Quest for Love and Blood

Chapter 12: Meeting Mom

IVY'S POV

The black dress shirt clung to my back as I adjusted the bulletproof vest underneath it. Not because I expected trouble—Raymond made it clear this visit to my father was meant to be clean and fast—but because, well, paranoia was now my closest friend.

I looked at myself in the mirror.

Black slacks. Tucked shirt. Thin chain. Detective Adria Rae in all her borrowed authority. My badge looked so real it actually gave me anxiety.

A Luna-Witch hybrid disguised as a cop to visit her half-conscious mother and worried father?

The irony wasn’t lost on me.

I dabbed some light gloss, swiped mascara, both gotten from Jade, across lashes I’d barely remembered to curl, and stared at myself for a beat longer than necessary.

This was the last time I’d see him for a while.

Assuming everything went as planned—and with Diego Cavalero in the picture, that was a pretty massive assumption—I’d be neck-deep in war, ritual, bloodline chaos, and unholy bonds.

The thought made me feel smaller than I liked to admit.

A soft knock echoed at my door.

“Yeah?” I called, sliding in a single diamond stud.

“Ivy,” Raymond’s voice came muffled through the door. “We leave in five.”

I took a breath, then opened the door just as he stepped out of his.

And *God have mercy*—

I blinked.

Hard.

He wore a deep navy suit that fit like it had been custom-made by angels with very good taste. Three buttons of his white shirt were undone, showing just enough smooth, pale skin to make my thoughts misfire. He had on sunglasses tucked at his collar and the badge hung effortlessly from his breast pocket. Casual. Deadly. Unfairly attractive.

He smirked.

This hearing thoughts s**t ain't funny

“You do know you’re disguising as a *detective*, not a hot model, right?” I quipped, forcing nonchalance.

Raymond turned his eyes to me—slowly—and offered the tiniest smirk.

“Thanks for the compliments,” he replied. “We’re behind schedule.”

No retort. Just that smirk. Which, for some reason, left my heart doing little hiccups.

—

We made our way down the wide staircase of the Hart Manor. The main lounge was dimly lit, warm-toned, elegant—but the bar hub near the living room had its own little pocket of rebellion. Soft jazz played through vintage speakers, and Jade was perched on a leather stool, legs crossed, vodka glass swirling lazily in her hand. Damien leaned beside her, pouring another.

“Look who decided to look like trouble in a suit,” Jade called out when she saw Raymond.

“Look who decided to flirt with a vodka bottle before noon,” he shot back, straight-faced.

Damien chuckled. “Grey’s lending his car. Less heat, more class.”

Jade turned her eyes to me and whistled. “Damn, Vee. You clean up scary-good.”

I smirked. “Try not to miss me too much.”

They both raised their glasses. “We won’t.”

Raymond checked his watch.

I coughed deliberately. Twice.

Jade smirked at me. “Oh, someone wants attention.”

Before I could reply, the front door opened and in walked *Grey Hart*—Raymond’s stepbrother.

About an inch shorter. Lighter hair. Darker grin.

He was all charm and boyish cockiness as he walked in, slapping palms with Damien, then Raymond. His eyes did a sweep—and then landed on me.

And *lingered*.

“Damn,” he muttered, grinning. “Who’s the—”

Raymond glared.

Grey coughed, immediately adjusting. “Right. Sorry. Detective Quinn or Rae, I assume.”

I nodded coolly. “And this is my partner, Detective Hart or.....?”

Jade snorted behind me.

“Let’s get going,” Raymond said, already moving toward the door.

Grey tossed Damien the keys. “Treat her nice, she’s got bulletproof windows and a fresh scrub on the license.”

We stepped out into the driveway. The car was a sleek black Chrysler, gleaming in the mid-morning light. Jade leaned in, hugged me once.

“Go be terrifying,” she whispered.

I nodded.

Raymond opened the passenger door. “After you, Detective.”

---

The car was quieter than expected.

Grey’s Chrysler had the kind of leather seats that made you sit straighter just by existing. No smell of cigarettes, no junk in the back—just sleek, military-grade calm. The tinted windows added a layer of detachment from the outside world, making it easier to pretend this wasn’t real. That I wasn’t on my way to see my mother in a coma, wearing a fake badge, with a vampire prince as my backup.

Raymond drove, eyes focused ahead, one hand on the wheel, the other resting lightly over the gearshift.

I should’ve been calm too.

But every block we passed tightened my chest.

“You don’t have to be nervous,” he said quietly.

“I’m not.”

“You’re gripping your ID badge like it insulted your father.”

I looked down. My knuckles were white around the plastic card. “Right.”

I forced myself to loosen it.

We didn’t say much else the rest of the ride. But it wasn’t uncomfortable. Just… tense. Weighted. There was an energy between us now. Something unspoken. Maybe because of the marks on our necks, maybe because of last night on the balcony.

