10. Mira – The Past and Future
1294 Words
We settled at a small table in the glasshouse café. The soft glow from installations danced across Silas’s face.
He asked gently, “Mira, would you please tell me about your past, before you came to live in Evergreen Emerald Pack, about your mother.”
A lump formed in my throat.
“My mother’s name was… Amanda. I remember living in England or an English colony with the old brick houses, the bookshops. We used to have slow misty mornings with English breakfast.” Images flashed—me at five years old, running through a garden, chasing bubbles my father blew into the cold air.
“My father used to lift me onto his lap in his study. He had this… huge old desk. I remember coloring on his paperwork. He pretended to be mad.”
Silas chuckled softly.
“But…” I swallowed. “I just can’t remember his face or name, for that matter. No matter how hard I try. It’s like my mind hits a wall.”
Silas’s expression sharpened for a heartbeat—concern, recognition, something almost like fear—but then it softened again.
I continued, “We were at our neighbors when our house burned. My father was out of the city at that time. I remember seeing people leaving our house in black overalls with covered faces, like ninja or something. I lost everything that day. I used to have a crochet doll that I just loved. I named her Anna, who also burned in that building.” My voice cracked. “I could never get her back. Mom took me that day, and we left. I remember landing and then being on the run constantly. We stayed in shabby motels and even slept in rental cars sometimes. Whoever was chasing us never stopped chasing us till DanPa came. That was the last day I saw my Mom. I still remember she told me to listen to DanPa and that I am a princess by birth, never to forget that.”
Silas reached for my hand, his thumb soothing gently.
“DanPa took me in, loved me, cherished me, made me who I am today. He sacrificed so much for me,” I hesitated. “I really hope DanPa finds his own mate someday. I want him to be happy once I've gone to Vegas.” The second the words left my mouth, my eyes widened, and I covered my face with my hand.
Silas froze. Then a slow, dawning, blinding smile stretched across his face.
“Yes Mira, you’re coming with me,” he breathed. “To Vegas. To our kingdom, to our home.”
My cheeks burst into flames. “I didn’t say that!”
“You implied it,” he teased softly. “And my Mogra, in no world would I not want you. You are already my queen.”
My breath trembled. But he wasn’t done. “Until we understand who is attacking Washington… and why… we need to keep our bond quiet.” His jaw tightened. “I fear this is personal. And when I know who is behind it, the world will tremble.”
His protectiveness wrapped around me like a cloak.
He looked out the window and said, “It’s almost 3 p.m. and it will get dark soon. We should head to pack our house. Andreas will also be awake. I have to meet your DanPa for a meeting at dusk.” He kissed my hand, “We’ll take separate cars to the packhouse,”
I nodded with a smile. Something warm was blooming, dangerous and bright inside me. Silas Nightbourne – The mighty King of Vampires, has claimed me and has accepted my claims on himself.
Chandra sighed dreamily." Our mate. Our king. Our destiny.
God help us, I whispered back. We’re already gone.
I just couldn’t help it. On my way home, I visited the Orphanage - Eldermoon Sanctuary.
The orphanage smelled like cinnamon, old books, and something faintly magical—like moonlight trapped in dust. I barely made it past the gate before someone tackled my legs.
“MIRAAAAA!”
I laughed as three children latched onto me at once—one hugging my knees, one trying to climb my back, and another dramatically hanging off my arm like a fainting goat.
“Okay, okay,” I said, mockstern. “I missed you too, but if I fall, we will all fall.”
Chandra purred warmly inside me. “They are ours,” she said, utterly certain. “Our pack. Our kids”
“I hear that, my wolfie,” I said to her.
A small girl with mismatched eyes—one silver, one brown—peered up at me. “Did you bring cake again?”
I gasped. “Is that all I am to you now?”
“Yes,” she replied without hesitation. I snorted.
Before I could protest further, a boy with faint horns (still growing, still learning to hide them) poked my shoulder. “Are you famous now? They said on the news You danced with important people.”
I rolled my eyes. “I danced with my family. That’s all.”
“Did you find your mate?” another voice asked—too innocent, too sharp. I froze. The kids leaned in.
Chandra laughed—full-bodied, amused laugh, “Out of the mouths of babies.”
“Wow,” I said slowly. “No filter here today, huh?”
“Well?” the horned boy insisted. “You’re glowing.”
I pointed at him. “You are one growth spurt away from a lecture.” That earned giggles.
“That glow is what happens when someone finally starts living honestly.”
I turned to see Mrs. Elara Wynne, the orphanage caretaker, standing by the doorway. She looked exactly as she always did—soft smile, iron spine, and eyes that had seen far too much to be fooled by surface magic.
She was wolf-born, but fae-touched, and everyone here knew it.
“You spoil them,” I accused lightly.
She shrugged. “They spoil me right back.” She gestured toward her office. “Walk with me?”
The children groaned dramatically.
“She’s stealing Mira!”
“Unfair!”
“Bring back cake!”
“I’ll be right back,” I promised, pointing a warning finger. “No mischief while I’m gone.” A few looked suspiciously innocent.
Inside, Mrs. Wynne poured tea and studied me over the rim of her cup. “You’re different,” she said gently.
I sighed. “Is it that obvious?”
“To children like these? Yes. To the world?” She smiled. “It will be soon.”
I traced a finger over the edge of the table. “I worry sometimes. About what they’ll become, about what the world will do to them.”
Mrs. Wynne reached across and squeezed my hand. “That’s why you came here, Mira. Not because you pity them—but because you see them.”
Her gaze sharpened. “And because they see you.”
I swallowed.
“You give them proof,” she continued, “that survival doesn’t erase kindness. That power doesn’t mean cruelty. That love can be chosen.”
Chandra’s voice softened. “She is speaking the truth.”
Mrs. Wynne tilted her head. “Your birthday… it meant more than you realize. Many of these children have never been chosen publicly. Never celebrated.”
My throat tightened. “I just wanted them to feel… included.”
“And you succeeded,” she said firmly. “You always do.”
She paused, eyes thoughtful. “Be careful, though. The world notices light like yours.”
I nodded. “I know.”
- Writer
