Chapter 20 CHAPTER 20
I woke up with the lingering ache of restless sleep clinging to my body. My shoulders were stiff, my head cloudy, and the memory of last night slid through my mind like an unwelcome shadow. The woman’s face wouldn’t leave me alone. Her calmness. Her certainty. Her voice.
And most of all—her claim.
I shoved off my blankets and sat up, rubbing my face. Sunlight streamed through the curtains, warm and soft, but nothing eased the tight pull in my chest.
I needed air. Something fresh. Something quiet.
I grabbed my jacket, locked up the house, and started walking toward Tasha’s place. She hadn’t been okay lately—her shifting had become unpredictable, erratic. She didn’t say it directly, but I knew fear when I saw it. Fear of losing control. Fear of hurting someone.
And honestly, I needed her today. I needed someone who wasn’t lying to me, someone who wasn’t avoiding my questions, someone who didn’t look at me like a fragile secret wrapped in denial.
The pavement crunched beneath my shoes as I walked. The morning was cool, crisp, the kind that usually clears your head. Not today. My thoughts tangled instead—Branden, my mother, the woman, my father in the hospital. Everything bleeding into everything else until nothing made sense.
Tasha’s house came into view at the end of the street. Her curtains were drawn, and the lights were off, which wasn’t unusual. She slept like she was recovering from a year-long battle. I knocked gently anyway.
“Tash? It’s me.”
Silence.
I knocked again, louder this time.
After a moment, the door creaked open, and Tasha appeared, her eyes half-open, hair in a messy bun, wearing one of her huge oversized shirts.
“Ayla?” she mumbled, voice hoarse. “It’s early.”
“It’s almost ten,” I said gently.
“That’s early,” she insisted before stepping aside. “Come in.”
I walked past her and froze.
Her living room was a disaster. Not messy—destroyed. The couch cushions were ripped open, claw marks dug into the walls, the coffee table split clean down the middle. A lamp lay shattered against the floor. The air smelled like sweat and raw panic.
“Tasha,” I whispered. “What happened?”
She shut the door behind us, her shoulders slumping. “I shifted again last night. Twice.”
My heart clenched. She never shifted twice in one night. Not even during her first heat cycles.
“Are you okay?” I asked.
She nodded, but her lips trembled. “Mostly. Just tired. Everything feels loud today.”
I stepped closer and touched her arm. “I’m here now.”
She gave a tiny smile, the kind that didn’t reach her eyes. “Thank God. I swear, Ayla, if I lose control again—”
“You won’t,” I said quickly. “I won’t let you.”
Her throat bobbed as she swallowed. “You say that like you can stop a wolf mid-shift.”
“Watch me,” I said, trying to make her laugh. It worked—barely. But something behind her eyes was different today. A kind of buzzing fear.
We walked into the kitchen where she started cleaning up broken dishes from the sink. I grabbed a broom to help. The normalcy of cleaning soothed something inside me. Just a little.
“You didn’t answer my texts last night,” she said.
“I went to sleep early,” I lied.
Tasha paused, looking at me with narrowed eyes. “No, you didn’t. You don’t sleep early. You get distracted or annoyed or hungry, but never sleepy.”
I sighed, leaning against the counter. “Okay, fine. A woman came to the house again.”
Tasha froze, the shards of a broken plate still in her hand. “The same woman from before?”
“Yeah.”
Her grip tightened. “What did she want this time?”
“She said she needed to show me something.” I hesitated, then continued, “She had a folder with documents. Pictures. Papers. And—”
I inhaled slowly, the memory of it hitting me again.
“She had a newborn photo of me,” I whispered. “But not from the hospital. It was… somewhere else. A dim room. A woman’s hands holding me.”
“And you think it’s her?” Tasha asked.
“I don’t know,” I said, voice cracking. “But she showed me a certificate. Not a birth certificate. Something else. It said, ‘Transferred custody.’ With my name on it.”
Tasha dropped the plate fragment, her hand shaking violently.
“Ayla,” she breathed. “That’s not possible.”
