Chapter 15
Chapter Fifteen
Elena
I rented an attic room.
The window faced north—bad light, cramped space, the occasional bug scuttling across the floor—but the rent was cheap.
I pulled out my bottles and jars from the wooden crate, lined them up on an old table, and started making fragrance products again.
After the magic wore off, my scent came back.
Lily and bay leaf seeped from under my skin, faint as lingering fog.
I started over.
I took photos, edited the lighting to make them look cute and pretty, and tried new designs. Orders trickled in. My life steadied. But I'd touch my belly and know it wouldn't last—the pregnancy hormones would make it grow, bit by bit.
Sure enough, one day I couldn't stand the smells anymore.
Rose oil reeked like rust. Sandalwood mixed with something raw and fishy.
Mint was tolerable at first, but eventually turned my stomach too.
I bent over the sink, dry-heaving, fingers gripping the edge until my knuckles went white.
My wolf stirred inside, curled next to that warm spot in my belly.
She lifted herself up, brushed her tail across my lower back—asking if I was okay.
I straightened, splashed cold water on my face, and nodded.
It was a lie.
Orders slowed. I couldn't finish a batch in one go anymore—had to stop, step outside for air, over and over. Progress crawled. Quality dropped. After limping through one more month, I closed the crate and shoved it back under the table.
I went back to my old line of work. Waitressing.
I found a restaurant. Before the interview, I cleaned myself up, used cheap makeup I'd scrounged together for a simple look.
The floor manager was a woman in her forties. She looked me up and down, her gaze pausing at my belly. I wore a loose top, tied the apron strings higher than usual—cinched under my ribs—the hem falling past my knees, hiding my shape.
My heart jumped. I couldn't tell her I was pregnant or I'd be rejected on the spot. Thankfully, she just glanced.
She asked if I could carry trays, memorize menu items, and stand an entire shift. I said yes. She didn't ask anything else, handed me a uniform, and pointed to the back. "Change and come out."
In the staff room, I tightened the waistband another notch. Uncomfortable, but bearable. That warm spot pressed against the binding, quiet. My wolf lay still and didn't protest.
"Just hold on," I whispered, hand on my belly. "Just a little longer." Once the baby was born, everything would be fine.
The next few months: carrying trays, wiping tables, clearing plates, sweeping, mopping.
Day shifts, night shifts, rotating constantly.
Sometimes I stood until my feet went numb.
Back home, I'd peel off the uniform, untie that binding, collapse on the bed, fingers resting on my stomach—feeling the swell, the curve that had formed. She was still there.
The restaurant was upscale. Noble werewolves came and went.
Once I noticed, I started masking my scent with fragrance, kept my head down, avoided their attention and their path.
One day in the dining room, a waiter got punched for not bowing at the proper forty-five-degree angle.
The male werewolf demanded he kneel. The woman on his arm giggled.
"That's too much..." a waitress beside me murmured.
I looked away and forced a smile at my own table. "What can I get you?"
Days passed. My belly grew. I knew I had to leave. Tonight, after my shift, I'd quit.
"Elena?"
I frantically smoothed my clothes and turned around. The floor manager stood in the doorway.
"Deliver wine to Room 203. Corporate group. Be careful."
I nodded and took the tray. The elevator climbed slowly.
Ding—doors opened to a long hallway. A familiar scent hit me.
I frowned, smoothed my expression, but my wolf stood and let out a warning growl.
I reached Room 203 and pushed the door open.
Crystal chandelier light poured out, making me squint.
The next second, I understood the familiar scent and my wolf's alarm—Lina sat at the head of the long table, leaning toward someone beside her, wine glass in hand, lips curved in a smile.
I froze in the doorway, the wine bottles on my tray catching the dark light.
She saw me.
Her gaze landed on my face and held for a beat. She set down her glass. Smiled. Not the polite smile for strangers—this was recognition, satisfaction, interest.
"Well, if it isn't Elena."
Her voice wasn't loud, but everyone at the table heard. Several heads turned my way.
A male werewolf raised an eyebrow. "The former Luna?" Laughter erupted around the table.
"Having a Luna serve us—what an honor."
Someone even bowed mockingly. "Luna." More laughter.
The sound cut through me. I clenched my fingers, forced myself to stay calm, and set the wine on the table. "Don't leave yet." Lina leaned back, finger tracing her glass rim. "You goddamn half-blood."
She stood. Walked toward me, step by step.
I backed up instinctively. Two werewolves grabbed my arms. Lina swirled her glass, took a sip, eyes glittering with excitement. She was already savoring the humiliation—just deciding how.
