CHAPTER 11

CATRIONA

Jayden was up instantly, crossing the room in seconds.

“What did he say?” he asked, voice already shifting lower, sharper.

But Abriel didn’t respond.

His body wavered.

And then he collapsed forward—straight into my arms.

“Baby!” I caught him against my chest, sitting back on the edge of the bed as I cradled him. His little body was trembling, and his skin felt clammy against mine.

“It’s okay, it’s okay, I’ve got you,” I whispered, trying to keep my voice from shaking. “I’m right here. Mummy’s right here.”

He curled into me like he was trying to hide from the world.

Then, in the softest, hoarse whisper, he said:

> “I’m hungry.”

Relief and panic collided in my chest.

“Okay, baby, I made your favourite,” I said, kissing the top of his head. “Let’s eat.”

I stood with him wrapped around me and carried him gently to the table, setting him on my lap as I began to feed him small pieces of the pancake, one by one.

But my hands were shaking.

My mind wasn't even here—I was still back in that moment, in that voice—he’s coming.

I reached for his mug of warm milk, trying to steady it, but it slipped too fast—spilling all over his lap.

“Shit!” I gasped. “Abriel! Did I burn you?”

He flinched at my voice but didn’t cry.

I quickly checked the cup. The milk was barely warm. Thank the moon.

Still, guilt crushed me.

“I’m so sorry, baby,” I whispered, dabbing at his pyjamas with a napkin.

Jayden stepped forward calmly and reached for him. “Here,” he said, lifting Abriel with ease and placing him gently into the empty chair between us. “He’s okay.”

His calmness grounded me.

I exhaled slowly, still shaken, but grateful. Jayden sat beside Abriel, resting a steady hand on his back. His voice dropped lower, quieter—just for me.

“We’re going to figure this out,” he said. “Whatever this is, we’ll stop it. And now that he’s opening up… he’s not going to want to see you distressed.”

I nodded slowly and gave a small, shaky smile.

Abriel reached for another piece of pancake and ate it quietly, still not speaking, but no longer in that blank stare.

It was something.

Jayden hadn’t touched his plate. Just the coffee.

He sat stiffly, his jaw flexing every so often as if his body was trying to shake off something it couldn’t.

“You’re not eating,” I said, trying to soften the weight in my voice. “Talk to me. What’s wrong?”

He took another sip of coffee, eyes still on the window.

“I spoke to Jerome this morning,” he said, voice low. “He showed me something one of the scouts found.”

My chest tightened. “What was it?”

He set the cup down and looked at me. “Tracks. Big. Not wolves. Not human. Not rogue. Something heavier.”

He paused.

“And they didn’t lead in or out of the territory. They started near the northern ridge. Like it appeared from thin air.”

I swallowed hard. “Jayden… is it serious?”

His answer came without hesitation.

“Yes,” he said, eyes hardening. “It is, Catriona. Whatever it is—it’s not far from our borders. It’s in the shadows now.”

And just like that… the air in the room changed again.

As Abriel popped the last piece of pancake into his mouth, I smiled through the quiet tension lingering in my chest.

“That’s my good boy,” I said softly, brushing a crumb from his cheek. “Now let’s go give you a bath. You’ve got syrup in your hair, and don’t lie—I saw it.”

He blinked at me innocently, holding Mr. Patches tight, like I might forget the bath if he looked cute enough.

Nice try.

I stood, scooping him up, and glanced over my shoulder at Jayden. “At least touch your breakfast, sir. Respect my effort.”

Jayden only gave me a soft grunt, sipping more coffee, eyes clearly still locked on that conversation with Jerome and our son's words. His mind was already half gone, scanning territory lines and tracking threats no one else could see.

I carried Abriel back into his room and set him on the bathroom counter, carefully peeling off his syrup-stained pyjamas.

The bath was warm, the scent of the vanilla soap soothing. I washed his curls slowly, letting the silence between us just be. When I dried him off and changed him into fresh clothes, he sat still, docile… but something about his eyes still felt elsewhere.

I sat down on the edge of his bed, cradling him gently in my lap.

“Can we talk, baby?” I asked, brushing back the damp hair from his forehead. “About what you said earlier? Who told you he’s not happy?”

He pulled away from me slowly, sliding off my lap to the floor without meeting my eyes.

“I’m going to the playroom,” he said quietly.

I tried to keep my voice light. “Okay. Just be careful.”

He nodded and padded out the room.

I sat there for a moment, frozen in place. A knot of dread tightening in my chest.

Then, with a sigh, I stood and distracted myself by tidying his room—folding the pajamas, smoothing the sheets, putting the stuffed animals back in their places. My body moved on autopilot, but my mind spun out of control.

Who was he talking to? Why now? Why again?

What if this never stops?

What if they never leave him alone?

I sat back on the edge of the bed, staring at the floor, heart pounding. I couldn’t let him grow up haunted the way I was. I couldn’t let him carry this weight, not Abriel. Not my boy.

There had to be a solution.

