My Mother's Deceit

As the meal drew to a close and the wolves began their boisterous departures, I took my chance. "I should go home," I announced, my voice steady despite the inner turmoil.
"Let me come with you," Shadow offered, his protective instincts flaring.
But I shook my head, resolute. "No, I need some time to think. To breathe."
He searched my face, likely seeing the silent plea for understanding, and after a moment, he relented. "Alright. But call if you need me, Amina. Day or night, I'm here."
"Thank" - the word caught in my throat, appreciation mingled with the sorrow that I couldn't quite shake. With a final squeeze of assurance to my shoulder, he stepped back, granting me the space I so desperately craved.
As I left the pack house, the weight of the day pressed down upon me, and yet, I felt an odd sense of relief. For now, at least, I would walk alone, the echoes of my footsteps a testament to the resolve that began to form amidst the shards of my regret.
The silence of my home wrapped around me like a shroud as I stepped through the front door, the echo of my own footsteps stark against the hush. I had expected the usual bustle, the distant hum of life that always filled the rooms, but instead, I found emptiness.
"Mrs. Donahue?" I called out, my voice sounding foreign in the stillness. The clatter of porcelain on porcelain answered back, and then the maid appeared around the corner, her face drawn tight with concern.
"Miss Amina," she began, wringing her hands in the hem of her apron, "everyone's gone to the city hall. There's been a community meeting called. One of our own... one of your father's men was killed."
A cold dread settled over me, seeping into my bones. Not another death, not more blood spilled. I felt the weight of the day's events pressing down, the regret for what had happened in the woods now compounded by this fresh horror. Without a word, I turned back towards the door, my heart racing with a mix of fear and an inexplicable sense of responsibility.
The city hall loomed before me, its stately facade now a beacon for the somber crowd that had gathered. Murmurs of conversation buzzed like angry bees as I pushed through the throng, searching for familiar faces, for answers. At the center of the hall, beneath the grand chandelier's glow, my father stood, his posture rigid with barely contained fury.
"Attention!" His voice cut through the murmurs, demanding silence. "We have been betrayed, stabbed in the back by one of our own. And I will not rest until the traitor is brought to justice." He paused, his gaze sweeping over the sea of faces. "I am offering a substantial reward for any information leading to this coward who seeks to bring my family down, just as the Scotts were brought down before us."
Whispers erupted around me, speculation and suspicion intertwining as everyone considered their neighbors with newfound wariness. I stood there, rooted to the spot, the implications of my father's words sinking in. A traitor among us? Could it be related to the hunter’s death I had unwittingly caused?
My chest tightened at the thought, and I struggled to keep my composure amidst the rising tide of panic. Who could want to harm us so significantly? And more importantly, how could I, Amina, navigate this treacherous path that seemed to wind ever closer to my own doorstep?
Hushed conversations fragmented the heavy air as I edged closer to the outskirts of the crowd. The murmurings had a venomous undertone, each syllable laced with dread and suspicion. I could feel their eyes darting, not just looking at others but through them, trying to unearth secrets that might be skulking beneath the surface.
That's when I heard her voice, my mother's, dripping with feigned concern and insincerity. She stood elegantly by a cluster of well-dressed women, her fingers lightly touching the pearls at her throat as if she were a fragile bird caught in a snare of her own making.
"Did you know," my mother said in a hushed tone loud enough for surrounding ears, "that it was Amina who always requests those woods during hunting season? It’s quite strange, don't you think?"
I froze, my breath catching in my throat. There was no mistaking the implication woven into her words, nor the ripple of reaction it sent through the group. Her eyes met mine across the room, a flicker of something unreadable passing between us before she continued.
"Such a tragedy, what happened to that hunter," she went on, her voice tinged with a sorrow that didn't reach her eyes. "But it does make one wonder... perhaps it was Amina the werewolf was after."
A collective gasp rose from the group, their gazes snapping towards me like iron filings to a magnet. My heart pounded furiously against my ribs, threatening to burst. How could she? Why would she?
"Who knows what lurks in the hearts of those closest to us?" my mother mused aloud, her lips curling into a knowing smile that never touched the chill of her gaze.
Around me, the seeds of doubt took root, sprouting tendrils of fear and accusation that threatened to strangle the truth. And there I stood, amid the thorns of my mother's rumors, silently pleading for innocence while guilt shadowed every line of my face.