Page 68 of Primal

I try to process that while my mind spirals.Oracle. Me. That…explains some things, but not nearly enough.

But Zora’s already shifting gears. “Latent wolves aren’t omegas, Noa. And they sure as hell aren’t charmers. It’s our wolf’s essence—lifeblood—that gives life to those things. A latent’s wolf is too disconnected to bring to life those special traits. So, yes, to answer your earlier question…I believe your wolf was bound. Caged. And there’s only one person we know powerful enough to not only weave the bindings but also leave a loophole so they’ll unknot themselves when the time is right.”

“Mom,” I whisper.

The confirmation lands like a brick. It doesn’t shatter me, because deep down, I’ve known, but it settles in my bones like a new kind of ache. One of betrayal.

Unknot…with how things are changing, that word seems more than accurate. It also makes me think of my mom’s warning from my dream again.

“It sounds like the more your wolf shakes free of the binds, the more your designation will reveal itself and your charmer gifts will strengthen. Who knows what you’ll be capable of when you have the full strength of your wolf behind you, dear girl?”

I don’t speak for a long beat. Then I ask the other question. One I’ve been wondering about since the first image of a younger Rennick resurfaced in my mind.

“I think my memories were manipulated. There are…chunks missing. I didn’t remember how much time I spent with Rennick growing up until I came back here. And now…now the memories are trickling in. Slowly. Like a door cracked open.”

Zora’s face darkens. “Mind weaving was where Thalassa excelled. It’s why Merritt kept her close. A mind weaver is a precious tool to have in your back pocket when you’re an Alpha whose reign isn't exactly met with unanimous approval. In the charmer and witch communities, manipulating memories—bending minds—that kind of magic is heavily frowned upon. Dangerous, even. People with the gift tend to push the boundaries. And once you cross that line, it’s hard to come back.”

The senior Alpha Fallamhain’s mixed reception isn’t news to me. My memories of Merritt are firmly in place, and he was not a kind man. He didn’t have the warm, reassuring dominance that makes a good Alpha. Like Lowri. Shit, even like Rennick…when he’s not being an emotionally inept asswipe. But his father was cold, stern, and unforgiving.

What is news to me is hearing that my mother was a master mind manipulator, that this skill I had no idea she possessed was the reason for her long tenure with Merritt.

A cold chill runs down my aching spine as I start to silently panic and wonder what else she may have altered in my mind. What memories that occupy my mind are actually mine and not created by my mother’s magic? Rennick knew my wolf was bound, but I have memories of the night my mom came home to this very cabin in a panic—reeking of fear—to tell me we had to leave, that Merritt was exiling me for my latent status. But what if that’s not what happened at all?

My mother—my protector—my deceiver?

"Do you think she could’ve…left dreams behind?” I ask, my voice scratchy, barely making it past the tight band of anxiety around my throat. “Like, tucked them away in someone’s mind. For later.”

Zora doesn’t answer right away. Her gaze sharpens, studying me in that unsettling way of hers, like she’s peeling back skin and bone and looking at whatever truth lives underneath. Finally, she nods, slow and thoughtful.

“It’s possible,” she says, tone weighty. “Dreams are just another kind of memory, after all. And a skilled enough weaver could bury them deep, keep them dormant until something—or someone—unlocked the thread.”

My heart sinks because I already know who the key is. Mom told me herself in my dream.

Rennick.

“Have you been having odd dreams?” she questions, when my heavy silence drags on too long.

“Yeah,” I mumble, as my mind sorts through all the pieces to the puzzle I’ve been left, but it’s like I’m trying to see the big picture without having access to the vital corner pieces. The pieces that keep the whole damn thing together. There’s onething I think I know for sure, though. “My bound wolf, my missing memories, my dream…they all tie back to Rennick. Do you think…do you think Mom knew we were destined for each other? That we were mates?”

Zora’s already nodding before I’m done talking. “I’d bet money on it,” she tells me, before adding, “I also don’t think she would do something like this unless she felt she didn’t have a choice.”

The growl that tears from my throat isn’t intentional. It’s raw and guttural—animalistic—slicing through the air, leaving the front porch in thick silence. Both of us freeze.

I don’t apologize. I’m too tired to pretend I’m not unraveling.

“Why,” I bite out, “do I keep having to be the sacrificial lamb every time someone important to me gets backed into a corner? Why am I always the one who pays the price for the decisions they’re forced to make?”

“We make rash choices when our backs are against a wall. We don’t think about the long-term cost—about what it’ll destroy. That regret comes later when the dust settles and we’re left standing in the ruin of our own making.” She pauses, that observant gaze of hers raking over me long and hard, as if searching for more visible signs of my hurt, before adding, “Did you know the only reason we identified Carly’s body was because of her scent? Her face was so mangled, we didn’t recognize her as…her. Rennick carried what was left of that girl six miles back to this cabin. Alone. Just him and the weight of his perceived failure in his arms. When you’re forced to look that kind of devastation in the eye for that long, Noa…you’ll pay any price to ensure it never happens again. Because in that moment, nothing—nothing—could have felt worse than that. Worse than what happened to Carly.”

Zora lets that settle, heavy and unmoving.

I feel like I’m going to be sick, the dark details of Carly’s recovery, the ones Rhosyn and Canaan had purposely left out, slithering around my mind.

I’m consumed, busy focusing on breathing through my nose to fight back the roiling in my empty stomach and the nausea clawing at my throat, when Zora speaks again.

“I can’t speak for why your mother did what she did, only what I’ve told you before. Your mother always had a plan. Her gift made her the shrewdest person in the room, and she used that to her advantage in everything she did,” Zora explains tenderly. “What I can tell you is why Rennick was driven into making the choice he made. Is it one I wholly agree with? No. Nor does it stop the pain you’re in because of it, but I can understand what drove him there. Now, we need to discover a way to fix the damage he made with his rash choice.”

“There isnofixing it,” I respond, feeling so much like I’m having a repeat of the same conversation I had with Rennick before. “He broke the bond.”

---