A Mothers Warmth Novels & Stories

Dad sits at the head of the table with a coffee too strong to be healthy, eyes red rimmed from a night of too little sleep, hands clenched around the mug as if it holds the courage he’s never quite learned to offer. “Today,” Mom says, theatrically calm. “Today we begin a new chapter.” She glances at me with that practised warmth that can coax a smile from a wolf, though I’ve learned it’s not warmth at all, just a careful heat aimed at keeping me docile.

a deep voice whispered, but I couldn't make out the words. All I knew was that I needed that safety. I reached out blindly, grabbed onto the heat source, and pulled it into my arms. Suddenly, the world spun. I hit something hard and hot—a wall of muscle—and we fell onto the soft bedding together. It was so warm. The heat started chasing away the chill in my bones. It had to be my mother protecting me. "Mom..." I pressed closer to the heat, seeking more warmth. "Mom, I missed you so much..."

At least it causes her eyes to flicker open, slightly. “What is it baby?” “You need to wake up, Momma, you have to eat.” “No eat.” “Yes, come on, please.” She tries to move me away but she’s too weak. My mother must way nothing more than a feather. It’s shocking to see her hip bones protrude through her jean clad legs, and how her rib cage shows through her halter top. Damn she must be cold; I mean it’s fall right now and we don’t exactly have the cash for round the clock heating.

Theo beamed up at her, his eyes shining with appreciation and love for his Mama Hazel. As they sat together in the cozy corner of the mansion, Hazel wrapped Theo in a warm embrace, savoring the precious bond they shared. In that serene moment of quiet connection, mother and child found solace in each other's company, their hearts intertwined in a tapestry of love and understanding.

The wound looked angry, red and wet and torn, the stitches pulled apart like they’d given up. My stomach turned. My mother inhaled sharply. Then she placed her hand over it. I expected pressure. Pain. Maybe another scolding. Instead, Warmth bloomed beneath her palm. Not the warmth of skin. Something deeper. Something impossible. I sucked in a breath as a soft light flickered from between her fingers. Faint at first. Then brighter. A pale glow poured over my wound like moonlight turned liquid. My eyes widened. My whole body went rigid. “Mum…” I whispered, voice trembling. “What, what is that?”

I fainted again after hearing that from my father. When I woke up again, father and mother were either of my side holding my hands. "You can let go. I won't go anywhere." Mother came closer to me saying, "Hailey, please calm down. Don't get tense…" A tear escaped my eyes as I stared at her and said, "She's my best friend, mom. She was." And cried thinking about her. Mom caressed my head as she was listening to me. I jumped into her arms and cried in her embrace as she caressed my back.

My mother, Sophie Nash, was also my homeroom teacher, and she loved nothing more than using me to assert her authority. She was convinced that the worse off I was, the more afraid my classmates would be, and the higher her authority would be. Once, when I passed an eraser to a classmate during class, she slapped me so hard across the face in front of the whole class that my face swelled up. Another time, after I secretly ate a crumb of a classmate’s snack during recess, my mom dragged me up to the front of the classroom and pricked my lip with a needle until blood gushed out. Later, when a classmate was caught by the vice principal for having a romantic relationship while underaged, my m

Where the warmth had always— *Always—* Been present. Even when she was at her lowest. Even when the pack had been cruelest. Even when she had been most alone and most convinced she was inadequate and most certain nothing would ever change— *The warmth.* Her mother. In the blood. *This whole time.* Luna breathed. Fought for composure. Found it. Held it. The way her mother's voice had held even in the memory. Fierce and clear and present even at the edge of everything.

I whispered, a warm feeling welling up in my heart. As time went by, the tension in our home seemed to grow even thicker as darkness enveloped us. I went into the bathroom, ready to wash off the day's fatigue, but my heart still struggled to calm down. The moment I closed the door, I made a point of checking the lock to make sure it was locked. I had recently cultivated this habit as a form of self-preservation. The water gurgled, and I tried to immerse myself in the comfort of its heat, but my thoughts were unbridled and uncontrollable. I kept thinking back to Victor's malicious gaze, and my heart was filled with unease.

Julian cooed, pulling me into his arms and stroking my hair. "No, it was reality," I murmured in a raspy voice. Apparently, I hadn't only been crying in my dream, "a reality that can never be changed." "Want to talk about it?" Julian asked in a soothing, silky tone. I began tracing the lines of Julian's abdominal muscles as I said, "My mother's name was Marinette. She was beautiful with he dirty blonde hair that fell over her shoulders and tanned skin from being out in the sun so often. She had the warmest set of brown eyes that made you feel comfortable."