Chapter 41
Ellie's POV
The warmth of home enveloped me the moment I stepped inside. Dad guided me into the living room where Mom sat curled up on the couch, a thick blanket draped over her legs and my promised apple pie resting on the coffee table.
"There's my girl!" Mom beamed, patting the space beside her. "Come tell me everything."
I sank into the familiar cushions, accepting the mug of hot chocolate Dad pressed into my hands. The fire crackled in the hearth, casting dancing shadows across the walls. Through the window, I could see the Miller house across the street, its windows glowing with warm light that felt a universe away from where I sat now.
"So," Dad settled into his armchair with exaggerated ceremony, "your mother has been holding this pie hostage for the past hour. I believe the exact words were 'David Green, if you touch one slice before Ellie gets home, you're sleeping on the couch.'"
"Guilty as charged." Mom laughed, squeezing my hand. "But seriously, sweetheart, how was dinner?"
I took a sip of hot chocolate, buying myself a moment. "Caroline's... she's gotten worse. Much worse."
The lightness in the room dimmed slightly. Mom and Dad exchanged a glance—that wordless communication that comes from decades of partnership.
"Richard called last week," Dad said quietly. "We knew she was deteriorating, but..."
"But knowing and seeing are two different things." I finished, staring into my mug. The marshmallows had melted into a white swirl. "She could barely hold her fork. Her hands were shaking so badly."
Mom's arm came around my shoulders, pulling me close. "That family has been through so much."
We sat in comfortable silence for a while, the only sound the soft pop and hiss of burning logs. Dad launched into an animated story about a client who'd tried to file taxes for his pet parrot ("as a dependent, Ellie, I kid you not!"), and gradually the heaviness lifted. Mom shared gossip from her volunteer shift at the community library. I found myself laughing genuinely for the first time all evening.
But as the conversation flowed, my hand kept drifting to the pendant around my neck—the replica Mom had commissioned after Lucas destroyed the original. My fingers traced its familiar grooves, and I felt my mind wandering to questions I'd been pushing down for weeks.
Through the window, the moon was rising—not quite full yet, but close enough to make my skin prickle with awareness.
"So," I started, then stopped. Cleared my throat. Tried again. "Um, Mom? Could I... could I ask you something? Kind of personal?"
Mom's eyes sharpened with interest, but her voice stayed gentle. "Of course, honey. Anything."
I twisted to look at Dad, suddenly aware this conversation needed to happen differently. "Actually, it's kind of a... a girl talk thing?"
Dad's eyes widened with comical understanding. He clutched his chest dramatically. "What? My own daughter, keeping secrets from her dear old dad? I'm wounded. Devastated. Heartbroken—"
"Dad," I laughed despite myself, "literally nobody believes your terrible acting."
"Fine, fine." He heaved himself out of his chair with an exaggerated sigh. "I can tell when I'm not wanted. I'll just be in my study, doing boring tax stuff, all alone—"
"You mean watching the Packers game replay," Mom interjected dryly.
Dad froze mid-stride, hand flying to his chest again. "How did you—Elena Green, have you been reading my mind again?"
"Twenty-three years of marriage, babe. I know all your tricks."
I stood to give him a hug, breathing in his familiar scent of coffee and old books. "Thanks, Dad."
He kissed the top of my head, then turned to Mom with mock severity. "Take good care of our girl."
"Always do."
After Dad disappeared into his study—deliberately leaving the door open a crack, because of course he did—the atmosphere in the living room shifted. Mom scooted closer, turning to face me fully.
"Okay, sweetheart. What's on your mind?"
I took a deep breath, my fingers tightening around the pendant. Outside, I could hear the distant call of an owl. Inside, the fire popped softly.
"It's about... about finding someone. You know. A partner. Eventually."
Mom's expression remained carefully neutral, but I saw her shoulders tense slightly. "Go on."
"Living like we do—hidden among humans, keeping to ourselves—it's not exactly easy to meet other..." I lowered my voice even though Dad was the only one who could possibly overhear, and he already knew everything. "Other wolves. Is it?"
"No," Mom admitted slowly. "It's not. When I was your age, things were different. There were gathering places—communities up in the northern forest preserves, families who stayed connected. But now..."
"Now we're scattered," I finished. "Isolated."
"Your father and I always thought—" Mom stopped abruptly, studying my face. "We always hoped you and Lucas would—"
"That's not happening." The words came out sharper than intended. I softened my tone. "Mom, that door is closed. Locked. With the key thrown away."
"Are you sure? Because—"
"I'm sure." I met her eyes steadily. "Lucas made his choice. And honestly? I'm okay with it now. Really okay. I've moved on."
Mom searched my face for signs of lingering pain, and whatever she saw must have satisfied her because she nodded slowly. "You seem... stronger. More centered than you were a few months ago."
"I am." And it was true. The ache over Lucas had faded to a dull throb, easily ignored. "Which is actually why I wanted to talk to you."
I felt Thalia stirring in the back of my mind—my wolf self, curious and alert. Mom waited patiently, giving me space to gather my thoughts.
The silence stretched between us, filled only by the crackling of the fire. Mom seemed to be choosing her words carefully.
"You know," she said slowly, "your father and I have been talking. Maybe after you graduate, we could take a family trip to Europe? Scotland has those beautiful Highlands, and Romania—the Carpathian Mountains are supposed to be breathtaking this time of year."
Her tone was casual, but I caught the underlying suggestion immediately. Tour some castles, see the sights, and conveniently happen to encounter traditional wolf packs?
"Mom." I interrupted gently, understanding where this was going. "I appreciate the thought, but I don't want to go husband-hunting in European forests like some kind of supernatural bachelorette."
"Oh. Of course. You're only eighteen, there's plenty of time—"
"That's not what I mean."
I was stalling. I knew I was stalling. But the question sitting on my tongue felt massive, world-altering. Through the window, the moon had cleared the roofline of the Miller house, flooding our living room with silver light.
Now or never.
"Mom, can I... would it be possible... I mean, is it allowed for me to..." I forced the words out in a rush. "Can I choose a human partner?"