Maternal Instinct

RORY

I dismiss my escort once we’re safely back in the pack lands. I’m not ready to go home just yet. There’s too much to think about. My mind is whirling with everything I’ve learned in the last few days.

I decide to go to the old pack house. I always feel connected to the spirit realm there, maybe I’ll have a useful vision, something we can use to stop Nemesis.

The old concrete building is dark and silent, as always. I let myself in the back door, feeling strangely secure as I shut it behind me, like I’ve sealed myself away from all of my problems.

It’s cool inside, but not cold. I’m able to take off my jacket and hat. I breathe the still air deeply, letting the weight of the place’s history soothe me.

This place had seen generation after generation of the Shadow Blood Pack grow up within its walls. They’d played here as children, fallen in love here, had children and grandchildren of their own.

It remembered them all and loved them. The new pack house couldn’t take that away. I can feel them, all of the lives that have lived here. It’s almost overwhelming, but right now, it gives me comfort.

I’m one of those lives now, one of the pack, bringing a new life forward as countless others have done before me. I’m just one of thousands, a small part of a cycle, no more or less than any of them.

I make my way deeper into the pack house. I use my phone’s flashlight to guide my way, watching the dust I kick up swirl in the beam. It doesn’t stop me from getting a couple of bruises, but it helps.

I know where I want to be. The room for the Alpha and Luna, where Everett’s and my predecessors slept, talked, made love. I fold my coat up and sit on it, my back against the wall.

I should be trying to figure out the Nemesis problem. That’s why I came here. I should pray to Achlys for help, for guidance. But I can’t bring myself to.

I haven’t had any time to think, really. My head feels full to bursting. So does my heart. I’ve been swinging from feeling to feeling, disaster to disaster. I need to sort through some of it or I’ll collapse.

I lean my head back and close my eyes, letting my mind drift where it wants. It goes, immediately, unerringly, to the little life growing inside of me.

Despite everything that’s happening, this still feels desperately important. Maybe the most important. I know, deep down, that I would do anything for this child. It’s settled into my bones.

What will the pack think? Will they be glad to welcome their Alpha’s child, or will their dislike of me cause them to be hesitant? I can’t stand the idea of my child being ignored, looked on with suspicion.

Kids don’t understand cruelty like that. They don’t get that it isn’t their fault. All they know is that something must be wrong with them. Otherwise, why are they being treated like that?

The constant attempts to change, to please, to figure out what it is people want so that you can give it to them—I can’t watch my child go through that. It was too hard to live through once.

Who will they have to turn to when the world hurts them? I’ll be their mother. It’ll be my job to teach them what to do, to hold them and patch them up when they get hurt.

What kind of mother will I be? I can’t imagine having a kid. I mean, I love kids, and they seem to like me, but spending time with the orphans isn’t the same as being a mom.

I’ll need to be strict. I’ll need to teach them what they need to know, how to talk and how to make friends and how to just be a person. I feel like I barely know how to do half of that myself.

How am I supposed to raise a child? It feels impossible. I try to imagine holding my baby, picturing Everett’s beautiful blue eyes and my auburn hair in a tiny face.

They’re so small, so fragile. Even imagining it has me panicking about dropping them. I’m so horribly clumsy, what if I trip and hurt the baby? What if I drop them?

The possibility feels terribly real. My clumsiness has always felt like a curse, even before I knew it was one, but never so awful as now. ~We’ll figure it out~, I tell myself, but it’s hard to believe it.

How do you ‘figure out’ something like ‘Mommy is dangerous’? I can’t make Everett carry them everywhere, though the mental image is admittedly adorable enough to distract me for a minute.

He’ll be able to hold them in one arm, tucked up against him, safe in his arms. I can imagine him feeding them with that intense, grave look on his face, taking this as seriously as his pack duties.

He’s going to be an amazing father. He’ll baby-proof the whole pack house, I bet. He’ll make sure nothing hurts our kid, including my clumsiness. ~Right. I don’t have to have all of the answers.~

I try to think about other parents I’ve seen, other mothers. What have they done? A lot of the pack mothers seem to like to carry their babies around in slings. Should we get one of those?

What did Mama do with me? I should ask her. I haven’t even gotten to talk to her about this. I’m sure she’ll be excited, and she’ll probably have a lot of advice. She took good care of me.

Mama has always done her best with me. I’m not an easy daughter to have, but she loves me, has always loved me, even when no one else did. I can do that part, I think. I already love this baby so much.

But having your parent’s love isn’t always enough. I know that, too. I still feel the scorn of others, even with Mama’s unwavering support. She couldn’t fill my every need.

