Chapter 4

Elara Thorne POV:

Moira's command hung in the air, thick with suspicion. I met her gaze without flinching. I simply nodded, ladling a small amount of the shimmering stew into a bowl for myself.

Three pairs of eyes watched my every move. I lifted the wooden spoon to my lips, the rich, warm scent making my own stomach ache with want. I took a slow, deliberate sip of the broth, then a piece of the tender meat.

A wave of warmth spread from my stomach through my entire body. It was more than just food; it was life, pure and potent. I felt strength returning to my weary muscles, clarity to my mind. I closed my eyes and let out a soft, involuntary sigh of satisfaction.

It was a genuine reaction, impossible to fake. I saw the rigid line of Moira's jaw soften just a fraction.

I held a bowl out to Faye. "Try it, my love," I said, my voice gentle. "This will make you strong."

Faye, who had been practically vibrating with hunger, needed no more encouragement. She grabbed the bowl with her small hands and took a tentative sip.

Her brown eyes lit up like stars. "It's yummy!" she exclaimed, her voice filled with pure, childish delight. "It's better than the honey-cakes at the Moon Festival!"

She began to eat with gusto, her pale cheeks gaining a hint of rosy color with every spoonful.

Cole watched his sister, his expression wary. When it was clear she was perfectly fine-better than fine, in fact-the tension finally drained from his small shoulders. He silently accepted the bowl I offered him.

The moment the broth touched his lips, I saw his whole body relax. His inner wolf, always so tense and on guard, must have felt like it was soaking in a warm spring. He looked at me, his emerald eyes no longer filled with suspicion, but with a deep, profound confusion.

Moira observed her grandchildren, her face a storm of conflicting emotions. The aroma, the visible change in the children-it was a battle she couldn't win. With a quiet sigh of defeat, she served herself a small portion.

The scent, however, was not contained by our broken walls. It drifted on the morning breeze, a siren call of pure, irresistible life.

In his own filthy den, nursing the festering wounds on his face, Jax smelled it. His head snapped up. His inner wolf, starved and greedy, howled in his mind. The scent was purer, more enticing than any prey he had ever encountered. He knew, with absolute certainty, that it was something Elara could never obtain on her own. It had to be a gift from her new protector.

He got to his feet, the pain on his face forgotten. He deserved a share of that. It was compensation. He began to stalk toward our hovel, following the scent like a hound.

Back inside, a fragile peace had settled. Faye, her belly full for the first time in memory, crawled into my lap and promptly fell asleep, her little body warm and content against mine.

I felt a burn behind my eyes. It was the first time she had sought comfort from me in months.

Moira finished her stew. I saw her subtly stretch her fingers, her arthritic joints moving with more ease than usual. She looked at me, her tone still rough, but the sharp edge of accusation was gone. "What... is this?"

"A gift from the Goddess," I answered softly. It was the only truth I could offer.

Just then, a shadow fell across the doorway.

Jax stood there, his eyes wild and greedy, fixed on the pot. He sniffed the air like a starving animal and took a step inside, a disgusting smirk on his face.

"Elara," he said, his voice oozing with false confidence. "I knew you'd save some for me."