Mothers Warmth Part 2 Novels & Stories

The chaos had become distant and muffled as I succumbed to the darkness. The warm, gentle touch of my mother’s hands continued to ground me in what was left of reality. Her face was so close that I could see the concern etched into every line and wrinkle. She was fighting for me, sending energy into me, and I could feel it in every fiber of my being. I could see her face become pale and haggard as she gave up her strength to imbue it into me.

My mother's face, etched with worry, was the first to come into focus. "Mom!" I croaked, the sound hoarse and strained. Her hand, warm and comforting, immediately clasped mine. Her touch, a gentle caress on my hair, sent a shiver down my spine. Her eyes, glistening with unshed tears, mirrored the turmoil within me. "Don't force yourself to talk," she whispered, her voice a soothing balm. "Just rest for now." I managed a slight nod, my body weary, my mind still adrift in the aftermath of the light.

Her mother searched for her through the crowd while she watched in amusement, she rushed down immediately, pushing through the crowds and to her mother who she hadn’t seen in a while. Barb Goodman, who had been searching for her daughter saw her approaching with open hands trying to initiate a hug. She opened her hands immediately and pulled her daughter into a warm embrace, Arlene pulled away a bit, and her mum patted her fluttering hair to the side and tucked them at the back of her ear. Barb took her daughters handbag and swung it on her shoulder while they walked towards the car.

The light inside the First Mother’s Cradle was no longer a blinding white: it had softened into a warm, iridescent violet that felt like a permanent living embrace. As the First Mother stood, her massive paws silent on the obsidian floor, the air in the sanctum began to vibrate with a frequency of pure, untainted creation. I stood before her: my Tempered Heart drumming a steady sixty beats per minute, but for the first time in fifteen years, I didn't feel like a doctor monitoring a patient. I felt like a daughter returning home.

"As for the headache, um, so far everything is tolerable up to this moment." The old man let out a crispy laugh before disengaging his hand on hers. It was then Helena turned into Chloe, smiled and cocooned her into a warm, affectionate embrace. Chloe slightly flinched because she didn't expect it. Afterwards, her mother-in-law pulled away from their hug and gaze at her. The fondness in the old woman's eyes was too sincere to withstand. Her being intimidated earlier was now gone, making her realize that his parents were warm, nice, and kind people.

Sonia hugged her, patting her back. “I want to take care of your child like it’s mine.” Sonia kept the hug for a while. Rose thanked her as tears dropped slowly from her eyes. “Clean your tears, you crybaby. Now let’s go get our baby some stuff,” she said, dragging Rose’s hand. Rose felt a sharp pain in her stomach as Sonia dragged her. She groaned in pain. “Rose, are you fine?” Sonia asked, placing her hand on her stomach gently. “I’m fine. I just need to sit.”

"This warmth you're feeling is totally normal. It's just part of the treatment, helps you relax and eases any discomfort." I jumped a little–I had not expected him to get so close. My ears have always been super sensitive, and the heat of his breath made my whole body go weak. The feeling only intensified. I was getting hotter by the second, and it had been so long since I had felt anything like this. Ever since the baby came, my husband and I had drifted apart. At this point, the rush of sensations was almost too much to bear. I started to squirm without even realizing it, biting my lip to try to keep myself under control.

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."

The moan was one of pure ecstasy, and it only grew louder as I approached. The voice sounded familiar… I knew that voice anywhere. Fueled with rage, I pushed open the door. I caught Mom lying in bed. The back of her blouse was pushed up, exposing a patch of skin. Bryan sat on the edge of the bed, his hand still on Mom’s back. Mom turned over and sat up. Her forehead was damp with sweat, and her cheeks flushed. She seemed flustered about seeing me.

It is strange how much I have come to feel what they feel. When one of the mothers smiles at her baby, warmth moves through me. When a father holds his newborn for the first time, my wolf seems to soften. When the family members gather around the beds, whispering and admiring tiny fingers and sleepy faces, I find myself smiling without realizing it. For a while, there is no room in my mind for anything else. I watch Martha, one of the healers, helping a new mother settle into the small, careful suggestions of caring for her baby, her voice low and patient as she guides the woman's hands, showing her how to support the small head, how to swaddle the baby.