Chapter Eight
– Mother’s Eyes
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Chapter Eight- Mother’s Eyes
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The packhouse felt like it had finally exhaled. After the morning’s chaos Cassia’s shrieks, Caius’s smirks, Alpha Darius’s muttering the hum of daily life had returned. But inside me? Everything was tilted sideways.
I sat on my bed, sweater sleeves pulled over my hands, knees tucked tight against my chest. The pregnancy test lay face down on the nightstand like it could still burn me if I looked too long. My heart wouldn’t settle. My hands wouldn’t stop shaking.
Three weeks. That’s all it had been. Three weeks since Paris. One night. One man. A first name whispered in the dark. And now this.
The door eased open without a knock. Mom slipped in quietly, the scent of sage and chamomile trailing with her. She looked like she hadn’t slept, but her healer’s calm never wavered. She sat at the edge of the bed the way she had when I was little and feverish, as if she could anchor me with her presence alone.
“Elara,” she said softly.
“Please don’t.” My throat closed. “Please don’t look at me like that.”
“Like what?”
“Like you already know.”
Her lips curved in the smallest, saddest smile. “I am your mother. Of course I
know.”
I buried my face in my hands, words breaking out fast and jagged. “I wasn’t
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supposed to this wasn’t supposed to happen. I wasn’t thinking. I’m not ready. Goddess, I can barely take care of myself-how am I supposed to take care of a baby?”
Mom let me tumble out everything every frantic, ugly thought.
–
“What if I mess it up? What if I’m not strong enough? What if people look at me and think I ruined my life? What if the baby grows up and feels unwanted because I wasn’t enough?”
The sobs broke before I could hold them back. And then her arms were around me, steady, grounding, the way they had been when nightmares used to send me running into her room as a child.
“Elara Quinn,” she murmured against my hair, “you are stronger than you believe. This child will never be unwanted. Not while I live. Not while this pack stands. You will not face this alone.”
The dam burst, and I cried harder. My chest shook with it, every ounce of fear spilling out.
–
When the storm eased, she stroked my hair, her tone shifting softer, but deliberate. “Do you want to find the father?”
”
The question cut straight to my heart. My head jerked up, eyes wide. “Mom
Her gaze was unwavering, healer-steady but mother-fierce. “I need to know what you want. If you hope for him to be part of this, we will find him. If you would rather raise this child without him, we will stand with you. But this choice must come from you.”
The room pressed in, heavy with the weight of it.
His face flashed through me sharp jaw, rough hands, a mouth that kissed
—
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like fire. His voice when he said my name. The way the wolf in me had gone still, like it finally recognized home.
And the way he was gone when morning came.
“I…” My voice broke. “I don’t know if I can find him. And what if I did – what if he doesn’t want me? What if he doesn’t want the baby? What if I tell him and it ruins everything?”
Mom’s hand cupped my cheek, her thumb brushing away the tear I didn’t know had fallen. “Then he does not deserve you. Or this child. But if he is worthy, you may one day want him to know. For now, you decide only this: will you keep the child?”
I stared down at my trembling hands, then at the place where my palm pressed unconsciously against my stomach.
“Yes,” I whispered, more fragile than I meant. “Yes, I’ll keep them. I have to. They’re mine.”
Her lips touched my forehead, sealing the vow like a blessing. “Then we will walk this road together.”
And for the first time all day, my fear didn’t feel like drowning. It still pressed heavy, but Mom’s words, her strength, wrapped around me like armor.
You are not alone. Not while I live. Not while this pack stands.
I clung to it like lifeline.
The packhouse settled into its nightly rhythm-footsteps fading, doors closing, voices softening to murmurs. But my mind didn’t follow. It spun, restless, caught between my mother’s steady hands and the reality now anchored inside
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Chapter Eight – Mother’s Eyes
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The room was dim except for the lantern by my bed. Shadows crawled across the walls, stretching long and sharp, like the future itself – uncertain, too big to hold.
I lay back on the covers, one arm across my stomach. It wasn’t visible yet, not really. Just a secret. Just a whisper of life, too fragile to name. But I felt it, deep in my bones, like the tiniest ember catching flame.
Mine.
The word echoed with both pride and terror.
What did I know about being a mother? I could barely keep my plants alive at college. I had no partner. No father for this child. Just me, my family, and the gaping silence where he should have been.
Him.
The Paris stranger with the storm-gray eyes and the voice that wrapped around me like velvet and steel. The man who held me as if I was both fragile glass and wildfire. The one who kissed me like he’d been waiting centuries.
My chest clenched. I didn’t even know his last name.
“What if you wanted me too?” I whispered into the silence, voice cracking. “What if you’d stayed?”
The ceiling didn’t answer. The wolf inside me stirred, unsettled.
I thought about telling him. About finding him somehow, pressing his hand against my stomach and watching his face when I said the words. We made this. Together.