Or maybe because we both knew this moment was personal.

Not supernatural. Not strategy.

Just family.

—

*The hospital smelled like antiseptic and sadness.*

White walls. Pale lights. Nurses that looked too tired and coffee cups that looked too old. We walked through the front entrance like we belonged—Raymond with his easy authority, and me with my heart pounding against my ribs.

The receptionist looked up.

She was young, maybe early twenties. Pink lipstick. Curly blonde ponytail. When her eyes landed on Raymond, her mouth parted just slightly.

I saw it.

The quick scan down his suit. The little tuck of her hair behind her ear.

And I hated it.

“Can I help you?” she asked, too sweet.

I pulled out my badge. “Detectives Rae and Hartford. We need to see Mr. Bruno Quinn. VVIP floor. It’s urgent.”

She barely glanced at my badge, her eyes back on Raymond. “Um… okay. Room 5A. Last elevator on the left.”

Raymond nodded once. “Thank you.”

As we turned to walk, I cast a glance over my shoulder.

The receptionist was *still* watching him.

And smiling.

I didn’t glare.

I *glowered*.

She caught it—and immediately looked back at her computer.

Raymond didn’t say anything until we reached the elevator.

Then, as he pressed the button, he turned his head slightly toward me and said, with a barely-contained smirk, “You didn’t have to glare at her.”

“I wasn’t glaring.”

“You definitely were.”

I crossed my arms. “She was drooling. On-duty.”

“She’s human,” he said. “Get used to it, if you’re going to be around me more often.”

I blinked.

Wait—

Before I could say anything, the elevator chimed open.

He stepped in. “Go talk to your father. I’ll be outside. Watching.”

“Raymond—”

But he was already leaning against the elevator wall, pressing the floor button, jaw set like stone.

The doors slid closed between us.

---

The hallway to Room 5A was colder than the rest of the floor.

I walked slowly, counting my steps. Each one brought me closer to a woman I hadn’t spoken to properly in days. A woman who used to tower over me with fire in her voice, and who now lay somewhere between life and death because of Diego Cavalero’s hit squad.

I reached the door.

Paused.

Breathed.

Then I opened it.

Dad wasn't in

The beeping was soft and rhythmic. Machines lined the right wall. My Mother—*Nora Quinn*—lay in the center of the room, skin pale, jaw slack, tubes at her arms. She looked… small.

She had never looked small before.

Not when she’d lectured me for sneaking out at seventeen. Not when she screamed at the nurses the day Granny died. Not even when I told her I was building a company from scratch and she asked if I was “serious about that foolishness.” But supported me all the way.

Nora Quinn was always loud. Always fire and fight and steel.

Now she barely breathed.

“Hi, Mom,” I said quietly, walking to the side of the bed.

No response. Of course not.

I pulled the chair closer and sat.

“I don’t know if you can hear me. The nurses said you had good brain activity. That sometimes people wake up after weeks. Months.” I swallowed. “So I’m going to talk. Just in case.”

I looked down at her hands.

Strong hands. Big hands. Calloused palms from years of construction, rebuilding, and the occasional swing of a wrench when something broke in the kitchen, when Dad went on his business trips.

“I’m going away for a while. Don’t panic, I didn’t do anything illegal. Not exactly.” I gave a weak chuckle. “I just… there’s something I have to finish. Something dangerous.”

My voice softened.

“There’s a war coming, Mom. Not the kind you taught me about. Not the kind you can punch or shoot or reason with. This is deeper. Blood-deep. It’s witches and wolves and old magic. And I’m in the middle of it.”

I looked up at her face.

Eyes closed. Mouth slightly open. Chest rising in even, artificial rhythm.

“You always thought I’d be the one to stay out of trouble. Jade was the wild one, remember? But here I am—your quiet little Ivy—neck-deep in prophecy.”

A tear slipped down my cheek. I wiped it before it could fall further.

“There’s this guy,” I whispered. “Raymond. You wouldn’t like him at first. He’s too serious. Too cold. But he’s… good. Strong. Smart. And somehow—impossibly—we’re connected. Bonded. Vampires have this thing called mating marks. It’s real.”

I reached out and took Mom's hand.

“I didn’t want this, you know? I didn’t choose to be part of some bloodline war. I didn’t ask to lead anyone. But I think I have to now. Because if I don’t… people die.”

I leaned forward.

“I’ll be okay, Mom. But I needed you to know where I was going. Why. I needed you to hear my voice again before I disappeared into that world.”

I stood slowly.

“I’ll come back. I swear. I’ll bring the fight to them and I’ll come back.So wake up, okay? Wake up and yell at me. Tell me I’m reckless. That I’m too much like Dad. Just—wake up.”

The machines kept beeping.

I leaned down, pressed a kiss toher forehead.

“I love you.”

Then I turned to leave.