Se connecterCharmaine. I watch as horror stains Emerald’s face. Iris never told her the truth. Neither did Gerald. Anger from all the truths the goddess revealed to me earlier this morning curls tight in my chest. Coiling and burning. “What are you saying?” Emerald snaps. “What are Innate born?” She demands. I meet her gaze, sympathy threading through my eyes despite the fire beneath my ribs. “Innate born… are werewolves who are born in their wolf forms. Protected by the goddess because of the danger they pose to the dark ones.” My voice drops, dark and heavy. I want to say just like the danger she poses to the dark one coming for her. But I don't say it. I swallow the words. And just like that, the memory detonates inside me. I was in the kitchen, making breakfast, the ordinary hum of a morning wrapping around me. Suddenly, a seizure seized my body. My vision fractured. I fell hard to the ground and then, instantly, I was elsewhere. In a trance. In the astral plane. Lights glowed all
Emerald. Saturday, 6th March. Next day. Ford Mansion. Late Evening. I pace the office at home, clenching my fists so tightly my nails bite into my palms. My eyes keep darting back and forth at the clock as I wait. No, starve for news from Scar. Not a word about him since last night. Not a whisper. Not a signal. Nothing. I’m out of my wits’ end, trapped in this restless waiting. Memories of dinner last night crash into me with full force. Asher’s outburst. The entire conversation circling around late Aunt Erianna, all because I brought her name up. And why was Scar so interested in Erianna? Why did that name affect him like that? I recall the way that glass shattered. The sharp crack still echoes in my chest. And not to talk of the way he bolted out of the room the moment he heard Aunt Primrose’s song. “Ugh!” I groan, sinking onto the sofa. My eyes burn. Hurt from crying. Crying because of the harsh words I threw at Asher mere seconds after Scar disappeared. Crying at what I did
Scar. “Scar, you’re hurt.” Emerald’s voice tears through my thoughts, but I don’t turn to her. I don’t move at all. My gaze stays locked on Primrose, pinned there like something feral has taken hold of me. “Scar…” Luke tries again, reaching for my hand. I yank it away before he can touch me, clamping my fingers into a fist. Blood drips, slow and steadily, but I ignore it. “Please… I will be fine.” A hollow chuckle leaves me, dry and empty. Then I look at Primrose again. “Mrs. Denvers, if you will be so kind, continue with your story.” My tone is polite and measured. A lie, because inside me, inside me is a fucking storm. “Scar, you’re bleeding...” “I will be fine, Emerald.” I snap, the impatience sharp enough to make her flinch. Regret briefly flickers in me. But I banish it. Not now. Not when everything I thought I knew is being torn apart. Not when they’ve just dragged my mother’s name through something I don’t even recognize. “I just need to know more… I need to know the
Primrose. Night. We sit at dinner now. Hot meals spread before us. Roast beef, potatoes, vegetables, and that savory white sauce, dripping thick over everything. And not to forget the wine Scar brought. Vintage. Expensive, even from the smell alone. Not to talk of the taste. Rich, deep, almost sinful. We all sit down. Quiet tension sparks across the table at just the sight of all of us gathered here, considering the recent developments and the argument that erupted between Asher, Luke, and I just minutes before Emerald and Scar arrived. Memory detonates inside me. The harsh words I threw at them echo loud and unforgiving in me. “What I am saying, Primrose, is you can’t just invite him for dinner without telling Asher and me. It’s inconsiderate of you, considering that our son has feelings for the woman he’s dating…” “So I’m just supposed to take permission from the almighty Luke and Asher, because Asher can’t grow some maturity and accept that Emerald was never his?” I snapped,
Scar. Friday, 5th March. One day later… Morning. I stand at the post office, waiting for the package I requested to arrive. My SIM card recovery finally pulled through. I got an email from their office a few days back. 'Dear Mr Icegard, We are happy to inform you that your old SIM card has been reinstated. You can now continue with us. We will be sending the new SIM pack to the address you provided, and we have included your current phone number so our delivery agent can locate you…' And now, I’m here. I rub my hands together, impatiently. My eyes dart around, scanning every face, every movement. Hoping no one from the pack notices me..No one is staring. Everyone is busy, wrapped up in their own lives. Good. Because I need that SIM card. I need access to my funds. So I can get a house somewhere around here, away from all the pack’s suffocating inclusivity. Not like I’m cutting them off. No. But I need my own space. A place where Emerald and I can breathe. A place where she
Emerald. Thursday, 4th March. Next day. Morning. Ford Mansion. Silvaton Ridge. The meeting hall is filled with aggrieved family members. People who lost their loved ones to the massacre that occurred three nights ago. I still can’t get my mind off the carnage that greeted me the following morning, when I finally accompanied Scar and Luke to see the bodies of our slaughtered pack members. Torn limbs. Torn flesh. It was all too gruesome. And the wailing of their loved ones, it cracked me in half. I remember crying on the way back. Scar had to pull the car over somewhere, just to hold me while I sobbed like I was breaking apart from the inside. All through that day, I stayed indoors and cried like a baby. And Scar, he stayed. He didn’t leave. He just stayed. Supported me. Much to my mum’s surprise. “Scar has been very attentive to you throughout this grieving moment,” Mum quietly acknowledged later that night, just before she went to bed. We were alone. Scar had gone to overs
Scar. Brooklyn. Saturday, January 30th. Next day. Night. “So you’re telling me that we still can’t solve the series of abductions that have occurred in recent days.” Chief Piefer snaps. His voice rings through the room, sharp and cracking. His face is flushed red with anger. We’re cooped up i
Emerald. Meanwhile. I reach inside my old room upstairs and halt. “Shit. I forgot my phone on my swing.” I groan out loud, already turning, already heading straight back for the door. I’m halfway down the stairs when I freeze. A voice reaches me. Arthur? No. That’s not possible. What the he
Emerald. Friday, 29th January. Next day. Morning. I park the car in front of the Denvers’ home. A white blanket of snow covers the entire ground like a second skin. It must have snowed sometime in the night. Dad’s voice from yesterday about the weather forecast, filters into my memory. “The for
Emerald. Wednesday, 27th January. Days later... Noon. Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep. The sound cuts through the hospital’s central alarm system, tearing my eyes away from the report I’d been writing moments ago. Every nerve in my body sharpens instantly. “Emergency, Doctor Ford! Cold Blue in cubi







