A Moment to Breathe
Gabrielle POV
The cabin sits nestled at the edge of the pack lands, wrapped in greenery. It looks as though it has been grown rather than built. The logs are rich with age and care, smoothed and darkened by the time, each one lovingly maintained.
Pale moss softens the edges of the roof, and ivy curls gently along one corner, never unruly – kept in quiet harmony.
A wide porch front wraps around the cabin, with a swing seat drifting gently in the breeze. Hanging baskets spill over with trailing flowers – soft pinks, creams and deep purples swaying side to side. A flourishing garden surrounds as far as the eye can see. Both abundant and intentional. The air is sweet, heavy with the scent of flowers, pine, and warm earth.
Tall trees encircle the clearing protectively, their branches filtering sunlight into dappled patterns that dance across the walls. Even in the shadow, this place feels bright.
I let out the breath. Staying here feels like the exhale I've been waiting for. The past week has been a blur – like running endlessly on a wheel that never slows.
My phone rumbles in my pocket. I reach for it, bracing myself for the onslaught of questions I know are coming when I see the name on the screen.
"Hi Tess."
"GABI! Oh my Goddess – you're alive."
I huff out a weak breath, "I'm fine."
"Then why is this the first time I'm hearing from you? Even Charlie knows more than me."
I smile to myself. "Well...he kinda needs to know. Being my dad and all."
"I guess," she huffs. "Where are you now? Can I visit?"
"I'm not sure about the visit. I'm at Amara's place."
"Amara? As in, witchy forest Amara? Aunt of the gorgeous, sultry alpha?"
My stomach dips at the mention of him.
Filling the silence, Tess barrels on. "Did you know Rowan's his beta? You've seriously landed in man-dish paradise. I wish I were a redhead – maybe they'll get me next."
"Tess!" I warn, though there's laughter in my voice.
"Yeh, yeah. I know – you nearly died, and now you've woken up in literal heaven. Lucky bitch."
I can hear the grin in her voice, even now.
"If this is all you've got to say, I'm hanging up. Dad won't visit – something about a surly alpha insisting I'm safest where I am. But I'll be home before you know it."
"Yes... he may have mentioned something about a scary almost-teen alpha."
She hesitates.
"Gabi?"
"Yeah?"
"Just... promise me you'll call if anything feels wrong," she says quietly. "Even if it's stupid, even if it's the middle of the night."
"I promise."
"Love you."
The line clicks dead.
As I enter, I hear the kettle boiling in the kitchen and the chink of china.
"This is delicious," I say earnestly.
"Your mother used to like this blend too."
I blink hard before speaking.
Did she just say my mother?
"Yes dear, I knew your mother."
I open my mouth to speak, but she gently raises her hand, gesturing me to stop.
"And before you ask, no one knows for certain what happened to her. But I have my theories, and it's not my story to tell."
"I don't know what to say. I– I– " I trail off, uncertain of how to ask.
Sensing my hesitation, she totters over to a nearby shelf and returns with a heavy, dusty book. Placing it on the table between us with a thud.
I wasn't sure until today. The necklace gave it away. I recognised the symbol."
"Amara, was my mom a..."
"Yes."
"Does that mean I'm–"
"Yes."
My ears ring for a moment and the room spins. Amara grabs both my hands, encouraging deep breaths and grounding me.
"Things aren't always as they seem my dear."
At that, she blows away cobwebs and opens the book to a page that holds the same symbol etched into my pendant. I lean in as Amara’s fingers hover over the page, then still.
“I shouldn’t read this to you,” she says quietly.
“Why?”
“Because once you hear it,” she says, meeting my gaze, “You’ll start seeing everything through its lens.”
My throat tightens. “Is it about me?”
“It’s about timing,” she replies. “And choice.”
She closes the book with a soft thud.
“Your mother believed knowledge should come when the body is ready for it,” she adds. “Not before.”
I glance down at the necklace, at the familiar symbol that suddenly feels heavier.
“When will I be ready?” I ask.
Amara smiles – not cruelly. Knowingly.
“When you stop asking what you are,” she says, “And start choosing who you stand with.”
----
That night, lying awake in the cabin, I can’t stop thinking about Amara's words.
About the dreams.
About the pull in my chest that hasn’t faded once since I left him behind.
And about the feeling – quiet but insistent – that whatever I am – it's already awake.