Seriously, There Are Werewolves?

Chapter 8

#Harper

After the dream, I was a little shook, to be honest.

Okay. A lot shook.

The whole glowing mum and shadow-wolf thing? Not exactly the bedtime story I signed up for.

So, obviously, I decided to do the only logical thing… pretend it never happened and find something, anything, to keep my brain from spiraling into full witchy meltdown.

Back home, “keeping busy” meant uni applications, going shopping with friends, surfing, sunbaking... ballet.

God, I miss dancing.

Just thinking about it brings a pang. A flash of pink satin ribbons, stage lights, and then…

Nope. Not going there. Not again.

I sat up in bed, rubbing my face. My hair, deep auburn, wild and knotted from sleep, was sticking up at weird angles. Clawed was curled on my feet like a heat pack, purring so hard I could feel the vibrations through the bed.

I ran a hand through my hair and glanced toward the window. The early light filtered through the trees in soft gold streaks, and for a second... It felt as if something was watching me.

Eh… “Shake it off, Harper”… “I am going bonkers,” I muttered to myself as I got out of bed.

I wandered out of my room and could already hear voices, animated, urgent. Not exactly “lazy Sunday morning” energy.

In the kitchen, I spotted Alec, Rowan, and a couple of others I didn’t recognise.

And, of course, that’s when I realised: I was in a singlet top and boxer shorts.

Perfect.

All heads turned. The room fell silent. I could practically hear the judgment bouncing off the mismatched ceramic tiles.

I froze mid-step. Considered retreat. Nope..too late. They’d all seen me. Might as well commit to the embarrassment.

Alec was trying not to laugh. Rowan looked like someone had just short-circuited his brain. His mouth was slightly open, eyebrows raised, eyes fixed.

On me.

Weird.

Moira stepped in like an MVP. “Good morning, sweetheart. Here’s your coffee,” she said, handing me my usual mug, the one that says ‘ray of bloody sunshine’ in aggressively cheerful lettering. A joke we’d started my first week here.

I accepted the mug like it was a life raft. “Cheers,” I mumbled.

No one said anything.

Rowan still hadn’t blinked.

“Did I miss the part where breakfast became a tactical briefing?” I asked, taking a sip and raising an eyebrow. “Or is this the werewolf version of brunch?”

That broke the tension. Alec snorted.

“Love the outfit,” he said. “Very ‘feral chic.’”

“Thanks. I was going for ‘accidental hostage meets sleep-deprived ballerina,’” I shot back. “Nailed it, yeah?”

“Ten out of ten.”

Moira cleared her throat. “Pack business,” she said, giving me a look that said, don’t ask, don’t poke.

Right. Got it. Emergency wolf things. Magic potions. Probably someone needed de-hexing.

I nodded like I totally belonged in this conversation, then backed slowly out of the room, clutching my coffee like it was made of gold.

Once I was dressed like an actual human, in leggings, an oversized jumper, and dignity intact, I escaped outside.

The air was crisp and cool, the morning sun slicing through the trees. I let out a slow breath and wandered through the backyard, Clawed following me like a furry orange shadow.

We stopped at a grassy patch between Aunt Moira’s garden beds. Most of them were wild and half-abandoned, green chaos bursting from crooked wooden frames. But they smelled amazing! sharp mint, sweet basil, musky lavender, something lemony.

I flopped down in the grass. Clawed sat beside me, licking a paw like he had important grooming to do.

That’s when I saw it.

A single dandelion. Bold. Smug. Too yellow for its own good.

I yanked it out.

And then another.

And then five more.

Cue hyperfocus.

My brain locked on like the weeds had personally offended me. One minute I was weeding out of boredom, the next I was reorganising the whole damn bed.

And weirdly… I liked it.

There was something kind of hypnotic about it, he feel of the dirt, the rhythm of pulling, the scent of the crushed herbs mixing in the breeze.

The garden became a zone. A no-thoughts, no-magic, no-dead-parents zone.

Just me. And the plants. And Clawed swatting at butterflies like a tiny ginger assassin.

After a while, I started to slow down, and I wandered further after that. Through the back gate. Into the forrest a little..

Not deep, just far enough that the trees opened up into another sun-dappled clearing.

There were wildflowers everywhere. Purple, yellow, white. A few herbs I recognised from Moira’s kitchen, others I didn’t.

And the trees.. tall and ancient, like they’d been waiting a thousand years just to eavesdrop on my anxiety.

I stood still for a long time, just listening.

Birds chirped overhead. A breeze stirred the leaves. Somewhere deeper in the woods, a branch cracked. Something big moving.

And for a moment, I caught a flash of movement.

Low to the ground. Fast.

A wolf.

Or something close enough.

But it didn’t come near. Just vanished into the trees again, like it hadn’t been there at all.

It didn’t bother me as much as it would of a week ago, so I sat down and took in the sun,. And let my mind rest.

But even as I found this weird, quiet rhythm, me, the garden, the trees, the fat cat constantly in my business..I made a choice.

No magic.

No spells.

No ancient destiny or bloodline or whatever it was everyone thought I was meant to step into.

I didn’t want that life.

I didn’t want glowing hands or cryptic dreams or to be “connected to the forest.”

I wanted to be left alone.

To exist. To breathe. To maybe keep the garden from being devoured by weeds.

That was enough.

I was still sitting in the clearing, fingers stained green from ripping up some stubborn creeping vine, when I heard footsteps. Soft ones.

I turned, squinting against the light.

Someone was walking from the direction of the cottage.

A girl, my age, maybe a bit younger. Lean build, dark curls pulled back into a rough ponytail, sharp cheekbones, and a scuffed hoodie that looked like it had seen more training sessions than actual laundry.

She slowed when she saw me.

Didn’t speak right away, just glanced down at Clawed, who blinked at her like he was deciding whether or not to bite her ankle.

“Hey,” she said finally. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to sneak up.”

“You didn’t,” I said. “I’m just a little twitchy these days. Side effect of being dumped in the middle of a werewolf commune.”

She gave a small smile. “Yeah, I heard. New human girl. Fiery temper. Scares Jackson.”

“Wow. Word travels fast,” I said. “Do I get a nickname, or is that still under review?”

She gave a short laugh, and I caught the glint of something warm behind her guarded look.

“I’m Elise,” she said. “I tagged along this morning with the patrol group. Not important enough to be inside for the real meeting.”

She said it casually, but there was a flicker of something behind the words.

“Elise,” I repeated. “Right. One of the enforcer trainees, yeah?”

“Trying to be,” she said, then added, “You’re Harper.”

“Depends who you ask.”

That made her smile again.

She hesitated, then gestured to the grass beside me. “Mind if I sit?”

I shrugged. “Free country. Or… is it?. Whatever.”

She plopped down, cross-legged, and let out a breath like she’d been holding it for a while.

“This place gets loud,” she said. “Even when no one’s talking.”

I didn’t respond right away. Just looked at the trees, the wildflowers, the patch of stubborn mint I’d declared war on earlier.

“Yeah,” I said finally. “It really does.”

We sat there for a while, not talking. Just letting the quiet settle.

I didn’t know it yet, but that was the start of something solid.

The kind of friend who doesn’t need to fill every silence.

The kind I didn’t know I needed.

#Vote#!