Chapter 165 165

Chapter 165 165
  MILLICENT
  The witch hummed softly, like she was turning the words around in her mouth before choosing which ones to spit back out. “People change. But loyalty doesn’t. If she truly values you, she’ll meet you halfway. If she doesn’t, then you let her drift. It hurts less than holding on to someone who already let go.”
  My chest tightened. “Damn. That’s… brutally true.”
  “I don’t do sugar-coating,” she said with a tiny smirk. “Never have.”
  The fire crackled between us, almost like it was reacting to the shift in her mood, because something softer seeped through her voice when she spoke again. 
   “Seren,” I called, almost like it tasted too delicate to say wrong. “Thank you for trusting me enough to talk to me.”
  She stared at me for a long moment, something unreadable moving across her eyes like storm clouds changing direction. “You’re the first person I’ve told my name to in… longer than your lifetime.”
  There was a heaviness behind her words, the kind that begged to be touched but also warned you not to dig. I leaned forward slightly, elbows on my knees. “What happened to you, Seren?”
  She didn’t flinch. Didn’t look away. She just breathed out like she’d been holding the story against her ribs for years and finally decided to let it spill.
  “I didn’t start off as a dark evil witch,” she said. “I wasn’t cast out for evil. I was cast out for trying too hard to save wolves who didn’t want to be saved.” My brows knitted, but I stayed quiet.
  “I created spells, dangerous ones, yes, but powerful—because your kind came to me desperate. You think wolves are proud now? They used to be worse. They wanted solutions without consequences. They wanted miracles. And when I tried to give them some, my coven saw it as corruption. Meddling with nature. Breaking rules. So they banished me.”
  Her fingers tightened around the bowl until I heard a faint creak. “I went to the wolves I’d helped, thinking maybe they’d give me a place. A corner of a house. A bed. Something. They didn’t. They just… kept coming when they needed something else. So I made myself useful. I crafted a spell on my own body to keep me strong, keep me young, keep me from rotting away while I wandered forests waiting to be needed.”
  My heart sank. “That’s… goddess, Seren.”
  She let out a laugh that wasn’t really a laugh. “Then their strongest warrior went rogue. A she-wolf with power unmatched. They were terrified. Said she’d tear the whole pack apart if they didn’t stop her. So they begged me to fix her and promised a reward. And I believed them. I believed I could. I spent days working on the spell. Weeks. I gave it everything I had.”
  Her voice cracked just slightly.
  “When I placed it on her… she froze. Not healed. Not calmed. Just frozen. Stone. Like a statue. And when they realized I couldn’t undo it, they tried to kill me.”
  My hands clenched in my lap. “That’s not your fault.”
  “Try telling them that,” she breathed. “Try telling my coven. Try telling the families who believed I killed her out of spite. I ran. I hid. I swore never again. Never to help. Never to listen. Never to be used.”
  She looked at me then, truly looked, eyes shining too bright in the firelight. “So when your wolf boys dragged me out of the creek and demanded answers, all I saw were echoes of everyone who used me until I broke.”
  I swallowed hard, emotion flooding my throat. “You don’t owe anyone your help,” I whispered. “It’s a privilege. People abused it. That’s on them, not you.”
  She stared at me like she wasn’t sure whether to hug me or run away. Then she let out a slow breath, her shoulders dropping just a bit. “You sound older than you look.”
  “Trauma ages you up,” I muttered with a half-smile. “I’m practically ninety inside.” That got a real laugh out of her, soft and stunned, like she wasn’t used to the sound of her own joy.
  “This wolf,” she said finally, eyes flicking to my wrist, “the golden wolf inside you… it’s not a curse. Not a punishment. It’s a gift. A powerful one. But gifts like that don’t like being chained.” She motioned to the bracelet. “That thing is choking her. She’s trying to grow, to unlock whatever she was born for, and all this does is muffle her voice. You’re fighting yourself.”
  My fingers drifted over the bracelet slowly. “So… what do I do?” Seren smiled, small and knowing. “You already know. You’ve always known.”
  Her gaze held mine like she was passing something sacred between us. The fire crackled again, and the night grew still around us. My heart thudded once. Then again.
  I know what I have to do. 
  Although I had suggested, Seren still refused to spend the night. So I walked her back through the trees. The air carried that wet, mossy smell of the forest at night, all quiet except for our footsteps brushing over leaves. 
  She kept glancing at me like she was trying to memorize my face for later, maybe to curse me, maybe to bless me—honestly with her I couldn’t tell. 
  When we reached the crooked tree she said she’d follow the river upstream from there. She paused, fingers hovering near my shoulder like she wanted to touch me but didn’t know if it was allowed.
  “ I know I said this alot but... You’re… different,” she murmured. “For a wolf.” I snorted. “You say that like it’s an insult.”
  “It’s not.” She gave me this tiny smile that looked like it’d been locked up for years. “Thank you. For listening. For not asking for anything.”
  “You gave me more than you think,” I said back quietly. “And I’ll remember it.” She nodded once, stepped back, and her whole figure seemed to blend into the shadows like she’d been born from them. “Goodbye, Milicent.”
