Filed to story: Tangled in Moonlight Unshifted Novel by Lenaleia
Vanessa, who’s been quietly preparing the injection, steps forward.
“That’s enough, Mrs. Grey. It’s time for your medicine.”
My mother’s gaze snaps to Vanessa, her lip curling in a sneer, “You think that will silence me? You’re just as deluded as she is.”
But even as she speaks, Vanessa deftly inserts the needle into her IV line, depressing the plunger halfway. The clear liquid disappears into the tube, sna
Within moments, Mom’s eyelids droop, her words slurring together. “You’ll see…” she mumbles, her head lolling to the side. “No happiness… No blessing…”
Vanessa checks the clock before injecting the rest of the medicine. “There we go.”
Mom’s quiet, her chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm. The sudden silence is heavy, the beeping machines almost welcome in the tense atmospher
It’s not your fault, Selene says, and I latch onto the neutral tone of her mental voice. She lost herself a long time ago.
I know, logically, that my mother’s hatred isn’t a reflection of my worth. And the distance I feel now might not be there forever.
But at least I know I have several people to lean on. People in my corner, trying to help me. Making sure I’m safe. Wanting me to grow stronger.
My found family.
So much better than the ones who brought me into the world.
Vanessa glances toward Mom’s vitals, reported in real time by a monitor by her bed. “Everything looks good. Selene, do your thing.”
Selene pads to the hospital bed, leaving me behind.
There’s absolutely no sound or thought inside my head, and it startles me. I’d assumed that I would somehow be a part of this process; that I would hear my wolf reaching out to my mother’s.
Instead, I strain to hear even the slightest whisper, with no result.
Seconds stretch into minutes, and still, Selene remains motionless, her iceblue eyes fixed on my mother’s frail form. The steady beep of the heart monitor is a metronome, a silent and rhythmic mark of time passing.
Finally, after what feels like an eternity, Selene shakes herself from nose to tail. Her voice echoes in my mind, a gentle caress against my frayed nerves. Her wolf has cooperated as much as she can. A wave of relief washes over me, loosening the knot of anxiety in my chest. It’s not much, but it’s something. A small victory.
But the respite is short lived. Selene’s tone shifts, becoming somber and weighted with unspoken implications. Your mother doesn’t know as much as we hoped, but what she d
Her wolf won’t talk to anyone else. Her mental voice is tinged with a hint of frustration. But she’s very happy to hear you have a wolf of your own, Ava.
My mother’s wolf, who I’ve always imagined as a distant, uncaring entity, is pleased by my connection to Selene?
That’s a twist I never saw coming.
Selene’s next words, however, steal the breath from my lungs. It’s a tiny bandaid over the thousands of wounds spent under my mother’s rule.
fal
She loves you like her own pup, Ava. And she’s so very sorry for everything you’ve been through.
Tears sting my eyes and blur my vision as I stare at my mother’s sleeping form. The machines continue their steady rhythm, oblivious to the emotional tu
How can my mother’s wolf claim to love me when my own mother has only ever shown me cruelty and disdain?
“Then why?” I whisper, my voice cracking under the weight of years of pain and rejection. “Why didn’t she ever intervene? Why didn’t she fight for my ha
As if in response to my anguished plea, my mother’s eyelids flutter open, her gaze seeking mine. But instead of the familiar cold blue, her irises are rimmed with a golden haze.
This is not Grace Grey.
This is her wolf.
“I’m sorry,” she rasps, her voice barely audible over the hum of the machines. “I wasn’t strong enough to keep you safe, my pup.”
Tears spill down my cheeks, hot and bitter, as I watch her eyes drift closed once more, her features slackening into the peaceful repose of medicated slumber.
A moment.
Just a moment.
All I’d wanted was to see my mother’s face once again soft with love.
Hear her voice, telling me she loved me.
And nowI have it.
From a source I never expected.
All these years, I’d assumed that my mother’s wolf was just as cruel and uncaring as she was. I never once separated them in my head.
Now, faced with this glimpse of remorse, I find myself questioning everything I thought I knew.
Vanessa’s hand on my shoulder startles me from my reverie, her touch a gentle reminder of the present. Her eyes are on the monitor, and it takes me a second and a lot of blinking to clear my vision enough to see what she’s seeing.
Numbers are going down.
“She’s going.”
Her heart beat plummets.
Down and down it goes.
A soft, wet rattle comes out of her, and Vanessa squeezes my shoulder. “That’s normal.”
Every breath she takes has that sound, like she’s trying to breathe with water filling her lungs and phlegm in her throat.
But her face never changes.
Peaceful.
Quiet.
Weathered and worn, a ghost of the woman in my memories.
The numbers fall in a dizzying spiral, each one a step closer to the inevitable. Alarms blare, a cacophony of sound that pierces the stillness of the room. But Vanessa moves with a practiced ease, silencing them one by one.
“She’s DNR, Ava. Do not resuscitate. There’s nothing left to do.”
Her words are gentle, but they hit me like a punch to the gut. Do not resuscitate. The finality of it, the shocking end, is… crazy.
I didn’t know she was this close.
I’m not even sure how much I care.
A doctor and nurse slip into the room, their presence a silent acknowledgment of what’s to come. They take their places by the bed, their eyes fixed on the monitors, watching as the gacy (VI)
Vanessa and the doctor exchange a glance, a silent communication passing between them. A polite nod, a shared understanding of the gravity of the mo
And then, it happens.
No heart rate, and a red alarm blaring ASYSTOLE in capital letters, alerting us all to what we already know.
Just like that, she’s gone.
My mother, the woman who gave me life, who shaped me in ways I’m still trying to understand, is dead.
I stare at her still form, numb with shock. It’s surreal, the way death comes so quietly, so quickly. One moment she’s here. In the next, she’s not.
The doctor moves to her side, his fingers pressing against her neck, searching for a pulse that’s no longer there. He listens to her lungs, the stethoscope
“Time of death?” he asks, his voice low and somber.
The nurse glances at her watch, the dim light of the room glinting off its face. ” p.m.”