Tangled in Moonlight: Unshifted (Ava and Lucas)

Chapter 193 Ava: Mom's Legacy (VI)

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 ice-blue 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 does know is enough to worry me.

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 of a lifetime spent under my mother's rule.

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 turmoil her words have brought.

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 happiness?"

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.

was to see my mother's face once

telling me she loved

And now—I have it.

source I

my mother's wolf was just as cruel and

glimpse of remorse, I find myself questioning

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

Numbers are going down.

"She's going."

Her heart beat plummets.

95.

92.

87.

83.

69.

53.

and down it

comes out of her, and Vanessa squeezes my shoulder. "That's

sound, like she's trying to

her face

Peaceful.

Quiet.

a ghost of the woman in

a step closer to the inevitable. Alarms blare, a cacophony of sound that pierces

not resuscitate.

me like a punch to the gut. Do not resuscitate. The finality of

she was this

sure how much

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 doctor exchange a glance, a silent communication passing between them. A polite nod,

And then, it happens.

ASYSTOLE in capital letters, alerting us all to what we

that,

gave me life, who shaped me in ways I'm still trying to understand, is

still form, numb with shock. It's surreal, the way death comes so quietly, so

her side, his fingers pressing against her neck, searching for a pulse that's no longer there. He listens to her lungs, the stethoscope

asks,