Chapter 53

The road to her parents’ house was a sad one.

The road stretched through Crescent territory, feeling like a faded memory, lined with towering pines that swayed in the evening breeze.

Clara sat in the back of the old pickup truck, her hands knotted in her lap, her face as pale as the moonlight she couldn’t stop staring at.

The tires made a loud noise as they crunched over gravel, every second felt like a reminder of late night drives with Liam, when they had counted the trees and sang loudly to songs they loved.

Now, the radio was silent, and the only sound was the sound of the engine and the pain in her chest.

She hadn’t slept in days, not really, her face looked like a ghost in the side mirror, her green eyes hollow, her dark hair looked scattered against her shoulders.

The burial was hours ago, but Liam’s grave was a weight she carried, its raw dirt and scattered flowers felt cemented into her mind.

Her navy hoodie felt too heavy, like it was soaked in the mist that had hung over the cemetery, and she tugged it tighter, as if it could hold her together.

Her parents sat at the front seat, they looked nervous as they both shared looks while driving.

Henriette, her mom, kept glancing back, her brown eyes soft but filled with worry, her dark hair had gray strands and tied in a messy bun.

Robert, her dad, held the steering wheel, his broad shoulders were stiff, his weathered face set in a way that felt like it was holding back a lot of emotions.

They had hidden her from the werewolf packs for years, protecting her moon-linked blood, a power she barely understood, a curse that had drawn danger to everyone she loved.

They’d found her too late, after Liam’s blood had stained her hands, after the world had cracked open.

Clara wanted to feel something for them, to bridge the gap of lost years, but her heart felt like a locked box, and the key was buried with Liam.

“It’s a good house,” Henriette said, her voice cutting through the silence, shaky and warm.

“Not fancy, but it’s home.” She said.

“Your cousins can’t wait to meet you.” She added as she turned in her seat, her hand reaching back, hesitating before brushing Clara’s knee.

“We’ve missed you so much, sweetheart.” She said.

Clara managed a nod, forcing her lips into a smile that felt like a lie.
“I’m happy to be here,” she said, her voice flat, the words tasting like dust.

She wasn’t happy.

She wasn’t anything.

She was a shell, going through the motions to keep her parents from worrying, to stop herself from falling apart.

The truck continued to drive, and she caught her dad looking at her in the rearview mirror. He looked worried, his eyes searching hers, like he could see the storm inside her.

Robert didn’t say much, but his quiet felt like understanding, a silent nod to her pain.

Just then the house came into view, a two-story place tucked against a wooded hill, its windows glowing yellow in the gray morning light.

It was old, with weathered stone walls and ivy crawling up the sides, the kind of place that looked like it held a hundred stories.

Smoke came out from the chimney, promising a warmth Clara wasn’t sure she’d feel.

The truck came to a stop in the gravel driveway, and the front door burst open, spilling out a crowd of relatives, cousins, an aunt, an uncle with a laugh that was as loud as thunder.

They rushed toward her, their voices a jumble of welcomes, their hands pulling her into hugs she wasn’t ready for.

Clara stood stiffly, letting them wrap their arms around her, her smile as shaky as dry leaves.

“Clara, you’re finally here!” said a girl about her age, her cousin Mara, with curly brown hair and a smile that reminded Clara too much of Jasmine.

“We’ve been dying to meet you!” Mara said warmly, the warmth felt like a knife, slicing through Clara’s defenses, and she mumbled a thanks, her throat still tight.

Inside, the house was even warmer than she expected.

A fire burnt in the living room, the scent of burning cedar mixing with the smell of fresh bread and something sweet roasting in the oven.

The dining room table was a mess of food, plates of sliced ham, mashed potatoes, green beans shining with butter, and a pie that smelled like apples and cinnamon.

Her family followed her to a chair, piling her plate high with food she couldn’t finish.

They talked over each other, their voices loud as they told stories about her childhood they had missed, about the years they’d spent looking for her after the packs forced them into hiding.

Clara tried to listen, nodding when she was supposed to, her smile felt like a mask she had taped on her face.

“Your mom’s eyes,” her uncle Ray said, leaning back in his chair, his voice filled with happiness as he looked at her.

“Henriette was always out there, staring at the moon like it was telling her things.” He chuckled, but Clara’s stomach twisted.

The moon.

That faint pulse in her blood, the moon-linked power she had and didn’t understand, she wondered if there was a link to it and her mom.

But what use was the power if it hadn’t protected Liam, it hadn’t stopped the wolf’s-bane dagger from stealing him away.

She saw it again, Liam’s face, his golden eyes fading as he whispered her name, she could still feel his warm blood on her hands.

