Chapter 18 - Poppy
You’re so close…
Slurp!
Make them pay… Make them pay…
The air in my lungs burns like fire as I inhale sharply and my eyelids fly open.
I flinch as the dark voices in my head scream over each other like they’re fighting for dominance, fighting to be heard, and I groan.
The knock on the door is what silences them—not completely, but just enough so that it doesn’t feel as chaotic as it has been since yesterday when Damian visited.
He’s been to see me twice since then, but I can barely meet his eyes, too troubled by the guilt of what’s becoming of me.
All I can do is listen, with longing tugging at my heartstrings as he updates me about Daniel, telling me how they’re forming a bond, and passing on Daniel’s words of encouragement to me.
Every second that goes by without my son is gut-wrenching, and I can only imagine the hurt Damian felt when he found out about him ten years too late.
Maybe, if I don’t make it through this, it won’t be so bad. Damian and Daniel will have all the time in the world to form a bond, without me there to let my insecurities ruin everything—
“Poppy…? Are you awake?” Ingrid asks from the door, and I nod.
“Y-yeah. I’m awake.”
Watching her tread carefully into the room, I’m filled with more anguish, and I swallow the lump in my throat. I’ve been tied up here for a day, losing the pieces of my fractured mind as if they never belonged to me in the first place.
“Aoife has good news,” Ingrid tells me, and I groan because I hardly believe in hope.
I don’t feel very hopeful right now.
“Don’t look so despondent and hopeless, Poppy. She’s finally come up with a solution.”
“You can’t blame me for not trusting witches,” I scoff, and Ingrid sighs.
“These witches are different, Poppy. They’re outside right now, preparing everything for the ritual.”
“Ritual?”
Ingrid nods gently. “Sister Aoife has pulled out every last bit of information to formulate this ritual. She’s busy speaking to Damian right now. He needs to be there, since he’s your fated mate.”
A frown flits past my face as I nod. Deep down, I’d been hoping that it was Damian at the door when Ingrid came in. Even though the nagging guilt kept me up all night.
I’m losing my mind, losing control, despite the restraints keeping me bound to this bed. Yesterday, when Damian kissed me, it felt like I blacked out, and something else took over my body, those voices roaring in my eardrums.
Despite my trepidation and reluctance to trust witches, I do trust Damian. I trust Ingrid, and everyone who’s been working tirelessly to find a solution to fight the poison in my body.
Yesterday, Damian asked me to keep fighting, and I know I have to, but I’m just not sure if I have enough strength.
I close my eyes and take a deep breath, searching for the strength I usually find when I touch my mother’s necklace. But even without it, there’s something else that fuels my resolve. Something within reach—two pairs of blue eyes—and I say, “I’ll do whatever it takes.”
Ingrid nods, and that’s when Connor—accompanied by two Nightclaw soldiers—comes into the room. I numb myself to the shame of being treated like a criminal as they remove the shackles from my wrists and ankles, then proceed to cuff my hands in front of me.
“I’m so sorry for this, Poppy,” Connor apologizes. “But this is necessary.”
A cold shiver runs down my spine as I force a smile on my face. “I don’t doubt that. The last thing we need is for me to go rogue on everyone,” I chuckle dryly, and Connor offers me a terse, wistful smile.
“We’d rather not take any chances. Not until Aoife has completed the ritual.”
Connor instructs the soldiers to follow him, and they stand on either side of me as we’re led out of the clinic and into the clearing at the back of the building. The group waiting for us includes Dorian, Luna Amelia, Flynn, Cyrus and his mate Cassandra, Theodore, and Simon.
Damian is at the center, speaking to Sister Aoife, and when he turns to me, his expression looks pained.
Great!
First, the whole council is here to witness this. And second, Damian looks like he’s having doubts.
He gulps hard and searches my face for something I don’t yet understand, and Sister Aoife brushes past him on her way toward me.
“Luna Poppy,” she addresses me with a title that hasn’t had the breathing space to settle in. “We are ready to remove the poisoned magic from you.”
The smell of chamomile and other herbs scorches my airways, and it takes everything in me not to lash out at her or lose control.
She cannot be trusted… the dark voices in my head purr, but my skin crawls with the familiar sensation of the mate bond, and I cling to that feeling instead, knowing Damian is close by, as if he’s some kind of safety net, a grounding presence that keeps me steady enough not to succumb to the voices.
She is the enemy…
My lips are tight as I meet her auburn eyes and nod just as Damian joins us.
“May I have a moment alone with Poppy?” he asks Aoife, and she nods as she steps aside.
That’s when Damian takes my hand, and a rush of calmness washes over me as he moves me away from the guards.
When we’re just a few feet away, but out of earshot, Damian turns to me, worry etched in his brows.
