"Trust me, I'm the lucky one," Matthew said. The sincerity in his voice made Claire ache. She shrank back against the wall and transformed, pulling on her clothes. She knelt on the carpet, leaning against the paneling with her hands over her eyes. Shaking with the relief of what she didn't have to do. Sick with the thought of what might have happened if she had decided to go through with it. If she'd been obedient to the pack.
The pack, who would demand that she explain why she hadn't killed Amy and why she'd been wrong about Amy knowing in the first place. The idea of telling them what had happened loomed over her, all teeth and claws, and Claire trembled. She heard Matthew coming down the stairs, but she couldn't bring herself to pull her hands away from her face.
Matthew knelt down and wrapped his arms around her, pulling her into his chest and tucking her head under his chin.
"I know," he whispered. "I know. But it's okay—everything's going to be fine now. She doesn't know anything."
"Exactly," she gasped, pressing herself against him. "She was going to die, Matthew. I was going to kill her, and she doesn't know anything."
"No." He leaned back and pulled her hands away from her face, forcing her to look at him. "You were told to kill her. And you decided you couldn't. That's what matters—the fact that you didn't go through with it." "But I was going to," she whispered. "Doesn't that make me . . . I have to be some sort of broken person, to be able to even think about doing that."
"I don't think you're defined by the things you're capable of doing. I think the things you actually do have a hell of a lot more to say about who you are."
There was truth in what he was saying, but Claire still hesitated.
"I love you," he said. "It's going to be okay. You're going to be okay."
"I hope so," she whispered, burying her face in his chest. "I really, really hope so."
Chapter Twenty-Two
CLAIRE LET HERSELF into the house, as worn out and used up as the dead leaves that skittered across the driveway behind her. Marie stood up as soon as she saw Claire. "Oh! You're back. Thank goodness. I expected you hours ago—why didn't you call? Did something go wrong? Amy—you finished it, yes? Is Matthew okay?"
The rush of words was so unlike Marie that Claire knew how truly horrified her mother was by the situation. She hadn't sounded like this when Claire rescued her from Dr. Engle, and she had been her usual collected self even when they were killing Zahlia. But everyone had their limits, and Marie had clearly reached hers.
Claire slid onto one of the stools in front of the kitchen island. "I was just at Matthew's, and he's fine," she said, choosing her words carefully. "He talked to Amy. She came over while I was there."
"Talked to her about what? Did she see you?" Marie's eyes narrowed, and she stared at Claire. Little worried lines appeared at the corners of her eyes.
"No, she didn't see me. He was—" She hesitated. She might be able to play it off as a happy coincidence, act like she was absolutely behind the plan to kill Amy until she realized that Amy didn't know anything.
But she didn't want to. Even if it meant suffering pack consequences. She had too few chances to be honest about who she was—she wasn't going to turn everything into a lie. Hoping that her voice wasn't shaking, she started to explain.
"He was going to find out what she knew—what she was thinking. And then I was going to talk to her. Because when I saw her on the bridge, I couldn't do it. I realized that I couldn't kill her."
"You have to kill her, Claire. I commanded you. It is the law, and you are in danger." Marie spread her hands on the granite counter, her fingertips clawing at the smooth surface.
Claire swallowed hard. "First of all, the law says I have to kill her, but it doesn't specify when. It wouldn't be breaking the law to wait, and I wanted to see if there was some way that I could save us both."
"Claire, that's a technicality. No one is kept safe if you put off the inevitable, and living in dread is as bad as living with the consequences—"
"Wait," Claire interrupted.
Marie drew in a sharp breath through her nose, her eyes glittering with the rage of a challenged Alpha. Before she could explode, Claire rushed to explain.
"She doesn't know."
"What?" Marie whispered.
"Amy." Claire put her shaking hands in her lap, hiding them from her mother's view. "She doesn't know. When she said she knew what I was, that her suspicions had been confirmed and she was going to tell, she meant . . ." Claire hesitated, not wanting to get into a conversation about whether or not she'd gone all the way with Matthew. "She thought something else was going on with me, but she was wrong. She told Matthew everything, and I was listening. She wants to be friends." The last word came out in a disbelieving squeak.
"How do you know she's not just hiding what she knows?" Marie demanded. "She might not have wanted to reveal things to Matthew—she knows you're dating. What she said before—you seemed so certain. There's still too much risk. . . . in spite of what you heard, you must still kill her."