The next second—
Wine soaked my hair and ran down my face.
"Don't you think the Moon Goddess planned this? Putting you in my hands?" Lina tucked her hair back, voice cold. "Kneel."
I bit my lip and didn't move. Lina frowned. The two behind me caught her signal—kicked my legs hard. Pain shot through me. My knees buckled. I dropped in front of her.
"You think you're still Luna?" Lina crouched down and grabbed my chin. "Stop looking at me like that."
"Lina," a male voice called out. He stroked his companion's shoulder. She nestled into him and fed him wine. "Make her lick your shoes. Damn half-blood—hiding her bloodline, pretending to be our Luna. I haven't even gotten to punish her yet!"
"Lina," I glared at her. "You'll regret this. I'm Lucifer's fated mate. I—"
Slap!
My face whipped to the side. Burning pain mixed with the taste of blood spread through my mouth. Lina stared coldly. "Fated mate? Are you insane?"
"Fated mate?" The male werewolf shoved his companion aside. He strode over and kicked me hard in the stomach. I crashed to the floor, curled up, pain radiating through my belly. I couldn't stop shaking, clutching my stomach with everything I had. The baby—
"You?" The male grabbed my hair and yanked my head up. He looked me over. "Dream on."
I took a deep breath. I couldn't fight back—not now. The pain in my belly felt different than before. "What do I have to do for you to let me go—"
"Simple," Lina cut in. "Lick my shoe, and I'll let you walk."
The male released my hair. I hit the floor hard. Lina returned to her seat and crossed her legs. Her silver heels gleamed under the lights. She propped her chin on one hand.
"Crawl over."
I got on all fours. Crawled forward. Laughter surrounded me. Someone pulled out a phone and started recording. Lina's smile deepened, especially when I stuck out my tongue and started licking her shoe.
"Bitch," Lina's voice was sweet. "Get out."
I scrambled up and left. My hands shook.
Humiliation tore through me. My wolf snarled—wanted to rip out their throats—but she couldn't. Too many of them.
And I was pregnant. I walked down the hallway, empty tray hanging at my side, fingertips cold.
Near the stairwell, my belly cramped sharply.
I doubled over instinctively, hand pressed to my stomach through the uniform fabric.
That warmth sat lower than before—moving down.
I calculated quickly.
Labor—
I leaned against the wall and bit my lip through the contractions. Then I practically crawled into the elevator, fumbled for my phone, looked down—a dark wet stain spreading across my skirt. Ding—doors opened. I couldn't move.
"Elena?"
Jesse. I recognized her—an intern. She saw me on the floor clutching my stomach. Didn't ask questions. Just helped me up. "I'll take you to the hospital."
My consciousness blurred. The ambulance pulled up at the back door.
They lifted me onto a stretcher. My belly contracted violently.
"My baby—" That was all I could say. The ambulance pulled away from the restaurant.
As we turned the corner, I caught that familiar cedar scent—Lucifer's black Lincoln passed quickly and disappeared. I closed my eyes.
Labor lasted forever. My wolf arched her back inside me, used every ounce of strength to protect that thing until it slipped out, let out a tiny, sharp cry.
"It's a girl." The nurse handed her to me.
My fingers trembled as I unwrapped the blanket. My daughter. Eyes closed, hair lighter than her brother's. I lay back against the pillow, panting. The nurse said she'd step out. But I heard the delivery room door lock.
Werewolf hearing is sharp. Voices in the hallway—
"Hybrid..."
"Procedure..."
"...has to be reported."
My blood froze. I looked at the window. Next second, I pushed myself up.
My body was weak, but I had no choice.
I climbed out the window, hit the ground hard, but shielded my daughter with my body.
She was good—didn't cry. I dragged myself up and limped toward the exit.
That warm bundle pressed against my chest, breathing shallow.
My heart pounded. I slipped past the guard at the gate and flagged down a taxi.
The moment I got out, I didn't stop—rushed into my attic room, stuffed everything into an old duffel bag.
The wooden crate at the bottom, clothes and odds and ends piled on top.
The zipper wouldn't close—I tied the handles shut with a scarf.
I wrapped my daughter in a faded cotton jacket and held her against my chest.
The platform was empty. I sat on a bench waiting for dawn. She slept in my arms—warm, quiet. My wolf curled beside her, tail draped over her feet.
Just before sunrise, the bus came. I carried her on and sat down.
Outside the window, gray-blue light. Everything in Silver pine fell away—farther and farther, smaller and smaller.
She stirred in my arms. Didn't cry. I finally exhaled, pulled the jacket tighter, leaned back against the seat, and closed my eyes.