Chapter 149

Emily

The road stretches out in front of me like it has no end. A long, winding dirt path cuts through the trees, so narrow I wonder more than once if I’ve taken a wrong turn. My hands tighten on the steering wheel as another branch scrapes against the side of the car, loud and sudden like a warning. I press forward anyway.

The silence out here is strange. Not peaceful just…still. Too still.

Every bump in the road rattles through me. Every shadow between the trees feels like it’s watching. I keep checking the address Wanda gave me even though I’ve already memorized the golden letters on the card. I know exactly where I’m going and yet I keep having to force myself to make for sure that I am in the right direction.

Maybe this is my mind’s way of telling me no. That this is a bad idea.

Eventually, through the dense green, the cottage appears. It’s… beautiful. More beautiful than I expected it to be. The wooden frame is dark, well-kept, like it’s been treated and retreated with care over the years. Ivy climbs the stone chimney and flower boxes hang from the windows, overflowing with lavender and some pale blue flowers I can’t name. The roof is steep as if it jumped right out of the pages of a fairytale my mother read to me as a baby and smoke curls gently from the chimney.

The cottage sits there as if it has been waiting for me to arrive for centuries.

For a moment, I sit in the car and just stare at it. It feels unreal. I grip the key tighter in my hand. My bag’s already slung over my shoulder, packed light with the essentials, just what I need to feel like I have control.

I have to remind myself that I chose this, that I am choosing this even if my heart won’t stop racing.

I step out of the car, gravel crunching beneath my shoes. The air smells like pine and moss and something faintly sweet, almost herbal. The scent calms me for a moment. Almost.

The closer I get to the front door, the heavier my chest feels. Doubt claws its way back in, whispering Logan’s voice in my ear as if he is standing right beside me.

She pushed you too far last time. You’re not safe with her. You don’t know what she really wants.

I shove that thought down. This isn’t about Logan. This isn’t about control or protection or fear. This is about me.

I raise my fist and knock. The sound echoes as if there is an endless abyss waiting behind the door. The door opens before I finish the third knock.

Wanda stands there, barefoot, wearing a long black cardigan that brushes the floor. Her hair is loose down her back and her eyes shine the way they always do — like she sees something I don’t. Maybe there is something inside of me that she can see, something that I don’t want to see.

But still… I feel relief when I see her, like I’ve finally arrived where I’m meant to be.

“Emily,” she says softly, stepping aside, gesturing to the inside of her home, “come in, dear.”

I hesitate just for a second but I cross the threshold with my head held high and my hands on my baby bump.

The inside of the cottage is warm. It glows with firelight and the scent of dried herbs hanging in bundles from the ceiling. Sage, lavender, rosemary. The wood floors creak underfoot as I walk across it. Everything feels old, lived-in. It feels like a home. Wanda watches me with quiet eyes as she closes the door behind me.

“You look tired,” she says gently.

“I haven’t really slept,” I admit, remembering the nights where I stayed awake while Logan held me close to him.

“Of course you haven’t.” She tilts her head slightly. “You’ve been running toward this moment for a long time.” I let out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding, the quiet weight slipping free from my shoulders.

“So…this is it?” I ask, gesturing to the home. Wanda nods and smiles.

“If you’re ready.” Wanda gestures for me to follow her. “Come. Sit down. There’s still a bit of preparation before we begin.”

She leads me down a hallway lined with shelves. They are lined with jars, others with books so old their titles have faded. There’s a hum in the air, soft and low, like a vibration under my skin. It’s the same hum I felt the first time I saw her — strange, magnetic, powerful.

She opens a door at the end of the hall and guides me into a small room lit by candlelight. A wide couch sits in the middle, plush and soft-looking. Across from it is a low wooden table with a bowl of water, several crystals and a few items I can’t name.

I sit down and rest my hands in my lap. Wanda moves around the room, pulling things from shelves, humming under her breath. I watch her in silence, heart still racing.

My voice comes out smaller than I expect. “What does my mom think of all this?”

“She’s proud.” Wanda’s response is immediate. I blink at her, shocked.

“You’ve spoken to her?” I ask in a quiet voice.

“In a way,” she turns toward me now, her eyes steady, “your mother left behind pieces. Strong ones. Imprints. Emotions. Intent. I can feel her, even now. She’s here. She’s happy you’re making this choice.”

“She always said she wanted me to choose my own path. To be strong, like her,” I bite my lip, eyes burning.

“And you are.” Wanda walks over, crouches in front of me, and takes my hands. Her palms are warm. “You’re stronger than you know. After this, things will become clearer.”

The words settle into me like a lullaby.

Easier. That’s all I want. That’s all I’ve ever wanted. To stop feeling torn in half. To stop waking up afraid, unsure, drowning in voices that don’t belong to me. To understand what’s growing inside of me. I want to learn about the connection, the visions, and the building pressure.

I want to know who I am and what I’m meant to become.

“Okay,” I whisper. “I’m ready.” Wanda smiles and squeezes my hands.

“Good,” she says. “We’ll begin shortly.”

She stands and returns to the table and begins to prepare a mixture in a bowl. The scent of crushed herbs fills the room, earthy and sharp. I sit back into the couch, letting my muscles relax one at a time.

My thoughts drift to Logan. To the way he looked at me before I locked the door that day. Desperate. Angry. Scared. He couldn’t understand what it is that I need to be answered.

He still sees this part of me — this calling from fate — is dangerous. Maybe I’m walking into something I can’t control but at least I’m walking toward something. He wanted to protect me from the truth when I wanted to set it free.

But I’m not afraid of myself anymore.

I glance over at Wanda again. She’s focused, calm. Her movements precise. There’s a strange comfort in her confidence, in the way she never hesitates. She doesn’t treat me like I’m broken. She treats me like I’m becoming. Maybe that’s what I’ve needed all along.

Still…there’s a quiet tremor in my chest.

I stare at the bowl. At the candles. At the crystals that seem to catch the flickering light in strange ways.

Am I really doing this?

My breath catches. For a moment, the silence of the room grows heavy.

What if Logan was right? What if this is a mistake? What if I’m not strong enough?

“You don’t need to be afraid,” she says gently. “You were made for this, Emily. Your wolf is your birthright. All that pain…all that confusion…it led you here.”

Her words settle into the pit of my stomach. Heavy. Solid. Finite.

I exhale slowly and nod. She turns back to her work. I watch her with wonder, thinking if this is the right choice while knowing I’m going to make it anyway.