“The ritual,” he begins, pausing to gulp, “has a bit of a risk.”
I frown, feeling the weight of the cuffs on my wrists getting harsher. “What risk?”
Damian glances over his shoulder at the group gathered and speaking to each other in hushed tones before he turns back to me and sighs. He reaches out for my hands that I’ve been absentmindedly wringing, taking one and stroking my knuckles.
His touch is soothing, and my heart lurches with regret, and something else.
Something buried so deep in my soul, it almost feels like a cruel, twisted joke from the universe that I’d only feel this way again after being poisoned by witches.
Why can I feel that he’s my fated mate now?
I’d felt it before—when I loved him—but I had turned those feelings off to protect myself.
And even after I nearly attacked him again yesterday, Damian remains the only thing that keeps me grounded. His presence. His touch. His mere proximity quiets my mind.
He doesn’t even seem to care about what happened…
“Aoife has explained that this ritual will remove the corrupted magic that’s been turning you rabid,” he says. “But it’ll only work if you don’t resist it.”
I take a deep breath as the voices in my mind rear their ugly heads, and I hang on to Damian’s warm blue gaze, imagining the ocean and the calm it brings.
“What happens if I resist?” I ask in a timid whisper, and Damian touches my cheek.
I have the sudden urge to close my eyes and nuzzle into the warmth of his palm, but his gaze remains wary.
“You might not survive,” he finally says, and my heart skips a beat, the better part of my mind projecting images of Daniel as if to remind me why I need to do this.
“I don’t care,” I say firmly. “I want to go through with it. If it’s the only way—”
“Poppy, you’re not listening to me. If this doesn’t work, you’ll die. I know we haven’t really talked about what happens when you come out of this, but I can’t afford to lose you. Not again. Daniel needs you, and regardless of what happened, I need you, too.”
Damian shakes his head, and that’s when I reach up with shackled hands and touch his face. “Then don’t let me die.”
I remove my hand from his face and turn to the witches, who have already started a fire in a trench and formed a circle around it.
Aoife approaches us just as the council members spread out, and reaches for my hand when that sinister voice begins to chime in my head.
Enemy…
I glance at Damian one more time to strengthen my resolve, to silence the voices and place my hand in Aoife’s, hanging on to the reasons I need to go through with this. To hang on to the reason I need to survive.
Somehow, I find it in Damian’s blue eyes, and welcome the help Aoife offers as she leads me to the fire trench.
Damian sticks close to me as we’re instructed to get to our knees, the crackling fire illuminating his face in warm ribbons of gold, and my heart squeezes.
Ten years that used to feel like a brave sacrifice suddenly feel like a mistake. As Aoife brings a wooden mug filled with an array of earthy aromas to my lips, this begins to feel like a moment of penance.
What if the mistakes of the past can’t be rectified?
What if I can’t forgive myself for keeping Damian away from our son?
What if I can’t trust him again?
Except, I can trust Damian. It’s why he feels like the grounding force in this experiment as I drink the contents of the mug and feel it burning down my throat.
Despite everything I did to hurt him, he still mated me. He still came for me when I ran off to find Daniel myself. He came to see me after I attacked him. And even when I lashed out at him yesterday, he didn’t give up on me.
All the insecurities I’ve held on to for a decade dissipate as Damian takes my hand and we both stare into the fire as the witches begin their chants.
The only flicker of dread I feel is that I don’t make it out of this. But then I’ll know that my sins were unforgivable.
“We cannot be certain of the outcome of this ritual,” Aoife says as she rises to her feet and joins her sisters by holding their hands.
“This is why your fated mate will be right here, as you journey within and find the strength to release the dark magic. Use the strength of the mate bond. It is the strongest force for a werewolf.”
I nod as Damian squeezes my hand, and Aoife joins the chanting in front of the forest. Closing my eyes, I succumb to the effects of the witches’ potion, finding myself shrouded in dark whiffs of smoke that seem to draw me into a trance.
Weapon…
Destroy…
The eerie voices in my head chant as if fighting Aoife’s voice, but there’s one question that remains, as if spoken by my inner wolf who’s trying to return.
What if the only thing stronger than the darkness inside me is the love I’ve spent ten years trying to bury?
Do I even deserve that?
As the claws of darkness pull me further, there’s a single white dot that flashes far away. Almost too far, until another voice enters my mind.
“Welcome, my child,” the voice speaks, and that’s when I gasp, feeling the warmth of something ancient, something that feels like a mother’s love ripping away the claws of darkness from the corners of my soul.
The whispers that have tormented me since the warehouse begin to fade beneath that impossible tenderness, until there’s room to hear my own heart again.
And that’s when I finally understand.
I still love Damian Walker.