The memory hit like a fist, and her breath began to tremble, the room began spinning.

The chatter faded to a dull buzz, and she grabbed the edge of the table, her nails digging into the wood.

Her heart was racing, trying to outrun the pain, but it was no use.

“Clara, honey?” Henriette’s voice was soft, and sounded worried, her hand resting on Clara’s arm.

“Are you okay?” She asked.

“I’m fine,” Clara said, barely a whisper.

She forced herself to look at her mom, saw the concern in those brown eyes, and hated the guilt it brought in her.

“Just tired.” She whispered.

“It’s been a long day.” She said and pushed out a smile, but it felt like pushing a rock up a hill.

Her family went back to talking, but their eyes showed they still had questions they didn’t want to ask.

She poked at her food, sliding a piece of ham around her plate to avoid their stares.

A memory replayed in her head, Liam at a packed barbecue, stealing a bite of her apple pie, his shoulder brushing hers, his grin making her heart skip.

The memory was a blade, sharp and deep, and she pushed her plate away, her stomach turning.

“I need some air,” she mumbled, standing so fast her chair scraped the floor.

She slipped out of the dining room, ignoring their worried looks, and found a quiet hallway filled with old photos in mismatched frames.

Faces she didn’t know stared down at her, their eyes seeming to judge her for falling apart.

She leaned against the wall, the cool plaster felt good on her as her breath came in shaky gasps.

The grief felt like a wave, dragging her under the water, and she didn’t fight it.

She saw Liam’s smile, heard his voice promising they’d face anything together, felt his arms around her in the quiet of their nights by the fire.

Then the dagger, the blood, the silence that swallowed everything.

Her knees began to shake, and she slid to the floor, hugging herself, trying to hold the pieces together.

Tears filled her eyes, but she wouldn’t let them fall, not here, where they’d see.

Just then soft footsteps broke the silence, and Mara appeared, her smile gone, her brown eyes looked gentle.

“It’s a lot, huh?” she said, sitting beside Clara on the floor.

“All of us, acting like we know you.” She said and chuckled.

“I’m sorry.” She said.

“We just… we’ve been waiting years for this.” Her voice was kind.

Clara nodded, her throat too tight to speak.

Mara’s hand squeezed hers, it felt warm, reminding her of Liam, but it wasn’t enough to pull her out of the dark.

“I just need a minute,” Clara managed, her voice rough, like she had been screaming.

Mara gave her a sad smile and left, her footsteps fading down the hall.

Clara stayed there, the cold floor freezing through her jeans.

She closed her eyes, begging the pain to ease, but it only grew sharper.

Just then another memory hit, it was of Liam in the woods, teaching her to track, his hand catching her when she tripped, his laughter in her ear.

She wanted to scream, to beg the universe to take her instead, to trade her life for his.

The thought was desperate, but it stuck, growing roots in the dark corners of her mind.

She stayed there for a few more minutes, unintentionally listening in on the maids who were cleaning up.

Clara caught a snatch of their talk, low and secretive.

“My grandma used to tell me about it,” one said, her voice hushed.

“An Alpha, young guy, strong as hell, who got killed too soon,They say a witch up on the mountain brought him back. Black magic, that’s what it was. A soul for a soul.”

Clara froze, her breath shaking.

The words were a match, lighting something dangerous inside her.

Resurrection.

Black magic.

A soul for a soul.

She shoved the thought away, scared of what it meant, but it still stayed on her mind.

She stood, dusting off her jeans, and forced herself back to the dining room.

Her family welcomed her with smiles.

The rest of the evening was a blur.

Clara played her part, nodding at stories, laughing softly at her uncle’s bad jokes, answering questions about her life with the pack.

But her mind was elsewhere, standing by Liam’s grave, wondering if those old stories were true, if there was a way to bring him back.

It was crazy, against everything the pack believed, but it was also a little bit of hope, and she held onto it like a lifeline.

When dinner ended, her parents walked her to a guest room, their faces filled with worry.

Clara hugged them, her arms stiff but trying, and said,

“Thanks for this.” She meant it, even if she couldn’t feel it.

They smiled, looking a little better as they left her alone.

She sat on the edge of the bed, staring out the window at the moon.

She lay down, but sleep never came no matter how hard she wanted it to.

Liam’s face filled her mind, his smile, his voice, the way he’d made her feel alive.

The maids’ words echoed, a dangerous promise: a soul for a soul.

It was a crazy idea, a betrayal of the pack’s code, but it was also a chance, and Clara wasn’t sure she was strong enough to let it go.

She stared at the ceiling, the moon’s light spilling across the room, and felt the pull of a mountain she didn’t yet know, a place where hope and madness might be the same thing.