Warrior Fae Princess (Warrior Fae 2)

Charity hadn’t gotten to say goodbye.

“No,” she said softly, tears drenching her cheeks. “It can’t be. She would’ve at least reached out to tell me she was…sick. Maybe she’s a groundskeeper, or…”

In another moment, though, they found the stone. The words weren’t etched very deeply, but there could be no doubt.

Here lies Patty Taylor.

Tears obscured Charity’s vision, washing away the dates. Washing away her remaining strength.

She sagged, but Devon held her tightly to his chest, and her father held her hand. His head was bowed. He was mourning, too.

“Here, let’s…” Macy wove through everyone. She plucked the envelope off the ground, it having fallen from Charity’s suddenly lifeless fingers. “Let’s just read…”

Two pages came out, a faded white piece of paper against the familiar beige of Vlad’s stationery. Macy gently pulled them apart, her eyes moving quickly from side to side over the message on the beige sheet. In another moment, she handed the faded white paper forward, her eyes rooting to Charity’s.

“Vlad rescued some of your mother’s things from this place’s basement.” Macy’s tone said her heart was breaking for Charity. “He will meet you back at the car with them if you call off the…shifters.”

He’d probably called them “dogs,” knowing Vlad.

“I can keep her safe,” Reagan said, probably to Roger. “Vlad knows I can kill him, but that I won’t if he plays nice.”

“I can protect myself from Vlad.” Charity hiccupped a sob. “I can burn him with sunlight and then blow him up.”

“I’m starting to really like her,” Reagan murmured to someone. “Think she’d want to do some bounty hunter gigs with us?”

Charity tuned them out, pushing away from Devon so she could take the paper. She recognized her mother’s handwriting immediately, though it wasn’t as delicate as she remembered. She wiped away tears with the back of her hand so she could read what it said.

Dear Charity,

Please forgive me. Though I don’t know how you could. What monster leaves her darling girl without saying goodbye? I just didn’t know any other way.

The doctor said the tumor was terminal and I would need looking after. I couldn’t let that burden fall to you. Please understand. I would’ve killed your dreams. I left so that you could continue on. You’re a survivor—this was the best way, I know it in my heart. It’s the least I could do for the half-life I have forced upon you.

I do not have the money to send for you—charity pays for my lodging here—but even if I did, I don’t think you’d make it in time. I am at the end of my tolerance for this sickness. I don’t have the strength or the will for much more. So I write this note to beg forgiveness. To explain.

I have missed you every waking moment of this past year. I’ve thought about you every instant. I miss your laugh, and your smile. I miss our time together. I so wish I could’ve said goodbye to you. That I could’ve seen the woman you will grow to be.

I hope you are following your dreams. I hope your life is filled with laughter and love. I want you to know that I love you so, so much. You are the best thing that has ever happened in my life, and I am so very proud of what you have already become.

Charity shook her head. Her hands shook so hard that she could barely read the words. “She didn’t sign it.”

“She must’ve died before she could finish it,” her father said, tears shining in his eyes. “She might’ve made a mistake in your eyes, Charity, but it is clear she left with you in mind. She did it to save you. Had I not left—”

“Don’t,” Devon cut in, instantly silencing Romulus. “This isn’t time for guilt or the blame game. Her mother was trying to do right by Charity in the only way she knew how. Let Charity grieve.”

Charity let Devon gather her up tightly, crying so hard that she could barely breathe. How could her mom do that? How could she leave, thinking Charity would be better off not knowing where she’d gone? How could she choose to die alone when she had family who would give anything to be with her?

But she’d said why, hadn’t she?

You’re a survivor…

Her mother had done what Devon had tried to do. She had sacrificed her own happiness so that Charity could chase her dreams. And Charity had done exactly what her mother had hoped. She had created the kind of life her mother would’ve wanted for her. Her mother would’ve been proud—and happy to sacrifice herself for Charity’s happiness.

Why did that hurt so much more?

“I would’ve followed her, just like I followed you,” Charity admitted, crying into Devon’s shirt. “She knew that about me.”

“She loved you very much,” Devon murmured, rocking her. “She didn’t abandon you. She didn’t want to leave. She felt she had to.”