The Heiress Of The Mystics

Chapter 4

"I hope he's alright," Catherine murmured, her voice a shaky counterpoint to the rhythmic creak of the rocking chair. Her baby, Romilda, stirred in her arms, sensing her mother's distress. Then, a searing pain ripped through Catherine, a phantom wound that echoed the severing of a bond. It wasn't the sharp agony of an injury, but the hollow, echoing emptiness of losing a mate.

"No… no… no," she choked out, the word a strangled sob. Tears welled, blurring her vision as they traced hot paths down her cheeks. "They've taken him," she whispered, the words laced with disbelief and a growing, icy dread. Her knees buckled, forcing her to clutch the edge of the cradle for support. A wave of nausea washed over her, leaving her weak and trembling. Her nose ran, and her face burned with the effort to contain the rising tide of grief.

"No matter what," she vowed, her voice gaining strength, "I won't let them take my child. She's all I have left." Drawing a ragged breath, she forced herself to focus. Elara needed her.

"I need to be stronger," she repeated, the words a mantra. Gently, she laid Romilda in the cradle, her movements precise despite the tremor in her hands. She crossed to her husband's shelves, her fingers brushing over the familiar spines of his books. The first-aid kit was tucked behind a worn copy of ancient pack laws. She grabbed it, her knuckles white, and carried it to the table beside the cradle. Then, with a sadden resolve, she drew his sword from its holster. The steel gleamed in the dim light.

"I'm sorry, baby," she whispered, her voice thick with unshed tears. She kissed Romilda's forehead, a fleeting moment of tenderness before the storm. "I don't mean to do this. Please forgive your mother."

Brenda doubled over, clutching her chest. The pain was a physical blow, a crushing weight that stole her breath. "No! It can't be!" she wailed, the sound raw and primal. "Oh, dear Moon Goddess, why did you take him from me?" The realization slammed into her: widow. The word echoed in the sudden silence, a bleak and terrifying truth.

"What's wrong, Mom?" Liam's voice, sharp with concern, cut through her grief. Rebecca stood beside him, her small face etched with worry as well.

Brenda scrubbed at her tears, forcing a sense of composure. She couldn't let them see her like this, not yet. "It's nothing," she lied, her voice strained. "I'm okay. Go pack your things. Now."

Confusion clouded their faces. "Why? Are we moving?" Rebecca asked, tilting her head.

"To where?" Liam added, his brow furrowed in confusion as well.

"Somewhere safer," Brenda replied, her voice tight. How could she explain the truth? How could she tell them their father was gone, a casualty in a war they barely understood?

"But where is safer than our home?" Liam persisted, his youthful innocence a painful contrast to the harsh reality.

"Just stop asking questions and do as I say," Brenda snapped, the children flinched and their eyes widening. Guilt stabbed at her, but she couldn't afford to be gentle. Not now.

They hurried to obey, their small figures disappearing down their room, Brenda gathered her own belongings, She packed a few of her husband's things, too – a worn leather jacket, a favorite book – tangible reminders of the man she had lost.

When they were ready, she waited by the door, her hand resting on the latch. "You're sure you've got everything?" she asked, her voice softer now.

"Yes," Liam replied.

"Me too," Rebecca echoed.

"Good. Let's go." She reached for the door, then hesitated, sensing their reluctance.

"Does Daddy know about this?" Rebecca asked, her voice small. Liam nodded, his eyes mirroring his sister's unspoken question.

Brenda's heart twisted. Should I tell them? But the words caught in her throat. They were too young, too vulnerable.

"Look…" she began, forcing a smile. "I'm sure your father would want what's best for us, right? And right now… moving is what's best. I'm sure he'll approve."

Liam's lower lip trembled. "Is Daddy gone? Are we ever going to see him again?"

Brenda's silence was answer enough. Tears welled in Liam's eyes, and he understood. Brenda knelt, pulling both children into a tight embrace.

"It's okay," she whispered, her voice cracking. "It's going to be alright. Okay?"

After a long moment, she pushed herself to her feet, wiping their tears. "We better hurry," she said, her voice regaining its steel. "Before those bloodsuckers find us." This time, the children followed without question, their faces pale and determined.

"Wait," Brenda said, pausing. "Let's check on the Luna." She changed direction, heading towards the Alpha's chambers. Catherine would be feeling it too, the agonizing loss of her mate. She would need comfort, and Brenda, despite her own grief, would offer what she could.

Inside the Alpha's chambers, Catherine stood before the fireplace, her face illuminated by the flickering flames. The sword, heated to a white-hot glow, lay on the hearth. She took a steadying breath, her gaze fixed on Romilda who slept peacefully in the cradle. Catherine removed a corner of the blanket, exposing the crescent moon mark on Romilda's shoulder. Her hand trembled as she lifted the hot sword.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, Then, with a swift, decisive movement, she pressed the tip of the blade against the mark.

Romilda screamed, the sound piercing and heartrending. Catherine flinched, but held firm. She had to do this. It was the only way to protect her daughter.

When she was sure the mark was gone, she dropped the sword onto the hearth, She grabbed a jar of ointment from the first-aid kit and rushed to Romilda's side, her hands shaking as she applied the soothing balm to the raw, burned skin.

Just then, the door creaked open, and Brenda stepped inside, her children close behind. Her eyes widened in horror as she took in the scene: the sword, the screaming baby, the Luna's tear-streaked face.

"What did you do?" Brenda demanded, her voice sharp with disbelief. Had the pain driven Catherine mad? Was she trying to harm her own child?

"She's still crying, so it's none of what you're thinking. And I would never hurt my baby," Catherine retorted, her voice laced with exhaustion. She continued to apply the ointment, her movements gentle despite her inner turmoil.

Brenda moved closer, her gaze softening until she saw the raw, burned skin on Romilda's shoulder. "You burned the mark out," she whispered.

"It must be so painful for her," Brenda lamented, her heart aching for the infant.

"It's for her own good," Catherine explained, her voice flat. "In the future, the vampires won't be able to use it to identify her." She finished bandaging the wound.

"Did you feel it?" Brenda asked softly, her eyes filled with empathy.

Tears welled in Catherine's eyes again. "It was more painful than a cut from a knife. I felt shattered, weak… but I know I have to be strong. For my baby."

Brenda nodded, her own grief momentarily forgotten. "You're right. We need to be strong. For our kids. Because they're all we have left. And I'm sure that's what they would want us to do."

"Let me help you pack," Brenda said, her voice firm. She moved to gather Catherine's belongings, her movements quick and efficient.

"It's going to be okay," Liam said, his voice small but sincere. A faint smile flickered across Catherine's face.

"I know," Liam's soft voice told her, with a pitiful look.

"I know it will." Catherine said but it seems like it was more to herself, for the first time since the pain had struck, she allowed herself a glimmer of hope. They would survive this. They had to.