Page 53 of The Hunger
“Leaving you was the most difficult thing I’ve done in my life. Leaving your father was the second hardest thing. I loved him. I loved him so much, I left a piece of myself in his care. I loved him so deeply that I walked away from a life with him when I realized he would never be happy sharing me. I wanted to spare him that pain. But in the end, I spared him nothing. I hurt you both in ways I can’t imagine but am trying to understand. And I did all of that because I thought there was no way I could ever have what I wanted.”
“What did you want?” I asked.
“Someone to love me. Me. The true me.”
“And I do,” Dad said.
The doubtful look I gave Mom brought a rueful smile to her lips.
“You still believe your father only loves me due to the pull, don’t you? But think back to all the times he’s defied me. A thrall doesn’t defy, Eliana. A thrall obeys completely. Your father has fought what I am since the beginning. Yet, he’s loved me, regardless.”
“Why are you telling me this?”
“So you know it’s okay to want a life with just one person.”
I shook my head.
“You’re still feeding off of other people.”
“She has to,” Dad said.
Mom gave him a loving, yet sad, smile before continuing.
“Your father is human and would never survive satisfying my full hunger. But Fenris isn’t human, Eliana. He’s a werewolf, and a werewolf’s passion for his mate is endless.”
The possibility of what she was telling me robbed me of breath. I recognized that I was panicking and tried to identify why. I felt overwhelmed and confused. All of the rules were changing yet again when I’d almost come to terms with the idea that I’d need to start feeding from random people. Now, Mom was telling me I might be able to feed from a single person for the rest of my life. But not just any person. Fenris. My mate. Why did that churn my stomach and make me sick with fear?
I glanced from my mom to my dad, and the moment my gaze locked with his, I pinpointed the reason. A shaky breath escaped me, and I acknowledged the truth. A deep-seated fear lingered that I would still eventually break Fenris, and not because of some thrall. What if Fenris wasn’t enough to keep me fed and I finally had to feed on someone else? What if Fenris wasn’t as okay with it as he wanted to be and went crazy with jealousy and grief as Dad had done?
A true understanding of why Mom had left us hit me hard. I would do anything to spare Fenris that level of anguish. Yet, I knew leaving Fenris now wouldn’t free him. He already felt far too deeply for me. His anguish these last few days proved that.
My heart ached as I realized the impossibility of my situation. Whether I committed to him or left him, Fenris would hurt.
Mom reached out and set her hand over mine.
“The last time you started worrying like this, Fenris was here and pulled you out of it. He’s good for you, Eliana. Whether you believe it or not. Go talk to him some more. See if he can calm your fears.”
I nodded and left after a round of hugs and promises to call them soon.
As the car warmed, I sent Fenris a message.
Me: I’m done at my parents' and heading to the Quills’. Join me for dinner in my room in 40?
Fenris: Front door or sneak in?
Me: Sneak in. I want to see how you’ve been managing it.
Fenris: And give away my trade secrets? I’m shocked you would even suggest it.
Fenris: Okay. I’ll show you my goods. Remember you asked for it.
Tossing my phone in my purse, I headed home. My thoughts swirled the whole way. Doubts, mostly. And every time I came up with a reason Fenris and I would never work, his voice would rise up, and the counter-reasons he’d spoken in the caves would drown out my thoughts. Fenris knew me far too well. But did I know him at all?
I had thought I did. Yet he’d hidden the fact that I was his mate from me for four years. What else might he be hiding? I recalled the conversation in the car and cringed away from the idea of asking him. I might not have known I was his mate, but I did know one thing. Fenris didn’t want to keep secrets from me. He only wanted to keep me from freaking out. He cared. A lot.
Lost in thought, I let myself into the house, opened the refrigerator, and started pulling out what I needed to make simple sandwiches. If the house was unusually quiet while I worked, I was glad for it. With four sandwiches stacked on a plate, I headed upstairs.
My stomach danced with nerves the minute I glanced at my bed. In the last few weeks, my room had acted as a veritable revolving door when it came to the opposite gender. Yet, before Piepen and Mom’s idea of breakfast in bed had made this space my hell, it had been my sanctuary.
