The Omega's Three Mates

Chapter Ten

The forest thickened around us as we walked, the dawn light barely piercing through the canopy. Everything smelled damp and ancient, like the trees had been here since the dawn of time, just waiting for the right moment to whisper their secrets.

I, unfortunately, was not in the mood for tree gossip.

"Okay," I said, breaking the eerie silence. "Can someone please tell me where we’re actually going? Or are we just wandering until I develop some kind of werewolf GPS?"

Neither twin answered right away, which was never a good sign.

"We're taking you to Moira," Caleb finally said.

I frowned. "That explains nothing."

"She's the pack's seer," Kalel clarified. "And our mystic."

Oh, great. Just what I needed. A supernatural fortune teller. Maybe she’d throw in a free tarot reading while she was at it.

Caleb must have sensed my skepticism, because his lips twitched in something dangerously close to amusement. "She’s the one who can explain what’s happening to you."

"You say that like it's comforting," I muttered. "But every time someone promises me 'answers,' I just get more cryptic warnings and existential dread."

Kalel smirked. "Then you’ll love Moira."

Yeah. That did not sound promising.

Still, I followed them deeper into the woods because, really, what was my other option? Go back and have a heart-to-heart with my deadbeat dad? Hard pass.

The terrain got rougher, the trees closer together, until we emerged into a small clearing dominated by what could only be described as a witch’s cottage. Thick vines curled around the stone walls, half-hiding the arched wooden door, and the entire place gave off serious "old magic" vibes.

"Okay, I take it back," I murmured. "This definitely came from the Premium Supernatural Aesthetics Package™."

"She prefers to live away from the main pack," Caleb said, stepping up to the door. "Less interference."

"Translation: she doesn’t like people," Kalel added.

Before I could respond, the door creaked open on its own. Because of course it did.

A wave of thick, herbal-scented air hit me as we stepped inside. The interior was a chaotic mix of dried herbs, melted candles, and books that looked like they’d been personally hand-written by ancient monks. Every available surface was covered in something mysterious—bowls of strange powders, tiny glass bottles filled with shimmering liquid, and bones. So many bones.

"Are those human?" I hissed under my breath.

Kalel gave me a look. "Do you want them to be?"

"Obviously not!" I whisper-yelled.

Before I could spiral further into my own horror movie, a voice cut through the room, thick with a Scottish brogue and the weight of too many years.

"I was wondering when ye’d finally bring the lass."

I turned toward the voice and found myself staring at a woman who looked like she’d stepped straight out of a fantasy novel. Moira was old, but not fragile—more like a woman who had seen things and had no patience for nonsense. Her wild silver hair framed sharp cheekbones, and one of her eyes was clouded with blindness while the other was piercing green, assessing me in a way that made my skin crawl.

Then she frowned. "Ach, ye’ve got Vanessa’s eyes."

I froze.

"You knew my mother?" My voice was barely a whisper.

Moira’s expression softened, just slightly. "Aye, I did. And I’m sorry for what happened to her, lass. Truly."

Something in my chest twisted painfully. I had never met anyone who actually knew my mother before she was just my mother.

"What… what was she like?"

Moira studied me for a long moment before motioning toward a worn chair. "Sit, child. We’ve much to discuss."

I hesitated.

Then I sat.

Moira lowered herself into the chair across from me, her joints popping like ancient floorboards. She reached for a bundle of dried herbs hanging from the ceiling, plucked a few leaves, and crushed them between her fingers, letting the scent fill the air—earthy, sharp, and oddly comforting.

I was about to ask if this was part of some mystic ritual or if she just liked weird tea when she fixed me with that sharp green eye and said, "Yer mother was never meant to survive."

Well. That was a fun sentence to process.

Caleb stiffened beside me, while Kalel let out a slow breath like he’d already guessed where this was going. I, however, was still stuck on what.

"Sorry, you’re gonna have to elaborate on that one, because I’m fresh out of my daily cryptic statement decoder rings," I said, gripping the arms of my chair.

Moira huffed, the closest thing to a laugh I suspected she gave out freely. "Ach, just like Vanessa. That sharp tongue of hers got her in trouble more often than not."

I swallowed. "You really knew her?"

Moira’s face softened. "Aye, child. Knew her well. She was just a wee thing when they found her, all skin and bone, wild as the forest she came from. The Omega servants raised her, but it was me she came to when the dreams started."

I leaned forward, pulse quickening. "Dreams?"

Moira met my gaze, something heavy and knowing in her expression. "Aye. Nightmares of voices whispering in a language she couldnae understand. Of something hunting her even when she was safe in her bed. And sometimes…" she paused, rubbing her thumb along a deep line in her palm, "she’d wake with marks on her skin that hadn’t been there before."

A cold shiver worked its way down my spine.

"The writing," I murmured. "Like in my dream."

Moira nodded, her gaze flicking to the pendant at my throat. "That trinket held it back, dulled her instincts. Just like it’s done to ye."

I touched the amulet, feeling the steady pulse of warmth beneath my fingertips. "Who was she, Moira? Where did she come from?"

Moira sighed, shaking her head. "That’s the question, isn’t it? No one ever came looking for her. No scent markers. No pack ties. Just a feral pup left in the deep woods, half-starved but very much alive."

She hesitated. Then: "I think she was left there on purpose. Not to die—but to be saved."

The room seemed to contract around me.

"Saved from what?" Caleb asked, his voice edged with something dangerous.

Moira met his gaze, then Kalel’s, before settling back on me.

"That," she said grimly, "is what we need to find out."

Silence settled over the room, thick as the herbal smoke curling from the bundle Moira had crushed. My pulse thundered in my ears, and I knew the twins could hear it. Smell it. Probably taste the storm of emotions surging through me.

