Chapter 23
I later found out that Ashenclaw Pack wasn’t
just the territory I stumbled into–it was his
pack.
Alpha George Watkins. That explained a lot. The quiet confidence, the noble air. I should’ve known. Of course someone like him wouldn’t just belong to a pack–he led one.
But even after learning he was an Alpha, nothing really changed between us. Hel didn’t walk into my bookstore like he owned the world. He came like clockwork–every weekend, without fail–with little Cecilia in tow, always carrying a book list in one hand and an
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5 Points
While Cecilia snuggled into the little gray sofa in the reading corner, lost in fairy tales and picture books, George would settle beside
her with some massive economic tome in his lap. Occasionally, I’d bring over a pot of floral wolf’s–tea–soothing herbs known in our kind’s tradition to calm shifting instincts–and he’d always thank me with a quiet smile.
And Cecilia? She’d chirp, “Thank you, Auntie!” in that syrupy–sweet voice that could melt anyone’s heart.
She was the first pup in years to remind me what tenderness felt like. She never made me feel like I was too much, or not enough. She just… liked me. No questions asked.
One sun–drenched Saturday, George closed his book and said casually, “Cecilia’s been begging to go to the amusement park.”
He glanced over his glasses. “She says she
wants you to come too.”
I nearly said no. The old Jillian–the one who used to measure her worth in others‘ approval -would’ve declined out of fear. But when I looked down and saw Cecilia clutching both our hands, her tiny eyes full of hope, something
Chapter 23
inside me gave in.
So we went.
+ 5 Points
We rode the carousel first. Cecilia picked the white wolf mount, of course, its mane glittering with silver ribbon. Then it was bumper cars,
cotton candy, and a three–hour wait for the
Ferris wheel. I didn’t mind. For the first time in a
long time, I didn’t feel like a shadow.
When we reached the very top of the wheel, where the whole pack territory stretched below
us in twilight haze, Cecilia pressed her forehead to the glass and whispered, “Mommy lives.
there.”
My heart stopped.
George didn’t hesitate. He wrapped his arms
around her and kissed the top of her head.
“She’s watching over you, little princess. She wants you to laugh more than you cry.”
Cecilia blinked up at me with those luminous eyes. “Then… can you be my new mommy?”
Silence fell so fast I could hear my own.
heartbeat.
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I opened my mouth to speak, but George beat. me to it. “Cecilia, that’s enough-”
“I’m not being silly!” she insisted, her voice rising with stubborn fire. “I like Sister Jillian! She’s warm and pretty and makes books fun!
And she smells like home!”
The last part nearly undid me.
I touched her cheek gently. “I like you too, pup. Very much. But your mommy… she was one
of a kind. No one can replace her. Not even
someone like me.”
Cecilia seemed to think about that. She didn’t
pout. She didn’t argue. She just nodded and snuggled deeper into George’s arms.
On the drive back, she fell asleep curled up in
the back seat like a little cub in her den. George drove silently, one hand on the wheel, the other occasionally adjusting the rearview mirror to check on her. I caught him glancing at me too —but it wasn’t until I pushed my sleeve up to
block the sun that he saw it.
The scar.
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His gaze lingered just a second too long.
A week later, he came alone.
“This is for you,” he said, holding out a thermos. “It’s calming tea. Wolf–root, silver chamomile, a bit of crushed moonberry. It should help with your sleep.”
I blinked. “How did you?”
“You forget,” he said with a faint smile, “I’m an Alpha. I have to learn a lot of things–including some basic medical knowledge.”
My hand instinctively went to cover my wrist.
“I’m sorry,” he said quickly. “That was out of line. I just–well–I’d like to think we’re friends now. If you ever need help… or someone to talk.
to… I’m here.”
I stared at him for a beat too long. But then I
nodded.
“Thanks, George. Really.”
From then on, he came more often.
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Sometimes he brought wildflowers picked from the edge of the forest. Sometimes cookies.
Sometimes tea brewed with such care it made
me want to cry. It was never loud or flashy. Just steady. Gentle. Real.
And somewhere in all that quiet routine, I started to imagine… maybe this was the life I’d always craved.
One stormy night, I was rearranging the
nonfiction shelf when the bell above the door
chimed violently.
George stood there, soaked to the bone, a
burning–hot Cecilia in his arms.
“She’s been crying for you,” he said. breathlessly. “She says only you can help her sleep.”
I didn’t hesitate.
I took her into my arms, pressed her flushed forehead to mine, and whispered, “Auntie’s
here, little princess. You’re safe.”
We tucked her into the couch nook by the fire. I wrapped her in the softest quilt and read
until her fevered body relaxed. The Moon and
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+5 Points
until her fevered body relaxed. The Moon and
the Wolf Pup, her favorite. George sat across from us the whole time, watching like I was something rare he didn’t want to spook.
When she finally drifted off, the rain had
stopped.
Only moonlight remained, slanting through the windows and painting the wooden floor in soft
silver.
“Thank you,” George whispered.
I tried to stand, but my legs were numb from sitting too long. I stumbled–and he caught me. Steady hands, warm and familiar. We froze like that, faces inches apart.
Neither of us moved.
Neither of us spoke.
But something shifted between us in that moment. Something old and broken cracked open–just enough for something new to slip in.
And maybe, just maybe… I wasn’t as alone as I thought I was.
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But something snitted between us in that moment. Something old and broken cracked open–just enough for something new to slip in.
And maybe, just maybe… I wasn’t as alone as I thought I was.
