28. Atticus

28

ATTICUS

B ranches brushed my skin as I walked through the dense woods. Mia strolled beside me, her eyes darting towards me every few seconds. I knew why she’d dragged me out here—the den’s suffocating silence was like a prison.

“Fresh air will do you good,” Mia, ever the mother figure, had insisted earlier as she pushed out of the den.

I wasn’t blind to her worry, to the concern of any of those I called my family, but all I could think about was Aria, the way her hair caught the sunlight, the sound of her laugh. Seeing her earlier had brought up conflicting feelings. I was relieved that she was well, but the sight of her was a painful reminder of the raw ache in my heart.

Mia’s concerned voice drew me out of my thoughts of Aria.

“You’re not eating,” she saw. “You avoid sleeping.”

I tried to keep my tone light. “Sleep’s overrated.”

She frowned at me, clearly unconvinced. “Don’t lie to me. I can see the dark circles under your eyes, the way you flinch when you doze off.”

I was avoiding sleep because every time I closed my eyes, the nightmares came. Each one felt so real, and I had to claw my way back to consciousness. It left me shivering, a cold sweat clinging to my skin as I fought to regain control.

The silence between us was abruptly shattered by a resounding crack of thunder. Seconds later, heavy rain poured down. We ran to the den, the intermittent flashes of lightning illuminating the dark sky and casting an eerie glow that increased our urgency.

When we reached the entrance to the cave, cleverly hidden by a wall of vegetation, we were completely drenched, our clothes plastered to our skin. As I was about to pull back the curtain and seek refuge in the dry cave, Mia suddenly gripped my arm.

“Atticus,” she said, searching my face. “I’ve made a draught for you. It should give you a dreamless sleep. If you want, I’ll fetch it for you when we go inside, so you can get some rest.”

“Thanks,” I murmured. “I’d really appreciate it.” Anything to put an end to the relentless nightmares.

As we entered the cave, Joren’s laughter echoed off the stone walls. Lyza and Hale were there too, their smiles a bit too bright. Mia slipped away while I exchanged a few words with them, but their words were a bit too cheery as they carefully navigated the conversation, avoiding any subjects they thought might cause me distress. When she returned, she cradled a cup filled with a fragrant, steaming liquid.

She handed it to me. “Drink up.”

It smelled of herbs and something sweet. Without hesitation, I knocked it back. Warmth spread through my chest, and my eyelids grew heavy.

“Go sleep,” Mia whispered as I stumbled toward my den, the world already blurring at the edges.

I barely hit the furs before sleep took me. In the void, fragments of memories began to surface, hidden moments that had been locked away for years.

When I woke up, the darkness didn’t lift. It pressed in on me, thick and heavy. I reached out, my hands finding nothing but cold air. A whimper escaped my lips before I could swallow it down.

“Mom? Dad?” I sounded small, young to my own ears.

There was shuffling, then the muted sound of worried whispers. Footsteps approached, slow and hesitant, as if they were walking through molasses rather than air. The depths of the preternatural darkness engulfed me, and though I could hear familiar voices calling for me, their distant echoes only added to my fear.

Then a clear shout, closer now, penetrating the nothingness. A panicked voice rang out, desperately calling, “Atticus. Come on, baby. Where are you?”

“I’m here. Who is it, who’s there?” I shouted, tears streaming down my face.

A warm, familiar hand finally found mine. Most of the darkness receded, revealing my room, my toys scattered on the floor, and the moon peeking through the window blinds.

“There you are,” the kind, feminine voice murmured. Darkness still shrouded her form.

My father stood in the doorway, his silhouette rigid. “This isn’t normal,” he said.

“He’s just afraid of the dark,” the woman said, though she was nowhere to be seen.

“No, it’s not. That darkness is different. It’s alive.” My father sighed, the sound heavy with something unsaid. “He needs help.”

“Help? There’s nothing wrong with him. He’s perfect.”

“Perfect kids don’t make darkness that swallows them whole?—”

“Enough, Marcus. Our son is not some problem to be fixed.”

Their voices rose, crashing over one another until it was just noise. I buried my face in the sheets, wishing I could disappear into the covers and never have to listen to his voice again.

“Nothing’s wrong with me,” I mumbled into the bedding, the words more a plea than a statement.

“Nothing at all,” my mother whispered back, but even in the dream, I could feel the lie settle between us like another shadow.

I woke up in reality, gasping for air. Sweat drenched my body, and I yearned for a moment of respite from the relentless torment of the nightmares. I lay trembling, my gaze fixed on the ceiling. Mia’s potion hadn’t worked. The terror of the darkness still haunted me.