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But then the darker thoughts followed. What if he didn’t care? What if he denied me? What if he denied us? What if the shame of being “the girl who couldn’t even name her baby’s father” swallowed me whole?
Tears pricked again, hot and traitorous. I pressed the heel of my hand to my eyes, trying to choke them back.
“No,” I whispered fiercely. “No, I can do this. I will do this. With or without
him.”
The lantern flickered, throwing the room into deeper shadow. I drew in a long, shaky breath, rolling to my side. My hand stayed protectively on my stomach.
Maybe Mom was right. Maybe fate had a way of circling back. Wolves believed in destiny, in bonds that couldn’t be broken. But tonight, I couldn’t trust fate. Tonight, I could only trust myself.
And so I whispered a promise to the tiny spark inside me – a vow stitched together from fear and love and stubbornness.
“I’ll protect you. I don’t know how yet, but I will. I’ll make you safe, even if it
kills me.”
The words felt both fragile and unshakable. My eyes finally closed, exhaustion dragging me under.
And in the dark, as the packhouse breathed around me, I swore I felt the
faintest flutter back – not real, not yet, but enough. Enough to believe I wasn’t truly alone.
米米米
Morning sunlight streamed through my curtains, bright, warm… and
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Chapter Eight Mother’s Eyes.
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unfortunately accompanied by Cassia.
She burst into my room like a banshee, hair wild, still in pajamas, waving a notebook over her head. “Rise and shine, Mommy Wolf!”
I groaned, pulling the blanket over my face. “No.”
“Yes!” Cassia bounced onto my bed, nearly knocking me off it. “You’ve been officially inducted into the club of motherhood, and as your favorite cousin, best friend, and partner in international crimes of fashion, I am now in charge of all strategic operations.”
I peeked at her through the blanket. “You didn’t.”
“Oh, I did.” With a dramatic flourish, she held up the notebook. Across the cover, in sparkly purple ink, underlined three times, it read:
Operation Baby Wolf 2022
I smacked my forehead. “Cassia…”
“What?” She grinned shamelessly. “You’re pregnant in 2022. Branding is important. This child deserves a legacy.”
Before I could argue, she was already flipping through pages. “I’ve drafted names, potential nursery layouts, a snack supply plan, and possible baby shower games. I vetoed anything involving balloons-because Caius would pop them all -and added churros to the mandatory postpartum recovery diet.”
I sat up, horrified. “You made… lists?”
“Of course I did.” She blinked, scandalized. “What do you think babies come with? Wolves don’t get instruction manuals. You have me.”
That was when the door creaked. Caius leaned against the frame, arms
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folded, smirk firmly in place. “Please tell me you didn’t actually name it Operation Baby Wolf 2022.”
Cassia gasped. “Excuse you, it’s a working title.”
“It’s a cry for help,” Caius corrected smoothly. “What poor pup deserves this
level of chaos before it’s even born?”
I dropped my face into my hands. “This is my nightmare.”
“Nightmare?” Alpha Darius’s deep voice rumbled from the hall. He stepped inside, sharp gray eyes landing on me. His arms folded, his posture all Alpha authority, though the twitch at his mouth betrayed amusement. “I thought I made one rule when you two went gallivanting across Europe: no international incidents. Instead, I come home to shrieking at dawn and now…” His gaze flicked to the sparkly notebook. “This.”
Cassia beamed. “Don’t pretend you’re not impressed, Father. This operation is
airtight.”
“Airtight lunacy,” Alpha Darius muttered, though his eyes softened briefly as they shifted back to me. “You look pale, Elara. Sit before you fall over.”
Before I could answer, Luna Lyanna swept in like a calm tide, setting a tray of tea on the dresser. “There will be no planning chaos before breakfast.” Her serene gaze landed squarely on Cassia. “Or ever, if I can help it.”
“Mother, don’t crush my vision,” Cassia complained.
“Vision?” Caius laughed. “You’re turning this poor child into a pack mascot before it has lungs.”
Cassia narrowed her eyes. “Jealousy doesn’t suit you, brother. Aunt Cassia is destiny.”
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Alpha Darius pinched the bridge of his nose. “This household grows stranger by the day.”
My mother, Seraphina, appeared in the doorway, her healer’s eyes already soft and knowing as they found mine. She didn’t join in the banter, didn’t scold, didn’t tease-just watched me with quiet concern, as if she could already see the storm beneath my skin.
Cassia flopped across my lap with a triumphant grin. “Face it, cousin. You’re stuck with me. Operation Baby Wolf 2022 has begun, and I am the general.”
I groaned again, burying my face in a pillow. “Goddess help me.”
But underneath the noise, the laughter, the chaos, I felt it-the warmth of my family gathered around me, holding me steady even as my world tilted.
And for the first time since Paris, I didn’t feel entirely alone.
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