120 Taking Control
Mara
I paused at the doorway, weighing my decision. Lucian’s warning echoed in my mind-stay away from Tiffany. He was right. The last thing I needed was more drama, especially with everything unraveling outside these walls.
I turned to her. “I don’t want trouble, Tiffany,” I said clearly, loud enough for the staff to hear. “This is a serious situation. If you get worked up and something happens to your baby, I’ll be blamed. Some people won’t hesitate to say it was intentional.”
Tiffany shook her head quickly, eyes glassy with emotion.
“I swear I’m fine, Mara. Please. I just… I don’t want to be alone tonight.”
And the truth was-I wanted to be alone. Desperately. I needed space to think, to breathe, to break if I had to. But I looked at her and saw it: the quiet loneliness that had become her world.
I gave a small nod. “Alright. Come with me. But your attendant stays close.”
Tiffany thanked me through teary eyes, and I gestured for her staff to follow.
Behind us, Martha’s voice broke in like nails on glass. “Tiffany, you should be with me, not Mara.”
I didn’t even turn around. I silently hoped Tiffany would agree and spare me the burden. But her voice was surprisingly
firm.
“I’m safer and more comfortable with Mara,” she said. “She doesn’t pretend to like me-she’s honest. You don’t like me, Martha. You never have. Your deal with my father is off, and I know you hate me for it. I don’t need that energy right now. Darian is out there fighting people with guns. I need to pray for him.”
I glanced at her, surprised. That was the most Tiffany had said in weeks. Maybe months. Since Darian rejected her, she’d
gone quiet-meek. The only thing keeping her here was the child. Probably hoping to prove it was his. Hoping it would
matter.
We walked in silence down the hall, her attendant lagging behind to give us some space. I needed privacy badly. Maybe
I’d excuse myself to the bathroom once we were in my room.
When we entered, Tiffany froze in the doorway.
“Wow, Mara… Lucian really dotes on you,” she said, looking around with wide eyes.
I didn’t respond. My chest felt heavy. Every thought circled back to him-to Driftwake, to the unknown.
“I hope they come back, Mara,” she added softly, and then, just like that, she started crying. No warning.
She sat down on the couch, tears spilling silently. It was strange-the room compliment followed by the crying.
Hormones, probably. Or fear. Or both.
I turned on the TV and tuned to the live broadcast. The screen showed aerial footage-chaotic and raw. The sound of
wind and static filled the room.
“They’re no longer shooting,” Tiffany whispered, eyes glued to the screen. “That’s good, right?”
I didn’t answer. The scene spoke for itself-smoke, scattered bodies, violent movement.
The reporter’s voice came through:
“Alpha Vander, Alpha Lucian, and Beta Darian have just arrived by helicopter. Troops are landing now to reinforce the
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frontline. We’re taking a risk broadcasting live from the air. Please pray to the goddess for our safety. We’ll go off-air for thirty minutes to refuel and return.”
The feed cut to the studio. Analysts now filled the screen, breaking down the battle. A banner scrolled along the bottom:
Luna Mara has declared an indefinite island-wide curfew. Anyone found outside after 9 p.m. will be arrested for their own
safety.
I blinked at the sight of my name. Luna Mara. On-screen. As the one making decisions. The one giving orders.
I never imagined this.
And then my phone rang.
I looked at the screen-Mother.
I excused myself and walked into the bedroom.
“Mother,” I answered quietly.
She sighed. “Thank the goddess. How are you, Mara?”
I gave the only answer I could. “I’m holding on.”
Truth was, I felt like a storm inside. I was trying to stay upright, to be strong for Lucian, for the city. But this was the first time he’d gone to battle without me. The first time I wasn’t there to fight beside him.
And I hated it.
“You need to be strong, Mara,” my mother said, cutting to the heart of it.
I closed my eyes and leaned against the wall. I’m trying.
But for how long, I didn’t know.
“I know you didn’t expect this,” my mother said gently. “To be Luna of this pack. But it’s the fate the goddess has given
you. Be strong, my child. We are praying for your husband. He will come home to you.”
I couldn’t answer.
The words struck something raw in me. I placed the phone on the bed and sat at the foot of it, burying my face in my
hands as the sobs came-heavy, uncontrollable.
Lucian… please come back to me.
I wasn’t built for guns. I wasn’t built to wait on the sidelines while the man I loved faced bullets and claws and war. The decision had been made too fast. There was no time for proper weapons, no time for backup. I could feel it in my gut- this wasn’t a battle they had been ready for.
I pressed a hand to my chest, breathing through the ache.
We had plans.
He told me he wanted pups. I said yes, but I was hesitant, cautious. I wanted time. Wanted to feel ready.
Not anymore.
If he came back to me-when he came back to me-I would give him everything. No more second-guessing. No more stalling. We had a life to live, and I wasn’t going to waste another moment of it.
“Please, goddess,” I whispered, voice hoarse through tears. “Bring him home. I’ll be better. I’ll be softer. I’ll guard his children with my life. I’ll never question us again. Just… please, bring my mate back to me. Alive. Whole.”
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The pain wouldn’t leave me, but I carried it into the bathroom. I turned on the water-hot enough to sting-and stepped
beneath the stream.
The room filled with steam, but I still felt cold.
Lucian always joined me here. The shower had become sacred-where we loved, where we reclaimed each other after every storm. Now, standing there alone, the tiles echoed nothing but silence. The absence of his touch hit me hardest.
I leaned against the wall and wept, letting the water hide what it couldn’t soothe.
When the tears slowed, I dried off and walked to the closet, pulling out one of Lucian’s oversized old shirts-the one with frayed sleeves he refused to throw out. It swallowed me whole, and that was the point. I needed something that smelled
like him, felt like him.
I padded back into the sitting room, where Tiffany was curled up on the couch, her eyes swollen and glued to the TV. She
looked up when I entered.
“They’ve joined the fight, Mara,” she said softly. Her voice shook as she reached out and took my hand.
I let her. I welcomed it.
Because in that moment, her grip reminded me of something I was desperately trying not to forget:
I wasn’t alone.
