Chapter 23 Family
Arwen guided Elara back toward the bed, her hand steady at her elbow.
“No formalities behind closed doors,” she said lightly. “We are family.”
Family.
The word struck Elara wrong, like a bone pushed into a wound that hadn’t healed. Her body stiffened even as she allowed herself to be seated. The mattress dipped beneath her weight, too soft, too clean.
Arwen’s gaze flicked past her shoulder.
Elara didn’t need to look to know who stood there.
Ronan.
Arwen’s eyes sharpened briefly, a knowing glint flashing between mother and son.
"Not now," Ronan’s voice cut through her mind, tight and controlled. "She still hates me... or scared of me. I don't know which is worse."
Arwen’s lips curved faintly as she replied inwardly, amused and entirely unrepentant. "I know. That’s why you’re leaving."
She turned, addressing him aloud. “You should go and attend to your duties. I’ll stay with Elara. Nothing will happen to her.”
“I’m not going,” Ronan said immediately.
The words were firm, final.
Arwen arched a brow. “Unless,” she said coolly, “you wish to make her more uncomfortable than she already is.”
Her gaze slid deliberately to Elara.
Elara’s stomach twisted. She hadn’t realized how aware she was of Ronan’s presence until the idea of it being acknowledged made her skin prickle. She shifted on the bed, fingers curling into the sheets as if anchoring herself.
Ronan noticed.
His jaw tightened. He held Arwen’s stare for a long moment, tension coiling in the air like a drawn blade.
Then, sharply, he exhaled.
“I'll be in the meeting,” he muttered.
The door closed behind him with a final, echoing click.
The silence he left behind was heavy but it breathed easier.
The man with the leather satchel approached slowly, deliberately announcing himself with soft footsteps. “I’m going to check you now,” he said quietly. “If anything hurts, tell me.”
Elara nodded too fast.
When he reached for her wrist, she recoiled instinctively.
“I’m sorry,” she blurted, horrified at herself, pulling her hand back to her chest. “I—I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—”
“It’s all right,” he said immediately, retreating a step. “May I?”
She hesitated, then extended her arm again, muscles trembling. His fingers were warm. Gentle. He took her pulse with reverence, as if she were something fragile instead of broken.
“Still weak,” he murmured. “Which is expected. Your body has been deprived for a long time.”
Deprived.
The word felt like an accusation.
“You’ll need to eat,” he continued. “Often.”
The word landed like a blow.
Her stomach answered before she could stop it.
A loud, hollow growl echoed in the room.
Elara froze.
Heat flooded her face. Her throat tightened painfully as humiliation burned through her. She dropped her gaze instantly, shoulders curling inward, bracing for mockery or punishment.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I didn’t mean to—”
Arwen laughed softly and clapped her hands.
The sound made Elara flinch again. The doors opened and food rolled in. So much food.
The smell alone made Elara dizzy. Her stomach clenched painfully, hunger surging so violently it almost hurt. Her mouth watered, but fear followed immediately after.
She stared. This wasn’t food. This was excess. Her stomach growled in protest again.
“It is expected,” Arwen said, unaware or perhaps painfully aware of how still Elara had gone. “You’ve been unconscious for over seven months.”
"Seven months... right..." Elara’s fingers dug into the mattress. She laughed weakly, a brittle sound. “Am I… am I allowed to eat that?”
The room went silent. Arwen’s smile faded. Not into coldness, but something far worse. Rage.
“Yes,” she said softly. “Of course.”
Elara didn’t move.
Her mind screamed warnings. Don’t take too much. Don’t touch what isn’t yours. Don’t be greedy.
“I can work,” she blurted suddenly. “If it’s payment. I can clean or—” Her voice broke. “I don’t think I should eat this for free. I feel… unclean.”
Arwen chided, "There is no way we will let you work. The meal is free. Goodness! Even the goddess would have our heads hanging on a stake if we made you work."
Elara’s gaze stayed locked on the trolley of food, her fingers twisting together until her knuckles ached.
“I can work. Really,” she said again, quieter now, as if testing the words. “If it’s payment. I don’t want to take anything that isn’t mine.”
Silence answered her.
Arwen did not speak at once. She simply watched Elara, taking in the way her shoulders were curled inward, the way her eyes never lingered too long on anything, the way her breathing hitched whenever someone moved too close.
Then Arwen turned.
“Morrigan,” she said calmly. “You may proceed.”
The witch inclined her head, understanding passing between them. She stepped forward slowly, ensuring Elara saw every movement.
“Elara,” Morrigan said softly, lowering herself slightly so she was not looming. “I need to check the seal that was placed on you before. I won’t do anything without your consent.”
Elara swallowed.
A familiar presence stirred inside her.
"This one looks like she knows what she’s doing," her wolf murmured. "She’s careful."
That, more than anything, tipped the scale.
Elara nodded.
Morrigan extended her hands gradually, magic shimmering faintly, controlled and contained. “You may feel discomfort,” she warned. “If it becomes too much, I will stop.”
The magic brushed deeper.
It did not hurt. Not exactly.
It felt like something being pressed into alignment. Like a bone being set where it had healed wrong. There was pressure behind Elara’s eyes, a faint ringing in her ears, and an uncomfortable awareness of herself from the inside out.
A golden ring formed in the air in front of her, faint at first, then brighter. Runes shimmered across its surface as the sigil responded to Morrigan’s magic.
Elara’s breath caught.
“That’s the seal,” Morrigan explained quietly. “It was placed to prevent your body from tearing itself apart while your bloodlines stabilized.”
“Bloodlines,” Elara echoed faintly.
“Yes,” Morrigan said. “Two are active now. Your wolf and your witch magic.”
Elara’s fingers twitched.
“I thought I was just… a hybrid,” she whispered.
“You are,” Morrigan replied gently. “But hybrid does not always mean simple. Your witch magic is structured, controlled, tied to balance and intent. Your wolf is instinct, survival, and physical dominance.”
“And they don’t… like each other?” Elara asked hesitantly.
Morrigan’s lips curved faintly. “They are learning.”
The pressure eased slightly.
“The seal is intact,” Morrigan continued. “Strained, but holding. The incident yesterday occurred because lunar energy accelerated the awakening process. Both sides surged at once.”
Elara swallowed. “So what happens now?”
“Now,” Morrigan said, “you prepare. Your first shift will happen soon. And you will need training. Magic, potions, grounding techniques. Balance is the key.”
Elara nodded slowly, though fear still coiled tight in her chest.
Arwen stepped in then, placing a hand over Elara’s clenched fists and gently easing them apart.
“One step at a time,” she said. “Today, you eat. You rest. You begin to believe that you are allowed to exist without punishment.”