Chapter 1 - Arianna #2
I didn't spend the last four years of my life denouncing the beliefs I'd grown up with for nothing. It's the only reason I refuse to shift into wolf form and use a shortcut through the forest to get back to my cottage from the diner.
I've built a life for Noah and me in Salem, among the humans who have no idea that the supernatural exists. Even if they do suspect that a world exists outside of theirs, they'd never fully embrace it.
That's why I can't shift, and why I've kept my true identity a secret since I moved to Salem.
I haven't shifted since giving birth to Noah, and I can't do it now, even as I cross the street and feel an unsettling wave of paranoia trickle down my spine when I briefly glance at the small gathering of trees behind the buildings.
I gulp when I feel the fine hairs on the back of my neck prickle as if in warning, and I hug my arms tightly over my chest as I step onto the sidewalk across the diner.
Slowing down momentarily, I scan my surroundings, mapping my way down the street under every lit street light to avoid being caught in the dark. The eerie chill doesn't leave me, and I'm suddenly hyper-aware of every sound, as if it's my inner wolf's hearing that I'm tapping into.
The screeching of tires as an odd car whooshes by, or the flapping of wings as a bird flies past in a desperate attempt to join its flock…I can hear everything. The most petrifying are the gentle gusts of wind passing that bring with them more bitter chills and the feeling that I'm being followed.
My footsteps are quick as I march down the street, keeping my head lowered while my ears are on the lookout for any sound that's out of the ordinary.
When I get to the end of the street, I dart to the left and enter the residential area, jogging down the street that's darker than the one I'd come from.
With only a few houses occupied with their lights turned on, I have to maneuver cautiously to stick to the illuminated parts of the street.
I hate feeling like I'm being followed, and I know it's probably my mind playing tricks on me, but I just can't seem to shake off the wariness of my inner wolf that has me on high alert.
It's only when I reach Lyra's porch that I let out the breath I didn't even know I was holding and tap on the door thrice.
The door opens, and Lyra appears with Noah on her hip.
“Mama!” he calls out excitedly as he opens his arms toward me.
I step forward and take him into my arms, hugging him with relief washing over me, closing my eyes. When I open them again, Lyra is frowning at me, her blue eyes curious orbs of speculation.
“What's wrong?” she whispers so that Noah doesn't hear her with his head buried on my shoulder, nuzzling close as if he missed me as much as I missed him.
“Nothing,” I mouth back to Lyra, but it's almost as if she can see through the lie.
There's little I can keep hidden from her, since she's an observant human who became my closest friend when I moved to Salem.
Not only was she there for me when I gave birth to Noah, but she'd also given us a place to stay in the cottage behind her house and arranged the job for me at the local diner.
She's become my closest ally, but even she doesn't know the true nature of my identity, or Noah's. But it's less complicated that way.
The werewolf pack I grew up in prided itself on keeping our identity hidden from the humans, as did many of the neighboring werewolf packs in Maine. The only way I'd been able to hide myself from any of them finding me in Oakland wasn’t just by never shifting, but by going by my mother's last name.
It's kept me safe all this time, but now it feels like I'm not safe anymore.
“Thanks, Lyra,” I say with a warm smile. “Same time tomorrow?”
Lyra's frown subsides, and her eyes go wide when she sticks up a finger. “Wait, Ari! I packed dinner for you and Noah.”
Before I can protest, Lyra disappears inside and comes back with a brown bag that she pushes into my free hand. “I know how much you enjoyed the lasagna I made last time,” she giggles with a wink.
My heart swells with warmth and appreciation that outweighs how terrible I've been feeling lately, and I thank my friend for being so considerate. She assures me that it was no trouble at all, and I quickly realize that perhaps I've been reading too much into my dark dreams.
I have no reason to feel out of place in the home I've created for my son and myself. It's not much, but we have everything we need—a roof over our heads and a caring, kind friend who doesn't mind looking after Noah during the day while I work at the diner.
Noah is sleepy as soon as we walk into our cottage, his telltale sigh telling me that Lyra kept him busy all day.
“Wanna go to bed, Noah-kins?” I ask as I set the brown bag of food on the table.
He yawns in response, tiny arms coiling around my neck.
“Bed…” he concedes with a sleepy nod, and I press a kiss to his temple. I should probably get him to brush his teeth before bed, but I've exhausted myself overthinking all day, and I just want my bed, too.
I climb into bed and set him down, my eyes closing the moment my head touches the pillow, and my last thought is that I need to stop having those nightmares, mentally muttering a small prayer to the Moon Goddess to give me a good dream for a change.
Lord knows I need something to brighten up my dark thoughts.