Isabella stirred from her sleep, jolted awake by the anguished scream that pierced the silence of the night. A cold shiver traced her spine as she instinctively rose from her bed, the maternal instinct urging her toward Ethan's room. She recognized the anguished scream as Ethan's; his voice, a distinctive sound she knows all to well. No matter the chaos unfolding, she possessed an innate ability to decipher the nuances of her children's voices, an intimate knowledge that reached to the very core of their beings.
Yet, as her feet carried her through the dimly lit hallway, a soft murmur reached her ears—the sound of Celeste's voice having a back and forth with Ethan's voice. She couldn't make out exactly what they were saying,her hand resting on the doorknob, caught between concern and a sudden hesitancy to intrude.
Deciding against entering Ethan's room, Isabella retreated, the weight of worry lifting but leaving behind a residue of questions. Back in the solitude of her bed, the room embraced by shadows, her thoughts drifted into uncharted territory.
Gabriel Moreau, a name that echoed through her mind like a forbidden melody. His handsome face, etched with a certain mystery, invaded her thoughts.
Viktor, once the object of her affection, lay beside her in oblivious slumber. Yet, his presence now felt like an echo of a love that had waned.
Their earlier disagreement concerning Celeste has become a persistent pattern, but even when it's not about her, tension lingers over other matters. The fact that he rarely engages in conversation only deepens the sense of isolation she increasingly feels from him.
In the silence of the night, Isabella admitted to herself what had long lingered in the recesses of her heart—she no longer loved him, nor did she find solace in his embrace.
Images of Gabriel's beautiful, muscular form flashed before her eyes, igniting a flame within her that Viktor's touch failed to kindle. Isabella's mind wandered through the forbidden landscape of desire as she envisioned a future where Gabriel stood at her side.
A resolve took root in the fertile soil of her thoughts. Tomorrow, she decided, she would find a reason to visit Gabriel. A casual meeting, perhaps in the market or at their usual place at the outskirts of Blackwood, where the veil of secrecy could shield their secret intimate affair.
As sleep eluded her, Isabella schemed the delicate dance of balancing a life that craved Gabriel's presence while navigating the intricacies of a marriage that had long lost its luster.
At the Rustic inn, after a moment of contemplation, Thorne absorbed the weight of Aria's words. His tone, steady and resolute, conveyed a decision. "We cannot linger here any longer. It's time to depart—now."
Aria, her shoulder stained with the evidence of her recent confrontation with the vampire, winced as Thorne's eyes fell on the bloodied wounds. Without a word, he extended his hands, his palms emanating a subtle glow. The radiant energy coursed through Aria's wounds, closing them with an almost magical speed.
The urgency of their departure lingered, but Thorne, with a practiced calm, focused on the next crucial step. "Aria, we can't risk you transforming when we reach Blackwood. I need to bind your wolf energy temporarily," he explained, his eyes locking with hers.
Aria nodded, a mixture of understanding and apprehension in her gaze. Thorne guided her to sit on the edge of the bed, his touch gentle yet purposeful. "This will be painful, well you already know, Aria. Bite down on this," he handed her a piece of cloth, his eyes conveying both reassurance and a stern acknowledgement of the forthcoming ordeal.
As Aria clutched the cloth between her teeth, Thorne's hands moved with precision, tracing an intricate pattern in the air. A surge of energy enveloped Aria, a fusion of ancient magic and Thorne's own innate abilities. The room crackled with tension as the binding process unfolded.
Aria, biting down on the cloth, winced at the searing pain that accompanied the binding. Thorne's gaze remained fixed, a silent promise that the agony was a temporary sacrifice for their safety. Gradually, the process concluded, leaving Aria visibly drained but now free from the imminent threat of an involuntary transformation.
"We need to go," Thorne declared, his eyes locking onto Aria's. Their departure, now devoid of the imminent threat of a werewolf's unbridled power, took on an air of determination and shared purpose.
The morning sun bathed Blackwood in a gentle glow as Isabella stepped outside, a basket in hand, intending to gather ingredients for breakfast. The crisp air carried the scent of pine, and a hushed stillness clung to the waking village.
As Isabella approached the edge of the forest, her gaze fell upon a sight that momentarily stilled her breath. There, in a clearing, Ethan sat beside the lifeless form of the wolf Celeste had taken down the night before. The creature, once fierce and wild, now lay motionless, and Ethan's hand rested on its fur in a gesture of unusual calmness.
Their eyes locked in a silent exchange, and Ethan, recognizing his mother's presence, offered a subdued greeting. "Good morning, Mother."
Isabella, her curiosity piqued, couldn't help but address the unnerving events of the previous night. "Ethan, I heard you screaming last night. Is everything alright?"
Ethan, attempting to downplay the gravity of the situation, replied, "It was just a bad dream, Mom. Nothing to worry about."
Isabella's concern deepened, and she pressed on, her gentle yet persistent tone revealing a mother's intuition. "Ethan, don't shut me out. No one screams like that, from just a mere bad dream, especially when it's not your first bad dream. I was surprised your father didn't get up after hearing it. Was it one of your nightmares again?"
Ethan hesitated, his eyes darting away briefly before meeting hers again. Succumbing to his mother's persuasive style of questioning, he sighed. "Yeah, Mother. I had another one of those dreams. But this time, it was different. I... I killed someone."
A heavy silence settled between them, the weight of Ethan's revelation hanging in the air. Isabella's maternal instincts kicked into overdrive as she considered the implications of her son's words.