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I lower my chin with respect, noting the cold look in her eyes that tells me the wound is far from scabbed. There’s a fine line between famous and infamous, and Fern Moon was notorious for straddling that line with gusto. “I didn’t know Fern had a daughter.” Not much circulated about Fern after she up and vanished one day when I was just a cub. Ever since then, Fern Moon kept away from the city proper, no doubt to shelter her daughter from the antics that often come when magic is involved. “Who’s your father?” I never knew Fern Moon settled down with anyone.
Ivy shrugs. “No idea. Ditched before I was born.” She says it nonchalantly, as if she’s never wished it could have been any other way.
I swallow hard before responding. “I’m sorry to hear she passed. She’s something of a legend.”
Ivy’s jaw is stiff as she replies without a lick of visible emotion. “It’s fine. It’s been two years.”
I opt for kindness, being that I stepped into becoming the pack leader well before I was ready because my father passed before his time. “Two years isn’t all that long. We lost a member of our pack to a snide wolf shifter three years ago, and we still feel the sting of the loss.”
Sympathy washes over her features, as if my pain should be considered greater than hers. “I’m sorry you lost someone you love.”
“Someone I was responsible for,” I hedge.
She nods once. “That can be the hardest hit.”
My brows knit, wondering how she could know what that feels like. She lost a parent. She could hardly have been responsible for her mother.
Then again, Fern Moon was a bit of a wildcard. From all the stories I’ve heard about her, I cannot imagine her doing parental tasks.
Ivy blinks at me in the slivers of moonlight that fight their way through the thick trees overhead, then she clears her throat. She takes off her headlamp and clasps it around her bicep instead, giving me a full view of her heart-shaped face, upturned button nose and pink lips. “Two years is long enough for me to not trouble strangers with family stuff. But thank you. Your pack is fortunate to have someone who cares for others so easily.”
My face pulls, and I immediately wonder if her praise is true. I reach for deflection since that suits me better than sincerity. “I’m sure my pack would be happy if I found a mate. Not much else seems to matter to them these days.”
Ivy’s head tilts to the side, her brown ponytail swooshing to the left. “That sounds stressful. How are you supposed to find someone with everyone watching, waiting with bated breath?”
I throw my free arm up. “Exactly! Plus, I’m not sure I believe in the whole thing. The Alpha is married to the pack. I can’t imagine having time for much else.”
“It sounds like you’ve got a lot on your plate. Any chance for delegation to decrease your stress?”
I waggle a finger at her, my mouth curving into a smile. “It sounds like someone’s been to therapy.”
She mirrors my smile and lifts her hand. “Someoneisthe therapy. But I’m off the clock at this hour, so no charge for mental health. In fact, anyone who’s been taken advantage of by a witch tonight gets all the kindness I can dole out.”
I chuckle at the explanation for how easy it is to connect with her. Conversation has never flowed so freely, especially when the subject is myself. “Thanks.” My nose scrunches. “Full disclosure: I don’t believe in therapy.”
She shrugs, sitting on the other side of the brook to get on my level. “That’s okay. I don’t believe in Santa Claus, but that doesn’t mean he’s not real.”
“I…” My mouth snaps shut, screwing to the side when her odd words hit me. “You don’t really believe in Santa Claus, do you? I mean, you know he’s not real.”
She slams her hand to her sternum. “Break my heart, why don’t you? That’s so mean. I would never tell you Santa Claus isn’t real. I certainly hope you’re not the type to go around busting people’s bubbles back home. Might that be the reason you’re resisting finding a mate?”
I let out an airy chuckle through my nose. “You’re good. Actually, that’s exactly the kind of person I am back home. It does them no good not to know what’s coming for them. Sugarcoating reality isn’t what keeps us alive.”
“What keeps you alive?” she counters, once again stumping me with her damn insightfulness. “If it’s not sugar, then what?”
I open my mouth and then close it, unsure how to answer. “You know, I think that’s what I’ve been questioning lately. I’m doing right by my pack, but it all feels…” I motion to my torso. “It’s nothing like how I thought being the Alpha would look like.”
“Fewer adoring fans and more grunt work?” she quips.
I snort at her humor. “Not that. I thought it would feel… right. That I would feel whole somehow if I had a pack to look over. I assumed the work would fulfill me.”
Her knees bend upward so she can rest her forearms across them, her chin atop her wrist. “Not so much?”
My throat is dry when I manage the truth. “Not even a little bit.”
Why am I telling her this? I don’t know her. It’s Fern Moon’s daughter, for crying out loud. I shouldn’t confide a shred of vulnerability in this witch, but there she sits, taking me in as if I have the right to be more than just a leader. I’ve never received empathy from anyone outside the pack, least of all witches. They tend to think all us shifters do is cause chaos, so our problems aren’t something they bother caring about.
But as Ivy regards me with thoughtful kindness in the midnight hour, I wonder if I might have been wrong my whole life. Maybe not all witches hate us. Perhaps there are some good eggs after all.