The baby will be a wolf-pup, I know it. They will have that to protect them, at least. The pack won’t be able to reject them for being human. Everett is worried my body won’t be able to handle it.

I’m not worried about that. We have doctors, and if my abilities are going to be good for anything, it’s got to be this. I’ll make it through the birth, no matter what.

But raising a wolf-pup... I don’t know anything about that. I won’t be able to talk to them about shifting, or hunting, or scent. That will be a private world they’ll share with their dad.

I’ll be left on the outside, again. No matter how long I spend living with wolves I can’t truly understand what it’s like to be one. What if our baby resents me for being a human?

Worse, what if the goddess part of me causes them problems? Is Everett right? Will they also inherit my powers? My curse? My enemies?

I curl protectively around my stomach at the thought of Nemesis reaching for my baby. Never. We’ll stop her. We’ll get rid of her, for good, so she never even has a chance to touch them.

The only problem is I still don’t know how. I’d gotten more bad news from Mariah than good. How were we supposed to gather all of the shards, much less trap them?

I have no idea where to begin. I miss Professor Xander, or at least, the man I’d thought he was. It would be so incredible to have someone to take my problem to, someone who knew the answers.

I press my forehead into my knees. ~Just once, can’t the answer be easy? Can I not be lost and scrambling for my life, for the lives of everyone I care about?~

It’s not fair, but I’m angry with Mariah. She barely told me anything and then sent me away, basically ordered me not to come back. Why won’t she help me?

She acted like she knew everything. She clearly knows a lot, but she won’t tell me. Maybe she doesn’t trust the human part of me either. Maybe she thinks I can’t handle it.

Fine. I’ll do it on my own, like always. I’ll find the answer if I have to read every book in both packs’ libraries; if I have to break into Werewolf University. I’ll do whatever I have to.

Praying to Achlys still doesn’t sound right. I don’t want to dwell on danger. I want to wrap myself in the love of my family, in the future promised by the little life growing inside of me.

I pray to Selene, instead, a prayer of thanks. ~I’m so glad you brought Everett and I together. And now we’ve been blessed with a child. Please, let us love them as much as we love each other.~

~Give us the strength to protect our family. Grant us the wisdom to know what to do. Let them grow up well, let them be loved, let them be strong enough to handle anything life throws at them.~

~Let me be a good mother. A good mate. And please, please, let me be able to protect them… To protect them all… I can’t fail, not this time…~

***

I come to myself with a start, groggy and disoriented. I’m slumped on my side, curled up on the floor of the old pack house. I must have fallen asleep while thinking.

As I start to sit up, I freeze—I’m not alone. There’s a child standing a few yards away from me, watching me intently. At least, I think it’s a child. I can’t see them very well.

I stand up carefully. The figure doesn’t move. I try to turn on my phone, but the battery died while I was asleep. I call out, keeping my voice gentle. “Who’s there? Do you need help?”

A whispering brushes my ears, but I can’t make out any words. I’m not even sure it came from the child. I try again. “Hello? Are you lost?”

The whispers get louder, but I still can’t make out what they’re saying. I wonder if I’m dreaming. It all feels real enough, though. I take a step toward the child. They don’t move.

I move a bit closer, squinting. Instead of getting clearer as I get closer, they seem to be blurring more. I still can’t make out any features. Is it one of the orphans? Did they sneak out?

My heart clenches thinking of the sick kids. Sick because of me, because of the evil that follows me. If something happens to them, I don’t know what I’ll do.

“Cassidy? Is that you?” I ask, still approaching slowly. The closer I get, the fainter they become. Soon, I can see the wall behind them through their torso.

I stop, afraid if I get any closer they’ll disappear completely. They must be some kind of spirit. That’s the only explanation. I’ve never had a visitation like this before.

They hold up their hand. Their voice is light and high; a child’s voice. But it’s weighted down with grief, grief they can’t be old enough to bear. “It won’t be enough.”

My breath stills in my chest. That doesn’t sound good. Spirit messages are always important. I need to know whatever they’re telling me, but it’s so vague. “What won’t be enough?”

I sense that I’m being looked at, that the spirit is filled with deep sadness. “You’re doing your best. But it won’t be enough.”

“Please, tell me more. What else do I need to do? I swear, I’ll do anything, just tell me.” I’m pleading, but I get no answer. Again.

I take another step forward, not thinking, too desperate, and they disappear. Their words resound in the room one final time, more felt than heard. ~It won’t be enough.~

I’m left in the empty pack house, not even whispers to keep me company, chilled and frightened, and hopeless. Whatever we do, it won’t be enough… We’re doomed.