Chapter 5
1379 Words
Ellie's POV:
“You don’t have to do this every time I visit, Nema,” I say as she sets an entire tray of lavender cookies in front of me.
“Shh, girl. You’re thin as a twig. Eat up.”
I’m not actually that thin—not anymore. I’ve finally put on some weight, at least in the places that matter. I’m growing into my body. And even though Nema’s slouched with age, I’m only five-six. I just feel like a giant around her.
She uses her cane to shuffle to the chair across from me, then pushes her long, faded green braid over her shoulder and stares me down, eyes unblinking.
“Really?” I groan. But I lean forward, grab a cookie, and shove the whole thing in my mouth, grinning at her with cheeks stuffed full.
“You’re filthy,” she mutters, rolling her eyes as she picks up her book again.
The cookies taste like childhood. My mother used to bake them for me at least once a month. Now that she’s gone, Nema keeps up the tradition. She’s all I have left on my witch side. And she’s getting old—too old—and I hate even imagining life without her. It hurts too much.
She’s like a mother to me in so many ways. That’s why, every month without fail, I come down here to see her.
“Nema?”
“Mmm?” She doesn’t look up from her pages.
I hesitate, then finally say it. “I’ve been having weird dreams lately.”
She keeps reading. “Maybe I shouldn’t call them dreams… more like nightmares.”
That makes her glance up. “Go on.”
“Okay, um… in these nightmares, it’s like I’m seeing life through someone else’s eyes. Like I’m actually feeling what they’re feeling.”
“When did this start?” Now she’s giving me her full attention, eyes sharp.
“About a month ago. But the dreams are getting worse.”
“How do you mean?”
“This.” I set my wrists on the table. The scratch on my face has mostly healed—thanks to my werewolf side, even if I don’t heal as fast as a full wolf—but the marks on my wrists are still there, plain as day.
I push my wrist closer. She takes it, her brow creasing, worry etched into every line on her face.
“How did you get these? I knew letting you stay with those good-for-nothing werewolves was a bad idea—”
“What? No!” I cut her off. “That’s not it. I’m trying to tell you, it’s the dreams. One minute I’m asleep, the next I’m waking up in pain, exactly where I was struck in the dream. This morning was the first time the marks actually showed up.”
“It’s your eighteenth birthday,” she says, like it’s just a fact.
I just blink. “I thought we agreed—no birthdays. And how does that help me right now?” I wave my wrist at her.
“You’ve been away too long. Eat the cookies, Ellie. They’ll make it better.” She pushes the plate closer.
“Nema? How in the world—”
“Just eat them!” she snaps, cutting me off, way too eager.
My stomach twists. “Nema, what’s going on?”
She gets up and heads to the kitchen, turning on the kettle. I watch her grab her herbs, piling them next to the cookie tin.
“Why are you putting those in the tea?” My voice drops. “What’s in the cookies?”
She doesn’t answer.
“What’s in the cookies!” I shout, shoving the tray away from me.
She jumps, then slowly turns to face me. “Ellie, please. Sit down.”
“No! Not until you tell me why. Why do you need me to eat the cookies? Why are you putting herbs in my tea?”
I look around, heart racing. This is my Nema. My whole life. My safe place. “Are you… drugging me?” I whisper, sinking back into the chair as memories flash—years of visits, of cookies. “Have you been drugging me?”
She lets out a long, heavy sigh. “I’m a witch, Ellie. I don’t drug people. We were only ever trying to help you.”
“We?” My voice cracks.
“Sybil. Your mother. And me. Ellie, the worst thing for your mother was falling in love with a werewolf. We couldn’t risk you being mated to one.”
“But you said—I couldn’t have a mate. That it was impossible!” My voice is shaking. “Since I was a kid, you both promised me a mate wasn’t in my future!”
I start pacing the tiny kitchen, fists clenched. None of this makes sense. Or maybe it does—and I just don’t want to face it. My mother, Sybil, lied to me too?
“What’s going on?” I yell.
“Please. Sit down. I’ll explain.”
She moves to the couch. I follow, sinking into the rocking chair across from her. My pulse is wild. “I want the truth.”
“Ellie… even though you take after your mother, there was always a chance you’d have a mate.”
“A chance?” It comes out as barely a breath.
“Maybe more than a chance.” She won’t look at me.
“Nema! The truth.”
“Alright!” she snaps. “You have a mate. But he’s no good, Ellie. He’s no good for you.”
“You know who he is?” I’m practically on the edge of the chair.
“Not exactly. But when you were a child, I had a vision. Of you with him. And chaos. Pain. It’s better if you let me help you forget. Let me mask you from him.”
“Mask me? Is that what the cookies have been doing?” Suddenly everything clicks—every monthly visit, every bite, every “eat up.”
She looks defeated. “Yes. That’s exactly what they’ve been doing. They don’t block the bond completely, but they dull it. If he were right in front of you today, he might suspect—but your scent’s masked. He’d never be sure.”
“I can’t believe this.” I sink back, feeling hollow.
Nema starts to stand, like she wants to comfort me. I flinch away and storm to the kitchen. I grab a bunch of cookies, shoving them into a bag, and make for the door.
“Where are you going, child?”
I ignore her, stepping past the barrier that marks her property. Before I cross it completely, I stop and turn back.
“One last thing. And don’t you dare lie. After everything, you owe me that. Why am I having these dreams? What do they mean?”
Nema leans against the doorframe, clutching it like it’s the only thing holding her up. Her age seems to hit her all at once.
“It could be visions of your mate,” she says softly. “Either something he’s already lived through… or something he’s living right now.”
I turn again, heading straight for the packhouse.
“El! What are you going to do? You can’t find him—werewolves are no good!”
“My father was a werewolf! He loved me. He loved Sybil. I’m part werewolf, for f**k’s sake!”
“Watch your tone!”
“Why?” I shout. “You’ve been lying to me my entire damn life!”
Her face crumples, like I’ve struck her. “Ellie, I’m sorry. I only wanted to protect you.” Tears stream down her cheeks. I look at her—really look—and realize just how old she is now. How tired.
“Nema, I love you. I do. I just… I need time.”
And then I walk away, clutching that cursed bag of cookies, with a brand new determination burning inside me. I’m going to find him. Whoever he is. I need to know the truth—about him, about me, about everything.
- Writer