  “Bye, Seren.”
  And just like that, she was gone, her cloak brushing against the underbrush, the sound fading fast until it felt like I’d imagined her entirely.
  I turned and started back toward the house. My feet felt heavy, brain spinning with everything she’d said, especially the part about the bracelet. By the time I stepped through the yard and up the porch steps, Zayne and Xander were both leaning against the railing like they’d been waiting for me but pretending they weren’t.
  Xander lifted his chin first. “You done making forest friends?” I shoved his arm lightly. “Be grateful she didn’t turn you into a rabbit.”
  Zayne’s expression softened in that way he did when he was trying to act like he wasn’t worried. “Do you… want to stay here tonight?” he asked. “It’s late. And honestly we’d feel better if you did.”
  I looked at both of them, Xander pretending to look bored but definitely listening, Zayne looking like I might disappear if he blinked. “Yeah,” I said. “I’ll stay.”
  We ended up in the guest room I usually stayed in when I sleep over. They lingered by the door for a second like they wanted to say something before leaving, but eventually they slipped out, closing it gently behind them.
  I didn’t know when I fell asleep. I just knew I woke up with my throat dry and my skin damp with leftover dreams. The moonlight painted the edges of the room a pale silver, and everything felt too still, too heavy, so I slid out of bed and padded quietly down the stairs, each step creaking like it was snitching on me.
  The kitchen lights were on and I froze for a second, because who the hell was awake at this hour, but then I heard humming. Low, familiar humming. Mrs D.
  She was standing by the stove, stirring something in a little pot, steam curling around her hair in soft waves. A small bag of herbs sat open beside her, and something about the whole scene felt too cozy for midnight.
  “What’s going on?” I whispered. She jolted slightly, then relaxed when she saw me. “Oh! Milicent, darling. I thought it’d be Zayne.”
  “Why him?” I asked, walking closer.
  “He wakes up around this time almost every night,” she sighed, reaching for a jar. “Trouble sleeping. Has since he was little. I make him ginger tea so when he comes downstairs it’s hot and ready.”
  I glanced toward the stairs. “Pretty sure he’s knocked out cold. I literally checked on him when I passed by his room. He’s asleep.”
  Mrs D gave a little laugh that carried way too much meaning. “My dear… keeping your eyes closed doesn’t mean you’re sleeping.”
  That sentence hit like a pebble thrown at a still pond—small, but rippling deep. She opened a small box in the drawer and brought out exactly three pills. Blue ones. Round. No label.
  “What are those?” I asked.
  She shrugged like it was no big deal. “Just his antidepressants. And having a Mrs D who sneaks them into his tea so he doesn’t realize is a true blessing.”
  I choked, half horrified and half amused. “You’re drugging him?”
  “Oh, I prefer the word helping.” She plopped the pills into the pot like she was seasoning soup. “He refuses to take them otherwise. Too proud and too stubborn. Too much like his father. So I help him without telling him.”
  I leaned against the counter, watching her stir. “Wow. You’re ruthless.” She winked. “Thank you.”
  Before I could laugh again, a voice cut through the room—low, annoyed, and way too close. “Drugging the Alpha’s son is a crime.”
  Mrs D and I froze like actual statues, then slowly turned. Zayne was standing at the bottom of the stairs shirtless, arms crossed, hair messy, eyes very awake. And very judging.
  Mrs D went pale. “Oh dear.”
  Zayne raised an eyebrow. “It’s a good thing my sense of smell and taste work just fine.” He walked closer, each step slow and deliberate. “And I know when you slip things into my tea.”
  Mrs D immediately began tiptoeing away like she thought if she moved slow enough he wouldn’t see her. “I should… um… check the laundry.”
  Zayne sighed dramatically. “You poisoned me again, didn’t you?” Mrs D squeaked. “Goodnight!” Then she practically sprinted out of the kitchen.
  The silence left behind was so awkward I almost giggled just from the tension, but Zayne turned toward me, his expression softening instantly.
  “You okay?” he asked quietly.
  I nodded. “Yeah. Just thirsty. And apparently a witness to a crime.”
  He smirked, leaning his hip against the counter. “Come on. I’ll make you a cup too. Drugged ginger tea for everyone.”
  That made me laugh, really laugh, and he smiled like he’d been waiting hours for that sound. He moved around the kitchen with this lazy grace, grabbing a mug, pouring hot tea, not even bothering to measure the honey.
   I leaned beside him, watching the muscles in his back shift as he moved, the way his hair fell over his face, the tiredness beneath his eyes even though he was pretending otherwise.
  “Do you actually drink it?” I asked.
  “What, the antidepressant soup she makes? Not every time.” He tapped his mug. “But I always leave the cup empty. Makes her feel better.”
  I raised an eyebrow. “So you’re the liar.” He shrugged. “It’s kindness. With extra steps.”
  We both smiled at the same time, and the room got warm in a different way. He handed me the mug, his fingers brushing mine, lingering a second too long. My heart did that annoying flip thing again.
  “Thanks,” I whispered.
  “Anytime,” he murmured.