their daily responsibilities or to see each other.
I can see everything, even the way she would find an excuse to remain in the room with me when they went off to take care of the pack. My mates, both of them, my fucking mates have never trusted me to take care of our children.