Chapter 78 Mara The Busy Body
Mara finds me where I always end up when I don’t know what to do with myself.
The garden.
It’s tucked behind the eastern wing of the pack house, half-hidden by climbing ivy and old stone arches that predate Darius, predate his father, maybe even predate the pack itself. At the center is a circular fountain, its water clear and cold, spilling gently over carved wolves chasing one another in an endless loop.
I sit on the edge, arms wrapped around my knees, boots dangling inches above the water. The air smells like wet stone and crushed leaves. Autumn is close now. I can feel it in my bones.
I don’t hear Mara approach.
I just feel her.
Not through the bond, hers is something quieter. A presence earned through years of tending, watching, surviving.
She doesn’t say my name.
She doesn’t ask if I’m okay.
She doesn’t sit too close.
She leans against the fountain instead, hands folded over her apron, eyes fixed on the water like it’s telling her a story she’s heard before.
“You ran out of breakfast like the building was on fire,” she says mildly.
I snort. “Felt like it.”
A beat passes. The fountain murmurs between us.
“I heard shouting,” she adds. “Didn’t need details to know who started it.”
That earns her a look. “I didn’t know you were such a busybody?”
Mara’s lips twitch, but there’s no amusement in her eyes. “Child, I’ve been spying on land eavesdropping onwolves longer than you’ve been alive. You’re not subtle.”
I huff and look away, jaw tight. My fingers dig into the fabric of my sleeves, grounding myself in the feel of something solid.
She waits.
That’s the thing about Mara. She doesn’t rush silence. She lets it stretch until it stops being empty and starts being honest.
“You don’t have to fix it,” I mutter finally. “Whatever this is.”
“I know,” she says. “That’s not why I’m here.”
I glance at her then, frowning. “Then why are you?”
She pushes off the fountain and turns fully toward me. Her face is lined, weathered by years of worry and work, but her eyes are sharp, too sharp for comforting lies.
“Because I don’t like watching people lie to themselves,” she says simply.
My shoulders stiffen. “I’m not lying.”
She arches a brow. “You’re pretending that ignoring something will make it disappear.”
I swallow. The garden suddenly feels too open, too exposed.
“Power doesn’t disappear just because you ignore it,” Mara continues, her voice calm but firm. “It festers. It leaks. And eventually, it explodes.”
I flinch despite myself.
“That’s not fair,” I say quietly. “I didn’t ask for this.”
“No,” she agrees. “You didn’t.”
Her easy acknowledgment throws me off more than an argument would have.
“But you have it,” she goes on. “And pretending otherwise won’t make you safer. It will only make you unprepared.”
I shake my head, anger rising again, hot and familiar. “So now everyone’s decided I need fixing? Therapy?Training? Control? Like I’m some kind of weapon that needs a safety lock?”
Mara studies me for a long moment, then sighs.
“You know,” she says, “when Darius was a boy, he broke three men’s ribs during his first uncontrolled shift.”
I blink. “What?”
“He was terrified of himself afterward,” she continues, unfazed. “Locked himself in the old barn for days. Refused to eat. Refused to speak. Said he’d rather chain himself than hurt someone again.”
That… doesn’t fit the Darius I know. The Alpha king. The controlled one.
“And do you know what I asked him?” Mara adds.
I don’t answer.
“I asked him whether he wanted to spend his life being restrained,” Mara says softly, “or whether he wanted to learn to stand without chains.”
Something tightens in my chest.
“This isn’t about turning you into something,” Mara says, stepping closer now. “It’s about whether you choose who you become, or whether someone else does.”
I look back at the fountain, at the endless loop of stone wolves chasing each other, never catching up, never stopping.
“I’m tired of people deciding for me,” I whisper.
“I know,” she says.
“I’m tired of being watched. Guarded. Protected like I’m going to break at any second.”
“I know.”
“And I’m tired of everyone dying around me because I hesitate,” I add, my voice cracking despite my effort to keep it steady.
That gets her attention.
Mara’s expression softens, not into pity, but into something heavier. Respect. Understanding.
“That’s the part you’re afraid to say out loud,” she murmurs.
My throat burns. I blink hard.
She doesn’t touch me. Doesn’t pull me into an embrace. She just asks, quietly, the question that will haunt me long after she leaves.
“Do you want to be protected forever,” she asks, “or trusted?”
The words hit me like a physical blow.
Protected.
Trusted.
Images flash through my mind unbidden.
Blood guards stepping in front of me.
Darius shifting before I can, teeth and claws between me and danger.
Council members are calling me subject.
The way people’s voices lower around me, like I’m made of glass.
And then.
The child I once saved.
The moment my body moved without permission, instinct overrode fear.
The way it felt when I didn’t freeze.
“I don’t want to be caged,” I say hoarsely.
“Then don’t build the cage yourself,” Mara replies gently.
I laugh weakly. “You make it sound so simple.”
“It isn’t,” she says. “But it is a choice.”
She straightens, smoothing her apron. “No one is telling you to train. Not today. Not on their terms.”
She meets my gaze squarely.
“But if you don’t learn to stand in your own power,” she says, “the Council will decide how you’re handled. They always do.”
That truth sinks deep.
She turns to leave, then pauses.
“For what it’s worth,” Mara adds over her shoulder, “being trusted doesn’t mean never being afraid. It means knowing you won’t lose yourself when fear shows up.”
Then she’s gone, leaving me alone with the fountain, the murmuring water, and the echo of her question.
Do you want to be protected forever… or trusted?
It follows me as I walk the garden paths.
It follows me back to my room.
It follows me when I lie awake that night, staring at the ceiling, my beast stirring restlessly beneath my skin, not raging, not silent.
Waiting.
For an answer.