Chapter 14 The lingering feelings
IRIS
Daisy loops her arm through mine as we step out of the cab, the air crisp with evening breeze. Her pack’s territory stretches wide and quiet, and in the distance, I spot the house.
It’s massive, far bigger than I imagined, but what really catches my eye is the architecture. Old stonework, ivy climbing up one side, wooden beams visible beneath the sloped roof. It’s ancient, definitely, but beautiful. Like something out of a history book. Regal but lived in. It doesn’t scream opulence, not like the Lycan’s Haven, but it’s warm. Familiar, even.
Daisy nudges me. “Stop staring like you’ve never seen a house before,” she teases.
“Sorry,” I murmur, trying not to gape like a tourist. “It’s just... wow.”
“I know. It’s a bit of a medieval castle meets cozy cabin.”
We walk up the steps, and before Daisy can even knock, the door swings open. Her mom, short, round-faced, and grinning, throws her arms open. “You’re late!”
“I told you traffic was bad!” Daisy laughs as she’s pulled into a hug.
Then she turns to me. “And this must be Iris!” She pulls me in without hesitation. “You’re even prettier than Daisy described.”
I laugh nervously. “Thank you. Happy birthday to Mr. Tolland.”
She waves it off. “Oh, he loves attention. Come in, come in.”
Inside, it smells like roasted meat, garlic, and something sweet. Warm light pours from every corner of the house. It’s nothing like mine. This house breathes love.
Mr. Tolland appears in the hallway just as we’re pulling off our shoes. He’s tall and a little gruff-looking, but his smile is wide and welcoming. “You brought a guest? Now that’s what I call a good daughter.”
He hugs Daisy first, then pats my back with surprising gentleness. “You’re very welcome here, Iris. Any time.”
“Thank you, sir,” I say, touched by how easily they include me.
“No ‘sir’, please. Makes me feel old. Just call me Matt.”
Dinner is set in the dining room, a long oak table packed with food that looks like it was made to feed twenty instead of seven. Daisy’s siblings are already seated, chatting and sneaking bites of bread rolls. The conversation flows easily, and I find myself laughing more than I have in days.
Daisy’s family is playful. Her dad makes jokes at the table, her mom teases everyone without mercy, and her brother launches into a dramatic tale about a squirrel that apparently “stalked” him during a run. They loop me into every conversation, every toast, every laugh, and by the time the cake is brought out, I feel like I belong here.
“Alright, alright,” Mrs. Tolland claps her hands. “Time to sing.”
We all rise, and I follow Daisy’s lead, joining in the chorus of “Happy Birthday.” Mr. Tolland beams like a child as his wife sets the cake down in front of him, chocolate with thick white frosting and sparkler candles shooting off little trails of light. He pretends to blow them out twice before finally making a wish.
“Okay, dig in before someone dies of hunger,” he declares, slicing into the cake.
The room fills with laughter again.
I glance at Daisy, who’s already licking frosting off her thumb. “Thanks for bringing me,” I whisper.
She grins. “Told you you needed a reset.”
And she was right. For the first time in a long time, I don’t feel like the girl carrying invisible chains or hiding beneath a scarf. Here, I’m just Iris. And for tonight, that’s enough.
After dinner, Daisy pulls me by the hand and tugs me toward the back of the house, away from the noise of her siblings still bickering over cake and her father’s off-key humming echoing from the kitchen.
“Come on,” she says, her voice low and excited. “There’s somewhere I want to show you.”
We walk past the garden, the scent of herbs and night flowers brushing the air, and follow a narrow path lined with smooth stones and glowing lanterns. It leads through the trees until the world opens up again, and I see it. A lake.
Still. Glassy. The moon hangs above it like it was painted there just for us, silver rippling across the water.
“Wow,” I breathe.
Daisy plops down on the soft grass, patting the spot beside her. “I come here when I need to think. Or scream. Or cry.”
I laugh softly and sit. The grass is cool beneath my legs, and the breeze smells of pine and damp earth.
We don’t speak for a while. Just watch the water dance. Crickets hum around us, and the sky is littered with stars. I tilt my head back and exhale.
“Thanks for inviting me,” I say quietly. “Your family… they’re amazing.”
Daisy smiles, her eyes fixed on the sky. “They’re loud. And nosy. But yeah. They’re home.” Then she looks at me. “I knew you needed a night away.”
“I did,” I admit. “I didn’t realize how heavy everything’s been until I got a taste of normal again.”
Another pause. The night wraps around us, safe and calm.
Then, gently, Daisy asks, “What are you going to do about Darian?”
My hand moves to my neck before I can stop it. The mark has healed, physically. But something about it lingers. An invisible pull, low and constant, like a thread tugging at my center.
I don't answer immediately. I stare at the water, tracing the reflection of the moon.
“I don’t know,” I whisper. “He won’t see me. It’s been weeks and… nothing. No word. No explanation. Just silence.”
Daisy hums, thoughtful. “But you still feel it, don’t you? The connection.”
“Every second,” I admit. “It’s like he’s under my skin. But he doesn’t want me. He made that clear.”
“Or he’s scared,” she says. “Torn.”
“Or,” I say bitterly, “he’s happy with the perfect fiancée who gets to touch him without hiding. Who isn’t some unknown, dormant wolf with no name or title.”
Daisy doesn’t argue. She just nudges my arm with hers.