Chapter 24 24
The next day, my mother’s “punishment” landed with the quiet, efficient cruelty I’d come to expect. She didn’t yell. She simply found me after breakfast and issued a list of tasks in that calm, ice-chip voice.
“The storerooms in the east wing need inventory. Every crate, every weapon, every sack of grain. Log it all in the ledger. The ledgers from the past two years need to be cross-referenced for the tax report. The training grounds need to be cleared of the broken equipment from yesterday’s sparring. Do not delegate. You will do it yourself.”
God, I’d thought I’d been spared since she hadn’t declared anything after yesterday’s blow-up. No such luck.
I just nodded, my jaw tight, and got to work. The work was mind-numbing and physically draining. Dust from the storerooms coated my throat. The numbers in the ledgers blurred before my eyes. Hauling splintered wood and bent metal from the field made my arms ache.
And at the end of it all, just as the sun was reaching its hottest, fiercest point in the sky, she added one final item. “Ten laps. Across the full training field. Now.”
I didn’t argue. Arguing with the Luna in front of the other pack members was unthinkable. I just walked to the edge of the vast, sun-baked dirt field, took a breath that already felt too hot, and started to run.
The first few laps were okay. The anger fueled me. By the fifth, my lungs were burning, my legs felt like lead, and the sun felt like a physical weight hammering down on my head and shoulders. Other pack members were practicing drills, sparing, and shifting in the shaded areas. They glanced at me as I stumbled past, a sweaty, red-faced mess, but they quickly looked away, minding their own business.
No one wanted to be associated with the Alpha’s disappointing, wolfless daughter getting her comeuppance.
On the eighth lap, my foot caught on a hidden dip in the packed earth. I almost went down hard, my arms pinwheeling. I didn’t fall, but the stumble broke the last of my stamina. I just… stopped. I dropped to my knees right there in the middle of the field, my chest heaving, sweat dripping from my chin into the dust.
I glanced toward the shaded command platform. She was there, of course. Watching. Not with rage, but with that stern, unyielding expression. I’m sure she was cataloging every sign of my weakness, every proof of my human frailty.
I rolled my eyes, too tired to care, and focused on just breathing.
A few minutes later, crouched over and trying to re-tie my shoelace with trembling fingers, a shadow fell over me. A hand appeared in my blurry vision, holding out a cold bottle of water, condensation beading on the plastic.
For a stupid, hopeful second, my heart leapt. I almost smiled. Mother had done this countless times when I was a kid, after a tough training session. A silent offering of water, the only hint of softening.
I lifted my gaze, squinting against the sun’s glare.
It wasn’t her.
Aunt Everly stood there, her posture tall and athletic even in her casual gear, her expression a mix of sympathy and that no-nonsense warmth she always carried.
“Here, Arielle,” she said.
I sighed, the brief hope curdling into something more familiar, resignation.
“Thanks, Aunt Everly.” I took the water and gulped half of it down in one go, the cold a shock to my system.
I looked back at the platform. My mother had turned away, fully engrossed in giving sharp instructions to a group of Gammas.
Aunt Everly followed my gaze, then looked back at me. “She might seem like she doesn’t care for you,” she said quietly, “but she does, dear.”
I pushed myself to my feet, my legs still wobbly, and shrugged. “Yeah. Coming from you, her best friend. She really does care.” The sarcasm dripped from my voice, thick and bitter.
Aunt Everly didn’t get offended. She just gave a small, sad smile. “Yes, Serena is my best friend. Or was. But you know I don’t say things just to make her look good in your eyes. Not anymore. We haven’t aligned as we used to in… a long time.” She paused, her gaze drifting over to where Sheila was practicing a complicated takedown move with another young warrior. A flicker of pure, unguarded longing passed through her eyes. “Now, you and my Sheila… you’re just the best version of what we used to be.”
Grandma usually insisted they were still good friends, just busy. But I had seen the distance. I remembered things being different before my father’s accident. Aunt Everly was around more, laughing with my mother in the kitchens. But after Dad fell into a coma, something changed. There’d been a big, hushed-up argument. I was only nine, shoved out of the room, but I’d heard the raised voices. Ever since, Mother had been distant, and Aunt Everly had changed too—still kind to me, but with a quiet sorrow around the edges.
They had done a good job, I’ll give them that. Whatever issue they had, they’d kept it from poisoning our friendship.
With that, Aunt Everly just gave my shoulder a firm, comforting pat and walked off to go bark instructions at another group of trainees.
I watched her go. She was one of the toughest female Gamma Generals in the pack. In a way, she was like an understudy version of my mother—just as focused, but less rigid. More approachable. More… human. And Sheila was just like her, with maybe a little less of her father’s calm patience. I’m sure Aunt Everly was proud of her daughter.
And my mother was just… perpetually disappointed in me. As I stood there in the punishing sun, aching and thirsty, I couldn’t even find the energy to blame her.
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Later that evening, just as we’d planned, Sheila put on her performance. She found my mother in her office, where she was buried in paperwork again. I lurked just outside the door, my stomach in knots before stepping in after her.
“Luna Serena?” Sheila’s voice was bright, respectful, with just the right touch of teenage pleading. “I was wondering if I could steal Arielle for the evening? There’s this new great movie in the city we’ve been dying to see. It’s a limited engagement, only tonight and tomorrow! We’d be back before curfew, I promise. Cross my heart.”
I held my breath. My mother looked up from her papers, her sharp eyes moving from Sheila’s expertly crafted “pleading innocent” face to mine, where I stood trying to look casual and mildly interested in the movie idea.
I felt she would see right through us. She had a sixth sense for deception, could spot a lying rogue at fifty paces.
She was quiet for a long moment. Sheila was still smiling, but I was standing close enough to see the tiny, almost invisible bead of sweat that appeared at her temple.
She was panicking.
And so was I, quietly.