"Okay," I exhaled, trying to wrestle my thoughts into something useful. "So let’s summarize: My mother was found alone in the deep woods as a feral pup, abandoned but not unwanted. Someone left her there to save her. From what? No clue. Then she grows up, falls in love with my deadbeat dad, has me, and—oh yeah—dies mysteriously with weird marks on her skin. And now I’m what? The sequel to whatever horror movie she escaped from?"

Moira studied me, then gave a short, sharp nod. "Aye. That about covers it."

Fantastic. I loved being right. So fun.

I leaned back in my chair, rubbing my temples. "Tell me you have a theory. Please. Even if it's just a weird, unhinged, ‘maybe the moon goddess is punking me’ kind of thing."

Moira’s lips pressed into a thin line. "I do have a theory. But ye won’t like it."

"Moira," Caleb said, voice low, alpha, a warning wrapped in concern.

She ignored him and focused on me. "How much do ye know about bloodlines, lass?"

I frowned. "I mean, I got the basics. Alpha, beta, omega. Strength passes through generations, packs keep track of strong bloodlines, yadda yadda. Werewolf Biology 101."

"Aye," Moira murmured. "And yet, Vanessa had no pack. No history. And still, she carried power." Her gaze flickered to my pendant. "Enough that someone thought it worth binding."

Binding. That word again. It sat wrong in my stomach, heavy and full of implications I didn’t understand yet.

Kalel spoke for the first time in a while, his voice measured. "You think she came from them, don’t you?"

Moira’s one good eye locked onto him, something almost resigned in her expression. "Aye."

Okay, now I was officially out of the loop. I raised a hand like I was in a classroom. "Sorry, them? Who's them? Because unless we’re talking about some kind of secret werewolf Illuminati, I’m gonna need specifics."

No one answered right away.

Caleb and Kalel exchanged a look, one of those silent twin-telepathy moments that was really starting to get on my nerves. Moira, though—she was watching me, assessing, like she was deciding just how much truth I could handle.

She sighed. "There are bloodlines that aren’t meant to survive, lass. Families marked by something old. Something forgotten."

Chills crawled up my spine. "What does that mean?"

Moira exhaled slowly, folding her hands in her lap. "It means I think yer mother was never supposed to live past childhood because of what she was. Because of who she was descended from."

The pendant at my throat seemed to pulse in response. Like it knew. Like it was waiting for this moment.

I swallowed hard. "And what exactly was she?"

Moira’s gaze met mine, and for the first time, I saw something in her expression that I really, really didn’t like.

Fear.

"I think," she said quietly, "yer mother came from a cursed bloodline."

I blinked. "Cursed bloodline?"

Moira didn’t answer right away. Instead, she reached for a small knife from the cluttered table beside her. The blade caught the candlelight, gleaming wickedly.

"Uh, okay, hold on," I said, shifting back in my chair. "Are we skipping the part where you explain what that means and going straight to the stabbing?"

Moira shot me a look like I was being dramatic. Which, fair. But still.

She held out her hand, palm up. "Give me yer hand, lass."

I hesitated. "If this is some kind of blood magic thing, I’d like to remind everyone that I didn’t sign any waivers."

"Yer blood carries the truth," she said simply. "I need to see it."

The twins weren’t stopping her, which meant this was apparently normal werewolf seer behavior. Great. Wonderful. Love that for me.

With a sigh, I placed my hand in hers. Moira’s skin was warm and dry, her grip surprisingly strong for someone who looked like she spent most of her time in a haunted cottage.

The knife flashed before I could react.

A sharp sting, the bright bloom of pain—

Then nothing.

I gasped, staring at my palm as the wound sealed itself shut in the blink of an eye, skin knitting back together as if the blade had never touched me.

"Oh, what the hell," I breathed, flexing my fingers. "You could’ve warned me!"

Moira didn’t look the least bit impressed. "Ye survived, didn’t ye?"

Caleb made a low, approving noise. "Good healing time."

"Yeah, I’d be more excited if I hadn’t been the one getting surprise-stabbed." I shot him a glare before turning back to Moira. "What was that supposed to prove, exactly?"

Moira ignored me in favor of the small stone bowl she’d been working over. My blood mixed with whatever was inside—herbs, oils, something thick and shimmering. It darkened instantly, like ink swirling in water.

She murmured something in a language I didn’t understand, running her fingers along the rim of the bowl. The air in the cottage seemed to shift, growing heavier, charged like the moment before a storm.

"Yer blood responds to magic," she said, watching the mixture closely. "Stronger than most. That’s not normal for a wolf."

I frowned. "And that means…?"

She looked up, gaze flicking to the pendant at my throat. "It means yer amulet was doing more than suppressing yer wolf. It was keeping something else locked away."

That was not the comforting answer I’d been hoping for.

I swallowed hard, glancing down at the necklace. The silver caught the light, deceptively delicate despite the weight of it against my skin.

"This thing? It’s just silver, right?"

Moira let out a sharp laugh. "Ach, not just any silver. That’s moon-forged."

I raised a brow. "That sounds like a fancy marketing gimmick."

Kalel, who had been silent up until now, spoke. "It’s rare. More than rare. Silver mined during a full moon, crafted with old magic. It can bind, protect, suppress."

Suppress. That word again.

I ran my fingers along the pendant, my heartbeat uneven. "So you’re saying my mom put me in a magical wolf suppressor and never told me why."

Moira nodded. "Aye. And whatever she was hiding ye from—it wasn’t just the hunters."

A cold chill slid down my spine.

"Fantastic," I muttered. "Because my life wasn’t complicated enough."

Moira didn’t smile. "Lass, ye haven’t seen complicated yet."