Chapter 36 The Appetite
They emerged from the library feeling lighter. The secret they had been carrying wasn't just a burden anymore; it was a legacy. They weren't afraid of the unknown, because now, it had a name.
Elana stopped at the foot of the stairs, checking her watch.
"You two find something to eat," she instructed, her tone brooking no argument.
"And then get some rest. It’s been a long few days, and tomorrow is going to be even longer."
She turned toward her private study, but then paused, looking back at Leela.
"Oh, and Leela," she added, "don't be freaked out when you go into your room."
Leela blinked, her heart jumping slightly. "Why?"
"You had to leave in such a hurry before," Elana explained with a wave of her hand. "You didn't have time to properly settle in. I had one of the girls from the cleaning staff go in and unpack for you. Everything is put away in the dresser and the closet."
She gave them a tired but warm smile.
"I'm going to go make a phone call."
She disappeared into her office, closing the door with a soft click.
Fennigan nudged Leela’s shoulder. "Come on. I’m starving."
They made their way to the massive industrial kitchen. The dinner rush was long over, the kitchen quiet and spotless, but the smell of roasted meat and savory herbs still hung heavy in the air.
The Pack had already been fed, but in a house full of werewolves, "leftovers" were a serious affair.
Fennigan opened the warming oven and pulled out a tray of pot roast, potatoes, and glazed carrots. He didn't bother with the small plates; he grabbed two large serving platters and heaped them high.
They sat at the island, side by side in the dim light of the range hood.
They ate as if they hadn't eaten in days. The dried fruit and jerky in the Grove had sustained them, but it hadn't satisfied the ravenous, bottomless hunger that had taken hold of them.
Leela shoveled a forkful of roast beef into her mouth, closing her eyes in bliss.
"I don't know what it is," she mumbled around a mouthful of potatoes. "I feel like I could eat this whole cow."
"It's the magic," Fennigan said, tearing into a roll. "And the stone. Your body is metabolizing energy faster now. Plus... your wolf is waking up. She needs fuel."
They didn't talk much after that. They just ate, clearing the platters with an efficiency that would have frightened a normal human, scraping up the last of the gravy with crusty bread.
When they were finally done, Leela pushed her plate away and leaned back, letting out a long, satisfied sigh.
"Okay," she said, patting her stomach. "Now I can sleep."
Fennigan stood up and offered her his hand.
"Let's get you upstairs. I want to see what 'unpacking' looks like before I head to my room."
They walked up the staircase, the fatigue of the last few days finally starting to pull at Leela’s eyelids. But when Fennigan pushed open the door to her bedroom, the exhaustion was replaced by sheer confusion.
The room, which had been relatively sparse when she had frantically packed her bag three days ago, now looked like a boutique.
"Whoa," Leela breathed, stepping inside.
Everything was different. The bed was made with crisp, high-thread-count linens.
There were fresh flowers on the nightstand. But it was the open doors of the walk-in closets that caught her eye.
She walked over to the first one.
It was lined with things they definitely hadn't bought during their quick trip to the mall. Rows of beautiful dresses hung in color-coordinated perfection—silks, velvets, and chiffons in deep greens, midnight blues, and soft creams. On the shelves above, designer heels and delicate flats were displayed like art.
She turned to the second closet, expecting more of the same, but this one was practical. It was filled with high-quality flannels, soft denim jeans in every wash, leather jackets, and sturdy, expensive combat boots.
On the vanity island in the center, a velvet tray was filled with simple, elegant jewelry—silver chains, moonstone rings, and leather cuffs.
Leela picked up a heavy flannel shirt, feeling the quality of the fabric. It still had the tag on it.
"We didn't buy any of this," she said, turning to Fennigan, bewildered. "There are enough clothes here for three people. What is all this?"
Fennigan leaned against the doorframe, a smirk playing on his lips as he looked around the room.
"I forgot to tell you," he said, winking at her. "Mom's a nervous shopper."
Leela stared at him. "Nervous?"
"When she gets stressed," Fennigan explained, walking over and fingering the sleeve of a silk dress. "She channels her anxiety into preparation. She knew you were out in the Grove, facing a chaos storm, and she couldn't do anything to help. So..." He gestured to the closets. "She made sure you had a wardrobe fit for a Princess for when you got back."
He picked up a pair of boots and set them down.
"She's nesting, Leela. It's her way of claiming you. She wants to make sure you have everything you could possibly need so you never have to go back to that old life."
Leela looked around the room again. Coming from a home where asking for a new pair of sneakers was a battle, this abundance was overwhelming. But it wasn't just stuff. It was care. It was a mother—a real mother—wanting her to feel safe and provided for.
"She's amazing,"Leela whispered, placing the flannel back.
"She is," Fennigan agreed. He walked over to her, placing his hands on her waist. "And she loves you already. We all do."
He kissed her forehead, lingering there for a moment.
"Get some sleep, Sparky. You've got a big bed, a thousand pillows, and a closet full of pajamas to choose from. I'll be right across the hall if you need me."
"Goodnight, Fennigan," she said softly.
"Goodnight, Sparky."
He slipped out of the room, closing the door softly behind him, leaving her surrounded by the tangible proof that she was finally, truly home.