Chapter 13
Zaden
The bar at nine a.m. was a different animal than the one I ran at night.
Morning sunlight caught in the dust above the liquor shelves, each bottle lined up, labels turned just so for no one in particular.
The real reason for my nerves would arrive any minute.
I checked the clock, then the door, then the clock again.
Krystal was never late, but this morning she was running behind.
My phone buzzed, and I hoped for her name, but it was only a group chat from Drake, already complaining about the day’s forecast. I put it on Do Not Disturb and waited.
The bell gave its usual jangle, but she flinched at the sound.
She looked different this morning. Not in any big way, but the little things stood out. Her hair was pulled back so tight it must've hurt, clothes were too neat for a day off, and she wore zero makeup. She carried herself with the rigid grace of a soldier, all forward motion, no wasted effort.
"Morning," I said, keeping it light.
She hesitated in the doorway. "Hey." Her gaze flicked around the empty room, checking corners and shadows. Had she always done that or was the habit new?
Krystal fiddled with her keys, spinning them around her index finger until they clattered. She caught them before they hit the floor, then stuffed her hands in her jacket pockets. "You want to get going?"
I nodded, grabbed my keys, and led the way. The walk to my eleven-year-old truck was short but heavy. I kept to her left, giving her space, but she still hugged her arms tight around her ribs.
Once inside, she buckled her seatbelt and stared out the windshield. The silence was thicker than the fog on Main Street.
"Do you want coffee or something before we go?" I asked.
She shook her head. "If I have more, I’ll vibrate through the seat."
I let it drop. I started the engine and eased out of the lot. Eleanor lived in Knoxville, which was a good hour's drive from Stock Creek.
For the first ten miles, neither of us spoke. I glanced over every now and then, catching her watching the blur of trees or the strip of blacktop ahead. She kept her hands in her lap, thumbs pressing hard into her skin.
I wanted to say something, anything, but every phrase that came to mind sounded fake or inadequate. Krystal wasn’t the type who wanted comfort. She wanted the facts, the plan, the odds stacked and accounted for.
About halfway there, she broke the silence. "Did you know my mother kicked me out when I told her I got pregnant?"
I glanced over. Her jaw was set, but her eyes were dry. She stared at the road, not at me.
"I didn’t," I said, careful.
"She did. Not right away, but then she did as soon as she realized I wouldn’t give up Bryce." She snorted, bitter. "Said she was teaching me a lesson."
I tightened my grip on the wheel, fighting the urge to hunt down Eleanor and set her straight. "Did she ever try to make it right?"
Krystal shrugged. "She calls sometimes. Sends cards. Once, when Bryce was four, she showed up at his birthday party unannounced, gave him a bike and a bunch of books about animal trivia." She paused, the ghost of a smile there and gone. "He rode that bike into a ditch within a week. Broke his arm."
I didn’t know what to say, so I didn’t say anything.
"She always had a thing about consequences," Krystal went on. "If you do something wrong, you pay for it. No exceptions."
"That’s not always a bad thing," I offered, "but it sounds like she took it too far."
"She took everything too far," Krystal muttered.
"When I was a kid, if I missed curfew, she’d lock the door and make me sleep outside.
I started carrying a sleeping bag in my trunk.
" She snorted. "Never occurred to me to make sure I didn't miss curfew.
It just made me figure out how to work around her ridiculous rules. "
I wanted to reach over and take her hand, but she wasn’t ready for that. Instead, I watched her knuckles as they whitened on the door handle. My dragon flared inside me, full of heat and old instinct. I wanted to burn away everything that had ever hurt her.
"She was terrified I’d end up like her," Krystal said softly, as though she was talking to herself. "I think she tried to break the cycle, but it just made her harder."
I nodded, understanding more than she’d guess. "Some people think if they’re tough enough, the world can’t touch them."
She laughed, sharp and bright. "Yeah, well. The world has a way of finding the cracks."
The rest of the drive passed with small talk.
We talked about Bryce’s upcoming school break, the weather, and the local high school football team’s losing streak.
The closer we got to Eleanor’s house, the more Krystal shrank into herself.
I kept to the speed limit and watched her from the corner of my eye, noting the way she pressed her mouth flat.
She counted the mailbox numbers as if looking for a reason to turn around.
When I reached the curb, she didn’t move to open the door.
The house looked like a thousand others in the valley, but the front garden had gone feral.
White paint peeled from the siding in strips, and the porch sagged enough to betray years of hard winters and no repairs.
A string of plastic wind chimes hung above the stoop, tangled in a spray of morning glory vines.
Krystal stared at the mess, her hands twisted in her lap. "She always hated gardening. Said it was weird for a witch to hate nature, but that she'd rather be inside away from the mosquitos."
I tried to think of a reply, but nothing came. She opened her door and got out, slamming the door a little too hard, and the truck gave a metallic groan. I locked up and followed, giving her space. She walked up the path, pausing at the bottom step to look back at me.
She took a breath, squared her shoulders, and rang the bell.
It took longer than it should have for the door to open.
Behind the glass, I caught the silhouette of a woman moving slowly, not shuffling but careful, like someone who’d learned to brace for anything.
Eleanor Gallagher stood half a head taller than her daughter, her hair iron-gray and parted severely.
