Page 43 of Primal

What would be the point? Without him or our bond?

The roomaround me is one I’d recognize anywhere.

The wide-planked pine floors, scratched and scuffed from years of wear, stretch beneath my feet. The river rock fireplace dominates the living room, bundles of drying herbs hanging above the hearth, just as they always had. The scent in the air is familiar, a mix of sage, peppermint, and the countless other natural remedies my mother crafted by hand. It smells like home.It smells like her.

I don’t question why I’m here. I should, but I don’t. My heartsick soul is just thrilled to be surrounded by a space that holds so many warm memories.

My feet move of their own accord, guiding me toward the back window with the faded and sun-bleached, rust-colored curtains. Through the glass, the land slopes gently downward, opening into the valley where the creek winds its way through the Fallamhain territory, heading toward the lake that sits behind the Alpha’s house. The view is just as I remember it to be. It’s beautiful, peaceful, exactly as it was when I was a child.

The peace doesn’t last.

A presence stirs behind me, a prickle of awareness running down my spine. The air shifts, becoming almost electric as the energy surges.

Blind, deaf, or underwater—I’d still recognize that feeling.

I turn, andshe’s there.

Mom.

She stands in the middle of the room, watching me with soft eyes that always saw too much. But she doesn’t look the way she did eight months ago, before she passed. She’s younger. By the looks of it, almost a decade younger.Her dark hair, the same shade as mine, falls in loose waves over her shoulders, streaks of silver are just starting to frame her temples. The charms, hand-carved by a coven with ancient bloodlines, that were passed down to her, are braided into the hair near her ears, just as they always were. She always told me the symbolsetched into the small metal medallions are ones of protection. They gave them to me with the rest of her belongings after the accident. They now sit in my jewelry box in my dresser at home.

She looks as she did overseven years ago, around the time we fled from the Fallamhain territory.

My stomach drops as my eyes flick to the dining room, where green and white balloons are still tied to the chair just as they had been the night everything went to shit.

My birthday had been that week.My eighteenth.

I know where I am and now, I know exactlywhen.

My pulse pounds in my ears. My fingers curl restlessly at my sides. I don’t know if I’m breathing.

“Mom?” My voice sounds wrong, too distant, too unsteady.

She smiles, a sad, knowing thing that twists my gut.

“Noa,” she says, and the way she says my name makes me feelsmall again, like I’m still that girl standing in this cabin, believing I belonged. Believing I was safe and wanted, that I had a future ahead of me here.

I try to take a step toward her, but the space between usstretches, like the room itself is pulling away from me. My throat tightens. The fireplace flickers, casting strange, elongated shadows against the walls. It’s disorienting and makes my stomach roll, almost as if I’m experiencing seasickness.

Forcing my feet to remain still, firmly planned where I stand, the room rights itself.

“I don’t understand why I’m here,” I tell her, voice floating, sounding almost disembodied, to where she stands across the space.

“I know, my girl.” Mom’s voice takes on the same, disjointed and ghostly quality as mine. “But you will. It’s time you start remembering, Noa.” My pulse kicks up, uneven and frantic, butI can’t speak, can’t move, can’t do anything butlisten. “What I did—the memories I stole—I never intended to keep them forever,” she continues, her face unreadable, even as something like sorrow flickers through her golden eyes. “I was always going to return them. But when I realized I wouldn’t be here to see this through, I had to find another way to make sure what I did was set right.”

My chest tightens. My mind scrambles, trying to piece together her meaning.Hiswords from the clearing slamming to the forefront of my mind, the ones where he accused Mom of being the reason I am the way I am. Wolfless.

“What are you talking about?” My voice is hoarse.

She doesn’t answer right away, just watches me with a kind of patience that makes me feel small. Childlike. Then, continuing on with her frustratingly vague bullshit, she says, “Reuniting with him is the first step. He’s the key to opening the door."

My stomach plummets.

I don’t have to ask who she means.I already know.

Rennick.

My head begins to shake in denial instantly. “He rejected me, Mom. Ripped apart our bond. He’s not the key to anything. Not anymore.”

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