Page 115 of Moonlit Fate

A gasp ripped out of my throat as I jolted awake. The room was dim, even with the afternoon sunlight streaming through the openings high above. Chest heaving, I tried to draw in air that felt too thick, too heavy.

“Atticus, are you all right?” Mia asked.

“You didn’t need to stay,” I said, but I was grateful for her presence.

“I’m glad I did.”

I blinked rapidly, trying to shake off the remnants of the dream that clung to me. The darkness in those visions... my shadow magic, unchecked and wild, before I knew how to harness it, were all so real. Ithadto be more than a dream.

My childhood memories were fractured. No matter how much I tried to remember, there were always gaps and holes in my life story. A wise old rogue I’d met when I was first been ousted from the pack told me children often repressed memories to save their psyche. But why was my subconscious urging to fill those blanks now?

My heart pounded a wild drumbeat of terror that echoed in my ears. My lungs struggled to fill with air, each inhale coming in desperate, frantic gulps.

“Atticus?” Mia hesitated for a moment, then clasped my hand firmly, just like my mom had in my dream.

Her touch grounded me, pulling me back from the brink of panic. “It was my mom’s touch that tore through the fog in my dream. I remembered her, Mia—her face, her scent, the feel of her skin against mine.”

Her voice had been lost to me for so long. Hearing it in the dream, so clear and real, shattered the last of the barriers I had put up.

“Are they real?” I whispered, my defenses stripped bare. I got up and paced the room. “Is it possible my dreams are the memories I’d repressed?”

Mia watched me worriedly. “I don’t know, Atticus. The mind works in mysterious ways.” She held up a hand. “I know it may seem like a cliché, but there’s a reason certain phrases withstand the test of time.”

I rubbed at my temples, trying to ease the throbbing there as I struggled to hold on to the fading fragments of my mother’s memory. My chest tightened, making it difficult to take anything more than shallow breaths.

“I’m sorry, Mia, I have to get out of here.” Without waiting for a reply, I ran through the den, past the startled faces of everyone still gathered in the sitting area, and out through the door. One stride was all it took for me to shift into my wolf form, and then I was off, muscles rippling beneath my sleek coat.

My paws whispered over the forest floor. Every rustle, every chirp of a startled bird, was a note in the song of the wild I understood perfectly. No shattered heart and memories trying to unearth themselves here, just me fueled by a primal instinct as old as the forest itself.

Once I reached the edge of the territories, I circled back, careful to avoid the boundaries of the Silver Claw and Crimson Fang packs. I was in no mood for a confrontation. I’d needed the run to clear my head and process everything. Now that I had, there was no doubt in my mind anymore. The dreams were undeniably memories. It was my mother’s familiar, reassuring voice. I knew that because of the sense of safety it evoked.

After a while, I headed back to my den, hesitating when I reached the concealed entrance. I wasn’t sure what awaited me inside. My sudden departure might prompt my family to ask a barrage of questions. The afternoon light barely pierced the dense canopy above, leaving the woods in a perpetual dusk. I sat on a fallen log, the rough bark biting into my palms.

“I heard you come back,” Mia said as she came out.

She walked up to the log and stood beside me. We watched the forest as the wind made the leaves sway and twirl, a companionable silence settling over us. Mia never pressured, never demanded more than I was prepared to share.

“Thanks for staying while I slept,” I murmured.

“When you started yelling, I wanted to wake you, but I wasn’t sure if I should. You really think these are repressed memories?”

I nodded. “It’ll probably get a whole lot worse before it gets better.”

She sat down next to me, her shoulder bumping against mine. “Do you want to talk about it?”

I hesitated, then the words spilled out—a short recap of the dream, the darkness, the fear. The memory of my mother’s voice that wouldn’t leave me alone. Mia pulled me into a hug, and I let myself lean into her for a moment.

“That sounds incredibly hard,” she whispered.

“Everything feels like it’s breaking apart,” I admitted.

“Remembering everything is going to hurt,” Mia said, pulling back to look at me. “But I think it’s important. It will be good for you, in the end.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“Because bringing that which is hidden out into the light always leads to good. Even if it’s painful.”

I nodded, not fully convinced but willing to cling to the hope she offered. Maybe Mia was right. Maybe there was some good to come out of all this pain.

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