012
1223 Words
Motherhood vs. Monsters
~VINA HALE~
Is it possible to be too strong?
Because I just accidentally crushed my favorite ceramic tea mug because I heard a loud noise, and honestly, the "Pale Healer" needs to work on her chill.
Or buy more mugs.
It was training day in the Hidden Sanctuary.
If you told eighteen-year-old Vina that her morning routine would eventually involve deadlifting boulders and sparring with a Lycan King who looks like he walked off the cover of a “Dark & Dangerous” romance novel, she’d have probably
asked you to check your medication.
But here we are.
I was standing in the center of the training clearing the silver moss cool beneath my bare feet.
The air was crisp, smelling of pine and the faint electric buzz of the Sanctuary’s protective wards.
“You’re thinking too much again, Vina,” a voice rumbled from the shadows of the ancient oaks.
I didn’t have to turn around to know it was Silas.
I could feel him.
Not like the hook-in-the-chest pain of a fated bond, but like a shift in the atmosphere. Silas—the King of Shadows, the man who found me dying in a ravine—doesn't just enter a room; he reclaims it.
He stepped into the sunlight, his violet eyes tracking my every move.
He was shirtless, because of course he was.
Apparently, Lycan Kings have a constitutional a version to fabric when there’s training to be done. His skin was a map of ancient scars and power-inked tattoos that pulsed faintly with every breath.
“I’m not thinking,” I retorted, adjusting my grip on the training staff. “I’m calculating.”
“Calculate less. Feel more,” he said, closing the distance between us.
He stopped just inches away.
Silas is a constant presence in my life—a cool uncle to Leo, a mentor to Maya, and to me… well, he’s the man who knows exactly where my scars are.
He wants to be more.
Every look, every lingering touch at dinner, every time he watches me with the kids—it’s there. A silent offer of a throne and a heart.
But my heart is a construction zone with a 'Do Not Enter' sign that’s been rusted shut for seven years.
“Show me the Lycan fire,” he challenged, his voice dropping to that low, velvet vibration.
“Stop trying to be the Healer. Be the Monster.”
I closed my eyes.
I reached past the memories of scrubbing floors and being rejected. I reached past the mother who makes oatmeal and kisses scraped knees.
I went deep, down into the basement of my soul where the Silver Lycan lives.The transformation wasn't a wolf shift. It was an awakening.
My scent exploded—jasmine and ozone, sharp and predatory. My vision sharpened until I could see the individual veins in the leaves of the trees.
The "Double Pulse" in my core—now a permanent part of my power—thrummed with a heavy, rhythmic heat.
I dropped the staff. I didn't need it.
I walked toward a dead ironwood tree at the edge of the clearing. These trees are famous for being as hard as granite. In my old life, I couldn't have even chipped the bark with an axe.
I remembered Jace’s father, Alpha Magnus, stepping on my fingers. I remembered the sound of Sarah’s laughter as I was dragged to the slave quarters.
I remembered Jace’s voice: “A rankless Omega cannot lead.”
I placed my hands on the trunk. My raw, powerful, Lycan-infused hands.
I didn't just pull. I commanded the wood to break. With a roar that felt like it came from the center of the earth, I twisted.
The sound was like a lightning strike.
The massive ironwood tree—four feet in diameter—didn't just crack. It shattered. Wood splinters flew through the air as the trunk snapped like a dry twig under my palms.
I stood there, breathing hard, the silver light fading from my skin. My hands were perfectly fine. No bruises. No broken bones.
Just power.
Silas clapped slowly, walking up behind me. He placed a hand on my shoulder, and for once, I didn't flinch away.
“The ‘Pale Healer’ is a very good mask, Vina,” he whispered into my ear, his breath warm against my neck.
“But never forget that you are the most dangerous thing in these woods. Even Jace Blackwood wouldn't survive a minute in a cage with you now.”
I pulled away gently, the mention of his name making the air feel a little colder.
“I’m not interested in cages, Silas.”
“I know,” he said, his violet eyes softening with a look that was far too perceptive. “You’re interested in protection. But eventually, little wolf, you’ll have to decide if you’re hiding from the world, or if you’re waiting for it to come to you so you can tear it down.”
He left me then, heading back toward the main house to probably go give Leo a lesson in "how to be an Alpha without breaking the furniture."
I sat down on the stump of the tree I’d just destroyed and pulled out my diary.
‘Seven years ago, I thought my life was over because a
boy didn't want me. Today, I snapped a tree that has survived three centuries of storms just because I felt like it.’
A little advice ‘If you’re going to be a “Monster,” make sure you’re the kind that’s too big to be kept in a basement.’
I keep thinking about Jace.
It’s a habit I can’t quite kill, like a hangnail you keep picking at. I wonder what he’d do if he saw me now. He wouldn't see the flea.
He wouldn't see the mistake.
He’d see a woman who outranks him in every way that matters. He’d see a Lycan whose aura would force his entire pack to their knees. He’d see the mother of the two most powerful children in the world.
I think he’d probably faint.
Which, to be fair, would be a hilarious way to spend a Tuesday. But then there’s the darker thought.
The one that keeps me up at night.
If he saw Leo… if he saw that face…
The witty part of my brain wants to laugh it off.
But the Healer part? The Mother part? She’s terrified.
Because Jace Blackwood might be a hollowed-out version of the man I loved, but the Silver Moon Pack is still a hungry beast.
And beasts don't like it when you steal their future.
I looked at my hands—the ones that used to be raw from bleach, now glowing with a faint, silver residue.
I’m ready.
I don’t know what’s coming, but for the first time in my life, I’m not the prey. I was stronger than a tree, more complicated than a prophecy.
My mood was 90% Badass, 10% Wondering if we have enough ceramic mugs left for tea.
I need to go check on the kids.
Maya is suspiciously quiet, which usually means she’s either reading a 500-page book or reorganizing the molecular structure of the kitchen pantry.
Until tomorrow, world.
Stay out of my way.
- Writer