“I know.”
“No, I mean—your parents wouldn’t hide something like that from you.”
I looked at her, and she saw the truth in my eyes.
“They already are.”
Tasha opened her mouth, but suddenly she staggered backward, gripping the counter with both hands.
I rushed to her. “Tasha? What’s wrong?”
Her breathing turned shallow. Her pupils widened. Her nails extended—just slightly—scraping against the countertop.
“Not again,” she gasped. “Ayla—I—I can’t—”
“Look at me.” I grabbed her shoulders. “Stay with me. What do you feel?”
“Heat,” she strained, squeezing her eyes shut. “Everything burns. My skin. My bones. I can feel my wolf—she’s clawing inside me.”
I held her tighter. “You’re safe. You’re not shifting here. Not again.”
“I can’t—control—her—” Her voice broke completely.
Suddenly she jerked away from me, stumbling across the kitchen. Her back hit the wall, and she let out a low, guttural sound—half growl, half cry.
“Tasha!” I ran to her again.
But she shoved me away—hard. I hit the floor, the impact knocking the breath out of me. She wasn’t trying to hurt me. She was trying to protect me from her.
Her fingers curled like claws, her teeth sharpening slightly. Her wolf was breaking through.
“Ayla,” she choked out, voice trembling. “Run—”
“No.”
“Please,” she begged, tears streaming down her face. “I can’t stop— I don’t want to hurt you—”
Her whole body shook violently.
And then—
A loud knock echoed through the house.
Once.
Then again.
Sharp enough to stop every movement.
Tasha froze mid-breath. Her wolf halted just beneath her skin, pulled back by something neither of us understood.
I turned slowly toward the front door.
“Tash,” I whispered. “Stay here.”
She nodded weakly, sinking to the floor, trembling but no longer shifting.
My legs felt heavy as I walked down the hallway. Every instinct told me not to open the door, but I had to. Something compelled me—fear, anger, confusion, maybe all of them.
I pulled the door open.
She stood there.
The woman.
The same calm eyes. The same soft expression. The same strange sense of certainty, like she was waiting for this very moment.
“Ayla,” she said gently. “I’m sorry to come uninvited. But you need answers.”
My throat closed. “What do you want?”
She lifted the same folder from yesterday.
“I want to give you the truth.”
“I don’t want your truth,” I snapped, stepping outside and shutting the door halfway behind me so she couldn’t see Tasha. “I want you to leave me alone.”
She didn’t flinch. “I can’t. Not when you’re in danger.”
I froze. “What danger?”
“Your shift,” she said softly. “It’s coming early.”
“My shift? I’m not a wolf.”
“No,” she said. “Not a wolf.”
My heart slammed in my chest.
She opened the folder and pulled out a picture.
A baby wrapped in a crimson cloth, glowing faintly—yes, glowing—with a soft ember-like warmth.
“That’s you,” she said. “Before they took you.”
“Stop,” I whispered. “Stop lying.”
“I am not lying.” Her voice shook just slightly, the first crack in her calm exterior. “They hid you because they feared what you could become. But I was there when you were born. I saw your first spark. I held you before they stole you from me.”
Her eyes glistened—not manipulative, but raw.
“I am your real mother, Ayla.”
My knees wobbled.
Behind me, I heard Tasha gasp—her wolf reacting to the energy radiating from the woman. It pulsed like heatwaves, like the air around her shimmered with something supernatural.
I stepped back involuntarily.
“No,” I whispered. “No. This isn’t real.”
“Ayla,” the woman said softly, “look at your hands.”
I glanced down a faint orange glow flickered beneath my skin, brightening with my panic. My breath caught. The woman stepped closer, slow and gentle.
“You’re awakening, my child.”
I stumbled backward, heart hammering, the glow spreading up my wrists.
Inside the house, Tasha cried out her wolf reacting again. Everything was unraveling at once.
My powers awakening. The truth at my doorstep. My best friend losing control behind me and myy whole life turning inside out.
And all I could think was, my mother lied to me.
And this woman might not be lying at all.