She wore a faded green sweater and soft slippers, the kind that barely made a sound on the floor.
She opened the door only as far as the chain allowed. Her eyes tracked from Krystal to me, sharp and assessing. "Krystal?"
Krystal squared her shoulders. "Hi, Mom."
Eleanor blinked. For a moment, her face didn’t change, then the lines around her mouth deepened. "You could have called."
"I tried, but you wouldn't answer," Krystal said.
Eleanor considered this, then shut the door. There was a click as the chain came off, and she opened it again, wide enough for both of us. "Come in, then. I must not have recognized your number."
Inside, the place was a museum of organized chaos.
Every flat surface held a stack of books on plants, books on magic, books on child psychology.
That was a joke. Glass jars crowded the kitchen pass-through, filled with dried leaves, pebbles, or twisted roots.
The air was heavy with the scent of old sage and something more pungent, like vinegar or cleaning fluid.
The living room was small, with two armchairs and a brown couch crowded around a battered coffee table. No TV, but a laptop glowed on the desk by the window, next to a pile of bills and a cracked ceramic mug. The blinds were half shut, muting the morning sun.
Eleanor motioned for us to sit. Krystal took the edge of the couch, hands balled in her lap. I sat next to Krystal, wanting to take her hand in mine, but didn’t.
Eleanor eyed me again. "You’re a dragon?"
I nodded. "Zaden."
She made a noncommittal sound and turned to her daughter. "You look thin."
Krystal snorted. "You always said I was too thin."
"Not always." Eleanor settled into the armchair, ankles crossed. "What brings you here?"
For a moment, Krystal’s face went slack, as if she’d forgotten her script. Then she found it again. "I need to know about the spell. The one you put on me."
Eleanor’s shoulders fell, a full-body exhale that I recognized from every argument I’d ever lost. "I wondered if that would come back to me," she said, and her tone wasn’t cruel. It was sad.
Krystal stared at her knees. "Why’d you do it?"
The air in the room thickened. Eleanor looked past Krystal to the window, to the garden, to anything but her daughter’s face. "I wanted you safe. I wanted you to focus. You were reckless, and I was afraid you’d get hurt."
Krystal’s jaw worked, fighting the tremor in her lips. "You took away my choices."
"I tried to give you better ones," Eleanor replied. "The world isn’t kind to girls who can’t control themselves."
Krystal’s hands shook. "You didn’t trust me."
Eleanor’s eyes snapped back to her. "I trusted you to be yourself. That’s what scared me. I was trying to help you temper your wild ways, Krystal. I only wanted to help."
Neither of them spoke for a long time. I felt like an intruder in someone else’s nightmare.
Krystal finally looked up, her cheeks blotched red. "You broke something in me. I can’t even recognize my own mate."
Eleanor’s own eyes went glassy, the first hint of tears. "Not on purpose. That was never my intent. Besides, the spell was supposed to wear off over time."
Krystal’s anger flared, and she slammed her hands down on the coffee table, rattling the jars. "Well, it didn't. You could have told me. You could have given me a chance."
Eleanor’s composure cracked, and she hunched in on herself, hands in her lap. "At first I thought I was doing the right thing. Later, I came to regret it." She shrugged one shoulder. "I realized at Bryce's fourth birthday that it was still there, but I thought you’d hate me if you knew."
"I do," Krystal said, but the words were soft, not the kill-shot I think she’d intended.
Eleanor pressed her lips together, then turned her attention to me. "You’re here because of the mate bond?"
I nodded.
She nodded back, resigned. "It’s possible the spell tangled with it. The suppression was meant to push you away from bad decisions, but if it went wrong, it might block out much more." She chewed her lip. "I’m sorry."
Krystal’s tears finally spilled. She wiped them away, hard. "Can you undo it?"
Eleanor looked as if she wanted to say yes, but she shook her head.
"It’s not safe to simply rip it out. I can do some research and find the safest way to remove it.
But it might take time." She hesitated, and her gaze softened.
"I never meant to block love, Krystal. Only to keep you from self-destructing. "
Krystal laughed, a hollow sound. "What you don’t understand is that I’m a wolf, and we’re a little wild. Usually are until we find our mate."
Eleanor let the words hang. She reached for her daughter’s hand, but Krystal pulled away, folding her arms around herself.
The silence was jagged.
Eleanor broke it. "I’ll do what I can, but I can’t promise there won’t be consequences. There always are."
Krystal didn’t reply.
Eleanor looked at me, the weight of the world in her eyes. "Take care of her. Even if she won’t let you."
I nodded, my throat too tight for words.
We left together, Krystal moving quickly, nearly running to the truck. She slid into the passenger seat and pulled her knees up, hugging them to her chest. I got in, closed the door, and waited.
She stared out the window, refusing to let the tears fall. After a few minutes, she spoke. "She was always like that. She never did anything halfway."
I reached over and set my hand on hers. She didn’t pull away.
"I’m scared," she said. "What if I’m still broken, even after she fixes it?"
I squeezed her fingers. "Then we’ll find another way."
She nodded, silent, and stared straight ahead as I drove us home. The world outside blurred, but I kept my hand in hers the whole way, refusing to let go.