Chapter 97: Chapter 97 The Mother’s Voice
Victoria
I woke slowly, bathed in sunlight streaming through half-drawn curtains. Reaching across the sheets, I found Leo’s side of the bed empty but still warm. My wolf, Ava, stirred contentedly within me despite his absence, basking in the lingering scent of our mate.
As my eyes adjusted to the morning light, I spotted a folded note on his pillow, written in Leo’s bold, elegant handwriting:
*Victoria,*
*Urgent matters required my attention at Shadow Pack. I didn’t want to wake you—you needed the rest after yesterday’s confrontation. Breakfast is waiting in the kitchen. I’ll return by noon.*
*Stay within pack boundaries. Tiny is stationed outside.*
*———L*
I stretched languidly, allowing myself a rare moment of peace. Last night had been... intense. Leo’s apology had been unexpectedly vulnerable, revealing the fear behind his possessiveness. When he’d admitted his terror at potentially losing me to Marcus Grimwood, something had shifted between us—a new understanding that made our connection deeper, more real.
Rising from bed, I slipped into a light robe and padded to the kitchen. As promised, a covered tray waited on the counter—fresh berries, yogurt, and still-warm pastries. A small wildflower bouquet sat beside it, another thoughtful gesture that made my heart flutter despite myself.
"You’re becoming soft," I muttered, even as I brought the flowers to my nose, inhaling their sweet fragrance.
I carried my breakfast to the patio overlooking the gardens, savoring the quiet moment. As Alpha of Howlthorne Pack, these peaceful interludes were becoming increasingly rare. Between managing pack affairs, training female warriors, and navigating my complicated relationship with Leo, I barely had time to breathe, let alone enjoy a leisurely breakfast.
The morning air felt unusually crisp against my skin, carrying the scent of damp earth and blooming flowers. I closed my eyes, allowing Ava to surface just enough to sharpen my senses. The world exploded into vivid detail—birds chattering in distant trees, insects buzzing among wildflowers, the heartbeats of rabbits hiding in the underbrush.
Suddenly, Ava jerked to attention. A strange sensation rippled through my consciousness—not quite pain, not quite sound, but a distinct *pulling* that made my skin prickle with goosebumps.
*What is it?* I silently asked my wolf.
Ava paced anxiously beneath my skin, her distress growing by the second. The pulling sensation intensified, becoming almost painful—like someone had tied an invisible string to my heart and was yanking it sharply.
I set down my half-eaten breakfast, all hunger forgotten. Whatever Ava was sensing, it was important enough to abandon the first peaceful moment I’d had in days.
Following my wolf’s instincts, I moved across the gardens toward a section I rarely visited—my mother Elisabeth’s private garden.
As I approached the weathered wooden gate, the pulling sensation became almost unbearable. Ava whined and clawed within me, desperate to get inside.
"Calm down," I whispered, pressing my hand against the rusted lock. "I’m trying."
The lock was old but still sturdy. I closed my eyes, concentrating on the new abilities I’d been exploring since discovering my mixed heritage. My mother’s elven blood flowed through my veins, connecting me to natural elements.
"Please," I murmured to the ancient metal, visualizing the internal mechanisms. "Open for me."
A warm tingling spread from my fingers into the lock. For a moment, nothing happened—then with a soft click, the mechanism released. The gate swung open with a plaintive creak, revealing a wild tangle of overgrown plants bathed in dappled sunlight.
What had once been a meticulously maintained garden had transformed into a miniature forest. Roses climbed unrestrained up crumbling trellises, herbs had spread into fragrant carpets, and in the center, an ancient oak tree stretched skyward, its massive trunk dwarfing everything around it.
The tree hadn’t been there when I was a child—at least, not as a fully grown specimen. My mother had planted a tiny oak sapling the year I was born, telling me we would grow together.
Now it stood magnificent and impossible, decades of growth condensed into years. Magic. It had to be.
As I stepped into the garden, the plants seemed to shiver in recognition. Flowers turned their faces toward me as if I were the sun. Vines reached out tentatively, brushing against my ankles like affectionate cats.
"What are you trying to tell me?" I whispered, kneeling to touch a particularly insistent patch of foxglove that was waving frantically in a non-existent breeze.
Ava whined again, directing my attention to the massive oak. The pulling sensation drew me forward until I stood before its gnarled trunk, my palm pressed against the rough bark.
*She calls to you.*
The words weren’t spoken aloud but seemed to form directly in my mind—a chorus of whispers from every plant in the garden, unified into a single message.
"Who?" I asked, though deep down, I already knew the answer. "My mother?"
*The forest daughter.She reaches through roots and branch.*
My heart thundered in my chest.*Where is she now?*
*Trapped. Bound. She weakens.*
The oak’s bark warmed beneath my palm, and suddenly I was falling—not physically, but mentally, tumbling down through layers of consciousness, past my wolf, past my human mind, into something deeper and older. The garden disappeared, replaced by darkness and a sensation of suffocating confinement.
"Victoria..."
The voice was so faint I almost missed it—a whisper thinner than spider silk, frayed at the edges.
"Mother?" I called into the void, desperate to hold onto the connection. "Is that you?"
"Victoria... " The words faded in and out like a poorly tuned radio. "Marcus... ritual... moon..."
"Where are you?" I begged, straining to maintain contact. "How can I find you?"
Something snapped, and I was violently thrust back into my body, gasping and disoriented. I fell backward onto the garden path, my entire body trembling.
It wasn’t grief or imagination.My hands shook as I pulled out my phone, dialing Leo’s number with clumsy fingers. He answered on the first ring.
"Victoria?" His deep voice was immediately alert. "What’s wrong?"
"She’s alive," I blurted, my voice breaking. "My mother is alive, Leo. Marcus has her."