Chapter 3: Memories of Jeremy
1090 Words
The days after Axel’s arrival slipped by like a fragile thread weaving through cold, uncertain winds. The mountain air was crisp, scented with pine, woodsmoke, and something faintly electric—like a storm biding its time.
Axel and I passed the time rearranging furniture, unpacking dusty boxes, and exchanging quiet glances over shared mugs of coffee. There were no promises, just a tentative truce. We were both broken in our ways.
He grieved Lila in the spaces between breaths. I saw it in how he flinched when someone mentioned her name. In the way he stared too long at nothing.
But sometimes—just sometimes—his smile cracked through the fog like a sunbeam breaking through frost.
One evening, wrapped in wool blankets beside the fire pit, we watched the flames sway like dancers caught mid-spin. The blaze cast long shadows that flickered across his features—sharp jaw, haunted eyes.
“I didn’t expect to find a mate so soon,” Axel said suddenly, his voice quiet, raw. “I wasn’t sure if I was ready.”
I curled my legs beneath me, the heat from the fire seeping into my skin. “Losing my family… my uncle… It’s like having a hole in your chest that never fills. Just echoes louder the longer you pretend it doesn’t exist.”
He looked over at me, his brow furrowing. “Exactly. Everyone back home looks at me like I’m supposed to lead without cracking. But I feel like I’m still bleeding, and they just… pretend not to see it.”
I hesitated, then reached across the flames and rested my fingers lightly over his. “You don’t have to pretend with me.”
His eyes met mine, and for a moment, they weren’t filled with ghosts. “Thank you, Isla.”
That moment should have felt like healing.
Instead, it cracked open something I’d tried to bury.
Flashback — Age 4: The Cold Night Warning
I was only four when Uncle Jeremy first told me something was wrong.
The night was colder than usual, the kind that made the windows shiver in their frames. I crept out of bed with my stuffed wolf clutched in one hand, dragging my blanket like a cape. I found him in the kitchen, staring out the window, a chipped mug warming his hands. The firelight flickered across his face, casting shadows deep into his eyes.
“Why are you awake, Maybird?” he asked, turning just slightly toward me, using the nickname only he ever used.
“Bad dreams,” I whispered, my voice small.
He smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Yeah… me too, kiddo.”
I padded over and crawled into his lap, tucking my blanket around us. He held me like something fragile, like he was afraid I’d shatter.
“I had a dream about a wolf,” he said. “One who thought he was king. But he hurt people. Kept secrets. Dangerous ones.”
“Like monsters?” I asked, snuggling closer.
“Worse.” His jaw tightened. “Monsters wear masks, Isla. Sometimes they look like people we’re supposed to trust.”
I blinked slowly, the weight of sleep tugging at me.
“One day, when you’re older,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to my temple, “I’ll tell you everything. About the ones who vanished. About the ones who were silenced. But for now… just promise me something.”
“What?”
“If anything ever happens to me, I want you to be strong. I want you to remember this place. It’s yours. And you are not what they say you are.”
My eyes fluttered shut. I didn’t understand then. But I do now.
Present Day — The Letter
The next morning, I sat cross-legged on the cabin floor, sorting through an old storage box wedged beneath the stairs. Dust clung to my fingertips as I sifted through yellowed letters, faded photos, and brittle recipe cards in my grandmother’s curling script.
Most were warm, nostalgic—recipes for blueberry muffins, pressed flowers, half-finished lullabies.
But one envelope stopped me cold.
No return address. No postage.
Just my name, written in Uncle Jeremy’s sharp, purposeful handwriting.
My breath caught.
I tore it open, hands trembling.
Inside was a single folded piece of parchment. Creased. Aged. I unfolded it slowly.
You cannot hide forever, Isla.
The pack remembers.
The past never forgets.
The words crawled across the page like venom.
My fingers curled around the paper, heart thudding like war drums in my chest.
It wasn’t just a warning.
It was a threat.
“Isla?” Keri’s voice drifted in from the kitchen.
I shoved the letter under a stack of old calendars and called out, “Yeah?”
She appeared in the doorway, drying her hands on a dish towel. Liam’s heading into town. You need anything?”
“No,” I said quickly. Too quickly.
Her eyes narrowed, reading my mood with the ease only a best friend could. “You okay?”
“Fine.” I offered a tight smile. “Just… memories.”
“Bad ones?”
I hesitated, then nodded. “The kind that don’t stay buried.”
She crossed the room and touched my shoulder. “Then maybe it’s time we stop pretending the past is dead.”
I nodded slowly.
Because she was right.
This time, I wasn’t going to run.
I was going to uncover the truth.
Even if it burned everything down.
Sierra POV
Deep in the old barn on the northern ridge, Sierra stood over a map of Blue Moon territory, candles flickering around her like sentinels.
She dragged her clawed nail across a jagged line near the border. “She’s there,” she muttered. “Back in that cursed cabin.”
Donnavan leaned against the doorframe. “You sure she has the key?”
“She has something.” Her voice dripped venom. “Uncle Jeremy wasn’t stupid. He left her with more than memories.”
“She’s just a girl, Sierra.”
Sierra turned slowly. Her smile was ice. “No. She’s his blood. And blood remembers.”
She picked up a silver dagger from the table, its edge gleaming in the firelight.
“Let her settle in. Let her feel safe.” Sierra’s eyes glinted red. “And then we cut out the rot—root and all.”
The ghosts of the past were never truly dead. And in Blue Moon territory, history didn’t haunt you… It hunted you.
- Writer