An end to this.

And I needed to find it.

Fast.

My thoughts turned to the one person I had intentionally not contacted since yesterday.

My brother.

I stood up quickly and rushed back to our bedroom.

Jayden was gone. The table cleared, the tray missing. Of course, he took it downstairs himself.

I grabbed my phone from the nightstand.

Two missed calls from Edrine.

And a text.

> “Abriel is safe. He’s with me at Gabriel’s. Come quick.”

My jaw clenched as the rage I’d shoved down last night clawed its way back up.

I hit call.

He picked up after one ring. “Sister—”

“Don’t ‘sister’ me,” I snapped. “Bring your ass over here. You’ve got thirty minutes.”

I didn’t wait for his response.

I hung up.

The adrenaline fizzled, and I sat on the edge of the bed, pressing my palm to my forehead as the pressure bloomed behind my eyes.

Here it comes.

The headache.

Not from stress. Not from exhaustion.

But from trying to hold everything together…

Before it all falls apart again.

I closed my eyes and inhaled slowly.

Get it together, Catriona.

I needed to cool down before Edrine arrived—or I’d rip into him and forget what I even needed to ask.

I tidied our room first, straightening the bed, folding Jayden’s shirt from the night before, clearing the empty cup of coffee from the nightstand. Movements were small, but they steadied me.

When I finally made my way downstairs, the pack house had already come alive.

I smiled faintly, pushing my fatigue behind my spine.

“Catriona,” came a soft voice. “Here’s your breakfast.”

I turned to see Zelina, one of the cooks, handing me a tray—warm food and a cup of ginger tea.

“Thank you,” I said, meaning it more than she probably realized.

She nodded with a smile and moved on.

I sat down in the far corner, away from the usual buzz, and ate in silence. Every bite tasted like dust. I was hungry, but not really. I finished most of it anyway.

Afterwards, I stood, wiped my hands, and made my way toward the stairs. I needed to find Vanessa—if anyone knew how to connect with ancient spirits or counter dark energies, it was her.

But just as I reached the base of the staircase, I heard a voice behind me.

“Catriona.”

I turned.

Godmother stood at the bottom of the other hallway, her hands clasped, eyes soft but knowing.

“Can we talk for a moment?” she asked.

I sighed but nodded. “Of course.”

We stepped into one of the side parlours. The curtains were half-drawn, and the air smelled faintly of lavender. It was quiet. Too quiet.

She turned to me gently. “How are you, child? You look… worn down.”

I folded my arms, my heart suddenly tight in my chest. “I am, Godmother. I’m very worried about Abriel.”

She nodded slowly. “Is it about what happened yesterday?”

“That too. We talked about it, Jayden and I. It was just a misunderstanding.”

She tilted her head, frown lines forming near her brow. “You really think so?”

My brows furrowed. “What are you trying to say, Godmother?”

She didn’t answer right away.

My voice rose, sharper. “Are you saying I’m lying? Are you telling me you want to believe that… that thing—that spirit whispering to my son?”

Her voice remained calm, but her eyes were careful. “You don’t need to raise your voice, child. I’m just saying—”

“Saying what?” I snapped. “That Abriel is Gabriel’s? That I cheated on Jayden?”

Her face softened, pain washing across her features. “Catriona—”

“I told you,” I said, cutting her off, hands shaking now. “Whatever that thing is, it’s manipulating my son’s mind. Jayden is the father of my son. We are his parents.”

“Okay,” she said, lifting a hand gently. “Okay, Catriona. Relax. That’s not what I meant.”

Tears burned at the edge of my eyes, but I swallowed them down. My voice cracked, but I stood tall.

“Listen to me, Godmother. My son isn’t anyone else’s. He’s Jayden’s. You know I got pregnant again shortly after we lost our daughter. So where, exactly, was the time for me to run off to Gabriel, fall into his bed, and come back here with a baby?”

Her eyes closed for a moment. When she opened them again, guilt shimmered behind the wrinkles.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I didn’t mean to question you, child. I’m just… scared, too.”

I nodded tightly, lips pressed together.

“I need to speak to Vanessa,” I said, straightening up. “Now.”

Godmother gave a silent nod and stepped aside.

I walked out of the parlour, jaw clenched, blood burning.

If no one else believed me—if no one else could see how wrong this was—I’d find the truth myself.

And nothing was going to stop me.

I moved quickly through the corridors of the pack house, my heart still racing from the conversation with Godmother. My fists were clenched at my sides, my mind focused on one name—Vanessa.

If anyone could help me navigate this mess, it was her.

I turned down the corridor leading to the east wing. Vanessa’s door was already half open. I stepped inside without knocking.

She was there—standing near her herbs, tying up a bundle of dried leaves.

“Vanessa,” I said, my voice strained but urgent. “Can you help me? Please.”

She didn’t turn right away.

Her hands stilled.

Then her voice came—quiet, but firm.

> “They warned me not to help you with anything.”

The words hit like a slap.

I blinked. “What?”