Chapter 21 Amataria
Amataria
Jas
Of all the days to get sick, it's today. There is absolutely no good day for a parent to get sick. But they always seem to pop out of nowhere on the important ones—like Dads and Donuts.
I wanted to be there for Seren. I could keep her home, but how am I going to take care of her if I'm barely able to move?
I'm in pain and exhausted. After a single bout of vomiting, my teeth chatter beneath the heated blanket as fever grips me. Each movement makes my joints ache like bruises—the pain radiating down to my fingers and toes.
The cold seeps deeper into my bones. It's relentless despite the blanket and Mellie's small furnace of a body nestled up against my neck.
Her twin tails spread like a living scarf, slightly twitching across my curls and around her own form.
Every few minutes, she stirs, checks on me with tiny musical chirps, and touches her cool, wet nose to mine.
The clock reads three-seventeen. I’ve been cocooned in this blanket since midnight, shivering. Each time sleep nearly takes me, my body throbs, and the aches burn deeply.
Whatever strain of flu this is, it's atrocious. It came suddenly, like a storm in the night. Seren has shown no signs of illness over the weekend—nothing warned me I’d be spending the night with my cheek pressed against the coldness of porcelain, cooling my burning skin, and now I’m trying everything to keep warm.
My head pounds and my throat burns when I try to sit up. The room spins, forcing me to ease my body back on the bed. I need help. Medicine is also needed.
Should I call Dom?
No. He won’t answer. Will he? I can’t believe I was so incredibly stupid. I’m an idiot to think I could outsmart fate. Thinking I could bend Moiraya’s will to mine.
Everyone says let go of what you can’t control, like it’s as simple as skipping a stone—but it never is.
It took eleven tries for Aaryn and Dominik to teach me how to skip a stone at the lake.
If I weren’t feeling so weak, I’d laugh at the memory, but the laughter would turn into a coughing fit, and I don’t want to crack a rib and sob into the hollow space of it.
Aaryn was a blessing. He slipped through my fingers like water. I was able to hold on to him for some time, but death doesn’t ask for permission. Death doesn’t care that he was someone’s son. A friend. A small little girl’s father. My beautiful husband.
I pull the blanket to my chin, burying my head deeper into my pillow and Mellie. She responds with a purr as my eyes land on my wedding band. It sits near my lamp, on a wooden carved trinket dish.
I chose Aaryn. I promised him forever. We had Seren. I chose all of it. I gave him my heart. Is that why death hurts so much? Because those you loved held your heart. And in return, maybe you held theirs. When they leave, they leave everything.
Maybe that's why we ache deeply inside after loss. Your chest aches because your heart feels weighed down. My heart was a large weight inside my chest, being dragged through denial, anger, and prayer to bring him back.
I didn't choose Dom. I didn't have a choice in any of this. What happened to first dates, falling in love, and butterflies? If we do accept this, how do we explain it to my daughter, our friends, or the town?
I roll over to my side, wincing with the pain of each achy muscle moving, and I hear a small sound. It wasn’t loud, I could have imagined it, but I think I heard my front door open—and shut. Maybe I'm hallucinating. Seren should be sound asleep. I have no choice but to look.
I creep down the hall, slowly, because my body refuses to carry me any faster, even if I willed it to. I’m hobbling around like an old woman. I turn the corner immediately, putting my hands up as I slam into the hard chest of a tall figure. Hands reach out to grab my arms, keeping me steady.
Dom. His presence, his touch. His scent. It’s him. He’s here.
My eyes flutter open, and I’m suddenly lightheaded. He swoops me up and carries me down the hall. I never realized how strong he really is.
Dominik places me in bed and sternly tells me to stay.
He leaves and returns with a small tote, Mellie following alongside him.
He kneels beside the bed, emptying it on the floor.
He sets two bottles of medicine with Flora's apothecary logo on the nightstand beside me.
One is a shimmery, pale blue bottle, and the other is silver.
Next comes a few bottles of electrolyte water, bath salts, and a new book.
He catches me staring. "I asked Sylas for a favor."
I don't realize I'm crying until I can taste the salt when I lick my lips.
"How did you know I was sick?” I look down and away. “I was going to call you, but I thought you'd be mad at me."
"Please don't cry." The mattress dips underneath his weight when he sits beside me, wiping the tears away with the gentle sweep of his thumb.
"I'm not mad at you. I wanted to respect you and your space. No matter how badly it hurts when I'm away from you. If I stay close—I don’t think I can control myself, but I needed space as well.”
He pulls his hand into his lap. “Your body may not handle the magic well at first since you’re human.
It will take some time for your body to understand this change.
I had a feeling. My Bloodsense. It told me something was wrong.
I knew you were unwell because I felt it.
I had to leave Crescent Springs. Make sure you’re okay. ”
I hiss, curling my body into a ball from the pain coating my body.
"Fuck, I'm sorry." He reaches over to grab the two bottles, giving them a gentle shake. He sets the blue bottle in his lap and undoes the top of the silver bottle. "This is for the fever and pain. We need to get it down and let the pain lessen. You need rest. I need you to drink it."
“What does it taste like?" I don’t like medicine, and I really don’t want to puke again because of the taste.
He chuckles. "Flora told me you would say that. It’ll be good. I promise.”
With aching fingers, I take the bottle and quickly drink it like a shot. The taste is tolerable.
He takes the empty bottle from me and hands me the next one. “This is going to help you sleep. I'm going to stay here a while.”
I gulp it down and burrow deeper beneath the quilt, pulling it up to my neck to help fight off the chill.
“Is it t—this, what’s happening between us,” I whisper through trembling lips, “is it making me sick?”
He takes a deep breath. “Ancient magic from Moiraya. When this lunar thread forms between us…the body feels it before the soul and spirit can embrace it. The medicine will help, you’ll feel better. I promise. Some couples can become sick. The mating between a werewolf and a human is rare.”
He strokes my cheek, bringing some solace. “I need you to rest, Jasmira. I’ll get Seren to school.”
My eyes search his face. He leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees.
“Some things will never change. I’ve always…” His voice trails off. “I felt your pain like a knife between my ribs. It's not something I can explain really. It’s like an awareness. The bond between us only amplifies it.”
I close my eyes. My body shivers. My teeth chatter. “I'm c-cold.” Everything hurts, and breathing feels like it takes too much effort.
He rises, circling the bed. The mattress behind me dips, and the deep, cracking shift of bones fills the room. Magic in the air between us, thick and warm, pulses with our heartbeats.
His massive wolf-form climbs up beside me. The heat of his body floods over me like the morning sun.
“Dom. I’m scared.”
A velvet muzzle nudges the back of my head gently, and he releases a low growl. His heavy foreleg curls over mine, pulling me against the warmth of his body. Radiant heat is soaking into my body.
His voice fills my mind. Silky, wrapped in smoke and tender when whispered.
Amataria.
The word thrums straight to my bones, echoing in places I didn’t know existed. I gasp, my heart stumbling with the pull tightening inside me. I don't understand the word, but its power enthralls me and frightens me all at once.
“I’m sorry,” I confess, my eyes growing heavy.
He emits a soft whine. The mournful sound rumbles out of his chest as he draws me tighter; every inch of me is pressed against his warm fur. My shivers slowly fade, melting into the steady thump of his heart against my back.
Sleep, Amataria.
The voice is velvet wrapped in something I’m too afraid to claim. Those two words drip with affection, brushing lightly against my consciousness like a feather. It’s the last thing I hear before darkness claims me—and I step into my dreams.