Melvina paced back and forth in front of her friend's hut-like house which was located at the outskirts of her pack, as she waited for her friend which was a witch to come out and meet her, and to fill her in on the outcome of her quest. She had gotten a message from her infamous owl as she was preparing breakfast for her family that morning. The owl had perched on her window pane, before opening her beak, to let out the paper which her lady friend must have put in there.
The message had caused her spirits to soar. She had been elated that she would soon know the intricacies of who Emma was. And so, she had rushed over breakfast, shifted, and had run over here. She knew she would have a lot of explaining to do with her mate, who must have felt her racing heart while she had been running. It was okay though. She had thought, having decided to tell her mate everything she had come to know about the human, including the fact that she was their son's mate. She believed that they would cover more grounds that way, than her doing it single-handedly. She didn't know though if her son would be okay with it. But he had to be; he would be turning 18 in a few days from now, so they had to put everything in order, which included fixing answers to every question.
"What's keeping her waiting?" She muttered to herself, staring at the door which led into the insides of the small dwelling. She had been waiting here for 15minutes now. She calculated, halting in her movement.
She contemplated whether she should open the door and walk inside, damning all the consequences, or whether she should just wait, until she is called into the hut.
The last time she had rushed into her friend's hut unannounced, she had been struck by a wave of lightening which had knocked the wind out of her, had knocked her out for two days. It had happened that she had arrived and entered the hut when her friend was performing, or rather practising her spells. And so, after she had woken up, her friend had advised her to not try it again. She must knock first, and get a reply to come in, before coming into the hut; to avoid stories that touches the heart.
But she had been knocking for more than a hundred times now. She thought, scratching a sore spot at the base of her neck.
"What do you think. Kika ?" She asked, referring to her wolf.
"I don't really know. I think you should go in." Kika, her wolf, replied.
Melvina soughed, as she remembered the past event of the striking lightening. She didn't want a repeat of that, or something worse. But her desire for answers worn over the fear of a witch's power and she felt her body moving towards the door to open it.
But before she could do that; her mate, Alpha Peter, mind linked her.
"Where did you go to?" He asked, worry evident in his voice.
"I got a message from Bridget to come." She replied.
"Bridget? I thought she had told you earlier that the quest for the answers would take a week or so…" He stated, thinking her reply over.
"Yes, she did. But perhaps, she had come back much earlier." She answered, looking around the environs which housed nothing except the thick dark forest. The hut was the only dwelling there.
She had asked her friend why she had preferred staying here, rather than with her fellow witches but the lady had given her a vague reply.
"Or perhaps, she isn't the one calling for you…" He opined through the link.
"That's not possible. The owl that delivered the message is hers…" She stated, remembering her friend's owl which was totally white, except for the black spots at its belly post.
"It's hers… I'm sure of it." She muttered more to herself, as she tried to remember the entirety of the owl that had visited her that morning.
The owl was her friend's. She was sure. But then, she remembered with a jerking speed that the owl had a faraway look in its eyes, like it was absent minded, like it was robotic, like it was being controlled; its eyes were glazed over.
"Oh God…" She muttered, hitting her fore head with the base of her hand. She had fucked up, and she knew it. The owl was her friend's own quite alright, but it hadn't been her friend that was controlling it. Someone else was.
She had been overcome with sheer happiness and curiosity about the hidden things that were about to be revealed, that she had overlooked the off handedness of the owl and the fact that it hadn't even greeted her with its usual conservative tone; rather it had just dropped the paper and had flown away.
Well, it was too late now. She had walked into a trap.
She heard her mate ask through their link, and soughed, wondering whether she should tell him about her latest finding or not.
"Yes, I am." She replied, deciding to keep it to herself.
"Okay. I thought I had lost you back there. Still, you should have informed me. I would have loved to go with you." He said.
"I will be fine, Peter." She said, before turning the knob on the door, while preparing herself mentally for anything that might be waiting for her inside the house.
"You are sure? Where are you at the moment?" He asked, a note of apprehension in his voice. He must have been feeling that something was already wrong. She thought, while still holding the knob of the door. It made her ponder again, on whether she should let him know about the not good news now, or later.
"You know what? Wait for me. I'm coming. Don't move an inch from wherever you are." He stated again, with so much worry in his voice, especially since she didn't reply to his first question. He must have been feeling the scaredy feeling of doom she was already having.
"Don't bother Peter. I will be fine." She finally said, getting her emotions under control. She couldn't possibly just wait around, until Peter came around. She had to get inside the house, and have a look around. What was the worse that could happen? She thought, before finally turning the knob.
"I'm still coming." She heard Peter say for the last time before tuning off, perhaps rushing to get prepared to come and meet her.
When she opened the door, she noticed that the room was in disarray. A feature that wasn't and couldn't in any way be associated with her friend. She had known Bridget for more than six years, and one thing she could say at any time about her friend, even if she had been awoken from a deep slumber, was that the lady was a neat freak. Bridget couldn't stand a dirty, or disarranged environment.
She had thought that it was peculiar to every witch, until she had gone with the former to her fellow witch's place. The latter had rushed up to clean up a space for them to sit when they had come, as the whole place had been filled with potions and spell books with left over meals in take away plates and so on. They hadn't stay there for more than ten minutes. Her friend had hurried with her reasons for the visit, before vamoosing with her out of the witch's house.
Her friend loved neatness and serenity, and perhaps that had been why she had decided to live in the forest, where the air was clean, and the environment, serene.
So, she was sure that someone else, who wasn't Bridget had come in here.
Someone else, who wasn't her friend, had used her owl and delivered a message to her.
And for that, she was a bit scared. It meant that her friend was in trouble, a big trouble. She refused to imagine that perhaps her friend was dead.
Who would have captured her? She thought. And why? Was it because of the search to find whom the redheaded human was?
She shook her head, suddenly tired, as she fell into one of the sofa in the house.
What was it about the human that was causing these unknown waves around here? She thought, pondering deeply on the issue.
As time went on, she had the cause to believe that the human wasn't an ordinary being, a human, yes, but not ordinary. And it served only to pique her curiosity further.
Looking around the dishevelled room, her eyes landed on the door which she had just walked through. She saw a piece of paper which had been stuck to the door, with a kitchen knife. She stood up immediately from the sofa she had been sitting on, and paced hurriedly towards the door.
On getting there, she read off the writings on the paper, while noticing that both the paper and the knife had blood stains on them.