Wild Hunger (The Phoenix Pack, #7)(6)

Riley leaned forward, but Tao pulled her back against him. “Read me the e-mail you sent her,” she said to Lydia, digging her elbow into Tao’s ribs—he only grunted.

Lydia’s thumbs tapped at the screen of her cell phone a few times.

“‘Dear Francesca,

I doubt you’ll remember me well, if at all. But you knew me very well as a child, before you left the pack and went to live with your grandparents. Your father, Christopher, was my older brother. Given what happened all those years ago, I can understand if you don’t wish to have anything to do with the paternal side of your family. But we would very much like to see you. My mother, your grandmother, has been given mere weeks to live. She loves you very much—we both do. If you could find it in your heart to see her just one time, it would mean everything to her. I hope to hear from you soon.

Best wishes,

Your Aunt Lydia’”

“And her response?” asked Trey.

“‘I’m pretty sure you’ve got the wrong Francesca Newman. Good luck with finding who you’re looking for.’”

Dante narrowed his eyes. “Is it possible that you have the wrong person?”

“No way.” Lydia shook her head, adamant. “I’m sure this is her. I’ve been following her life for a long time. I’ve seen pictures of her online—she still looks like Caroline.”

Trick scrubbed a hand over his jaw. “If she doesn’t know who you are, I’d say her grandparents have fed her bullshit about her past.”

“Crap.” Lydia raked a hand through her hair. “Now I don’t know what to do. If she doesn’t know about me, if they’ve fed her a different story, my contacting her will upset her life. I don’t want that. Maybe I should agree that I got the wrong person.” She looked at Cam for advice, but he shrugged.

“This has to be your decision, sweetheart,” Cam told her.

“I don’t think that backtracking will work,” said Trick. “There are enough facts in that e-mail to make her wonder. Her mother’s dead, she lives with her grandparents, she doesn’t have her father in her life. She’s not going to ignore all that. She’ll look into it, talk to her grandparents about it.”

“Trick’s right,” said Marcus, rubbing at the dark stubble on his jaw. “There’s little point in going back now. But if you want to drop this, that’s your decision. We’ll respect it.”

Jaime nodded. “I can understand that you’re reluctant to upset her, Lydia, but she has every right to know the truth. I’m mad as hell that they lied to her all this time.”

Lydia swallowed. “But the truth is pretty harsh, isn’t it?”

“She still has a right to know,” Grace firmly stated. “And I’d like to see her again. She wasn’t in my life for long, but I see her as one of us.”

“She is ours,” said Dominic. “Iris only stayed with the Bjorn Pack because she wanted to be near Christopher’s grave. But I think that if she’d had custody of Francesca, she’d have joined our pack for her sake. Francesca would have been a Phoenix Pack wolf. She was taken from us, and she’s been without a pack for long enough.”

“Yeah,” agreed Marcus. “It’s time she reconnected with us.”

Lydia stroked her throat. “She may wish she’d never found out the truth.”

“You should send her another e-mail tomorrow that makes things a little clearer, Lydia,” Dante advised. “But don’t tell her too much. You want to make her curious enough to meet you.”

“If she’s strong, she’ll face it and deal with it.” Lips pursed, Trick shrugged. “Guess this will show us just how strong she is.”

After pulling up outside her grandparents’ home the next day, Frankie switched off the ignition. The white three-story building was beautiful, there was no doubt about it. Stylish. Classy. Elegant. But when she was growing up, it had also felt constricting at times. When she was inside that house, certain things were expected of her—even as a child. Extreme politeness. Complete composure. Absolute obedience.

She’d failed on all counts.

Not purposely or spitefully. But because there was a wildness in her that wouldn’t allow for that sort of control. Her wolf had always bucked against her grandparents’ strictness—not in defiance, but out of her protectiveness toward Frankie.

She walked between the white columns and dashed up the steps. The housekeeper, Edna, opened the door and smiled. “Hello, Frankie.”

It was a very informal greeting for a housekeeper, but Edna had been good to Frankie over the years, encouraging and supporting her when her grandparents didn’t. Usually Frankie would talk with her a little. Today she was too anxious to speak to her grandparents.

With only an absentminded greeting for Edna, Frankie headed inside. The house was as classy on the inside as it was on the outside. Bright and spacious, with chandeliers, antiques, and crown moldings. There was plenty of artistic decor throughout, but not even one of her sculptures—it was a statement that her grandparents didn’t approve of her chosen profession.

Her grandparents loved her, but they’d never understood her. Never understood that there hadn’t really been a choice for her. Sculpting wasn’t something she did to pass the time or amuse herself. There was a drive inside her to create, to shut out the world while she disappeared into her own. It made her feel alive. Maybe they didn’t understand because, though they were both ambitious, neither of them had a “passion.”