Amara.
By the time I ended the call, my hands were trembling.
At first, I didn't realize it. It was only when my phone slipped from my grip and landed softly on the bed beside me that I noticed. The screen had gone dark, reflecting my face back at me—pale, disheveled and somewhat relieved.
The room felt quieter than before.
And my thoughts felt much calmer too.
Talking to my mother always did that to me. It dragged out everything I buried inside my heart into the open, cleared my thought, and freed me of most of my fears. I pressed my palm against my chest and took slow, deliberate breaths as I urged my racing heart to calm.
I had said the things I'd been too afraid to admit.
Even to myself.
And somehow, saying them out loud made me feel much lighter.
I swung my legs lazily over the side of the bed and stood. The cold floor bit into my feet, sending a sharp chill up my spine—but it grounded me. It reminded me that this was reality. That this strange, unfamiliar life was actually mine.
I dressed slowly, deliberately, as if every second I delayed might postpone the inevitable encounter waiting downstairs. Prioritizing warmth, I pulled on leggings, thick woolen socks, and the white sweater my grandmother had folded neatly on the chair earlier that morning. It smelled faintly of lavender.
How did she know I loved the scent of lavender?
When I stepped into the hallway, the house was alive.
Voices layered over one another—laughter, animated conversations, the clatter of dishes and the occasional sharp scolds. Meanwhile ,the rich, mouthwatering scent of food drifted up the stairs and warmly greeted me.
I paused and closed my eyes.
Breathe in… out… in… out.
When I was certain my emotions were under control, I began my descent.
My fingers skimmed the railing, seeking support I knew I wasn't going to find. Then, once the living room came into view, my steps faltered.
It was far more crowded than I had imagined.
Relatives I didn't recognize filled the entire space, some seated, others standing in groups with cups in hand. When I made an entrance, I noticed how quickly their conversations died down. From the corner of my eyes, I saw how their curious gazes openly followed me—assessing and measuring me.
"Is that her?"
I heard one woman whisper.
"It has to be…Lukas' child. She looks nothing like him—nothing like us."
"Tsk…tsk. As if the shame he brought this family isn't enough…"
My shoulders tensed instinctively, then, amidst that unfamiliarity and the scowls, I caught sight of my grandmother.
She stood near the kitchen doorway, speaking excitedly to a woman who looked remarkably like her—sharp eyes, proud posture, the same commanding presence. When she noticed me, her face lit up.
"Amara," she called warmly, beckoning me closer.
The room seemed to shrink as I crossed it.
When I reached her, the introductions immediately started —names I struggled to retain and smiles ranging from welcoming to guarded. I noticed how some gazes lingered longer than others, heavy with unspoken judgment. Still, I kept my composure, even as the weight pressed against my chest.
This was my family.
Or at least, it was supposed to be.
"How long are you going to stand there?" Seraphina appeared out of nowhere, grabbing the hem of my sweater. "Come on. Help me dice onions."
Her eyes were watery, her nose red. Whatever torture the onion had put her through, I preferred it to standing awkwardly in the living room.
And so, without protest, I followed her into the kitchen.
There was a brief pause when we entered—then everyone resumed working as if nothing had happened.
"Ignore them," Seraphina whispered. "All they do is stare and gossip. Give them a month—or three days—and they'll find someone new to obsess over."
I huffed softly. "I hope so."
She grabbed a knife and an onion, grinning proudly. "Besides," she said louder than necessary, clearly addressing the room, "no one talks crap about you in my presence."
A few heads lowered. Shoulders stiffened.
The comment was meant to be a joke—but I noticed the shift. The quiet submission.
I wondered, briefly, just how much influence Seraphina actually held in our family for her words to matter so.
Still, some of my tension eased knowing that she had my back.
By the time the Christmas meal was ready, everyone gathered around the long dining table. Plates were passed. Food was served. The air buzzed with overlapping conversations—chaotic, loud, yet strangely comforting.
I ate quietly, observing more than participating, while committing faces and interactions to memory.
Still, I felt out of place.
The memories they laughed over didn't include me. The rules, the terms they spoke of—they were foreign. But whenever my emotions threatened to overwhelm me, I would glance at the head of the table and find my grandmother smiling at me. Or Seraphina meeting my gaze and silently checking if I was okay.
They comforted me more than they knew.
"Amara."
I looked up, startled. Every gaze was on me.
"Yes," I replied, wincing at how unsteady my voice sounded.
"Every pack member has duties here in Everlone," my grandmother said calmly. "I serve as an Elder on the council. Your aunt, Alexa, is second in command of the patrol team. Her mate is a doctor at the pack clinic. Everyone here contributes—except Seraphina, of course."
Seraphina scoffed.
"As the youngest members of our family," Grandmother continued, "you two will begin training."
Seraphina slammed her fork down. "Grandma, I already told you—I'm not joining that childish nonsense."
"You were supposed to join five years ago," her mother snapped. "You just kept making excuses!"
"I can control my wolf just fine! And I'm joining the medical team anyway!"
"Phina!" Aunt Alexa yelled and slammed her hands on the table.
Half a second later, the table collapsed.
I stared, frozen, as the heavy wood crashed to the floor. Then at the culprit—a woman barely five feet tall.
Seraphina crossed her arms. "This is why I don't want patrol duty. You're all muscle, no control."
The argument escalated too fast for me to process. One moment there were words—then Aunt Alexa transformed out of nowhere.
A massive wolf with golden-brown fur.
I didn't know I could move that fast until I found myself by the door.
Seraphina shifted moments later—smaller, but no less terrifying. They collided, claws and teeth flashing. It was a miracle that the house survived that chaos.
Eventually, they took their fight outside.
What shocked me most about all that was happening wasn't the fight.
It was how no one reacted besides me.
They simply cleaned up, acting as if nothing at all had happened.
"You'll join, won't you?" my grandmother asked gently as I picked up a shattered vase.
"The training?" I asked.
She nodded. "You need it."
She smiled. "Our family bears few daughters. But every one of us holds a vital role in the pack's defense."
"Why?" I asked, my curiosity getting the best of me.
She placed the lilies she had just picked up into my hands, a proud smile on her face. "Because our wolves are the strongest."
Then, without uttering another word, she left me.
For a moment, my thought was blank, but a second later, the foggy memory of my own wolf surfaced in my mind. My hands trembled lightly.
Was I truly one of them?
No, right? I was half human after all.
Honestly, I didn't want to be strong.
As a matter of fact, I didn't want to be a wolf at all.