As a child, the shadows had closed in on me. My father didn’t like it. He saw me as a problem, something abhorrent. When his anger flared, I became the target of his rage—more so after my mother’s death. He was a cold and calculating man, so the pack knew nothing of what happened behind closed doors. He waited until he found a way and banished me with the pack’s reluctant approval. Though I was well loved in the pack, he was the alpha.

So, I left and became what everyone feared most. An outcast. A rogue wolf.

Even though I’d created a family with Mia, Lyza, Joren and Hale—a family built on a strong foundation of choice and trust and respect—it wasn’t until I met Aria that I truly understood what it meant to love. I’d fallen hard.

And then she discarded me.

I knew she blamed herself—even me, to some degree—for her father’s death. Aria had explained she needed to distance herself from me to fulfill her role as alpha to the Silver Claw. I didn’t agree with her. We were stronger together, and her pack would surely have come around when they saw what we meant to each other and that I was nothing to fear. She meant so much more to me than just being my mate. Aria was my everything, and I’d have done whatever it took to help her fulfill her role. But she hadn’t given me the chance, given us the chance.

Added to that was the sting of my father’s betrayal. I wondered if she was punishing me for Caius Thorne. For allowing him in, believing him when everything I knew about him urged me not to. He’d be delighted at the chaos he’d caused.

I loved Aria for her authenticity. She didn’t need to be alone, sacrificing her own happiness to step into the role that was so abruptly thrust upon her. We should have been each other’s support, but how could I fault her for staying true to herself?

And that’s where the real challenge lay. If she’d put herself first, she wouldn’t be my Aria. It was a mindfuck, and I hated how unsettling it all felt.

Closing my eyes, I tried to will myself back to sleep, but my thoughts continued on a loop. I let out a frustrated roar and sat up, scrubbing my hands over my eyes.

I dragged myself to bathing chamber and splashed cold water on my face. The shock of it cleared my mind of thoughts of Aria, if only for a moment.

Leaving my room, I silently navigated through the communal area, hoping to avoid the others. All I wanted was to escape outside and let my wolf take over for a while.

“Morning.” Mia’s voice startled me, and I jumped.

She sat at the kitchen table, bathed in the dim light seeping into the den. Her perceptive gaze revealed that my sleep-deprived state hadn’t escaped her notice. “I take it you didn’t sleep?”

I nodded and slumped into the chair across from her. The aroma of her freshly baked bread permeated the room. She held up the knife in a silent question, but the thought of eating made my stomach churn, so I shook my head. Mia shrugged and continued eating her own breakfast.

Sitting across from her, I attempted to distract myself with something other than the anguished terrors the nightmare had unleashed. I studied the smooth surface of the table, tracing the intricate patterns of the grain and the contours of a knot. I needed something, anything , to stop the relentless pull of the black hole that was robbing my soul of its purpose. I needed to feel something other than lost and depleted. Even Mia’s gentle presence failed to soothe me like it usually did. The separation from Aria impacted me far more than I thought possible. Her absence drained the world of color and engulfing me in a gray fog that threatened to suffocate me.

“Since you’re awake, I need some herbs,” Mia said. “Their healing properties are enhanced when picked with the morning dew. I really could use your help gathering them.”

Mia’s campaign to ‘bring Atticus out of his funk’ remained in full swing, despite yesterday’s disaster when we’d unwittingly run into Ilaric and Aria.

She shrugged on her coat and picked up her weathered basket and shears, then passed them to me. Without looking back to see if I was following, she walked to the entrance and stepped out through the vibrant, verdant curtain behind the door.

“Come on. The angelica should be in bloom around here,” Mia called out, interrupting the stillness of the forest.

“Sure.” I followed, my boots sinking into the soft, wet ground. Thunder still rumbled, but the rain had eased overnight. It fit my mood and the restlessness I’d lived with since Aria rejected me.

No, not again. Determined not to think of her, I focused on counting the seconds until the next flash of lightning illuminated the heavens.

Mia glanced back at me. “You okay?”

“Fine,” I lied. The memory of Aria’s troubled face in the clearing yesterday haunted me, those eyes that used to look at me with something other than... what? Pity? Fear?

“You don’t appear to be fine,” she pressed. Genuine concern poured from her. The worry from all of them—Lyza, Joren, even Hale—had a bittersweet quality, serving as a constant reminder of everything I was working to forget, or rather, who I was trying to forget.

“Really, Mia. I’m just tired.” I avoided her gaze, focusing instead on how the shadows danced between the trees, taunting me with their fluidity, mocking my inability to escape my own darkness.

“Yesterday must’ve been hard for you,” she said softly.

“Seeing her always is,” I admitted, the words ripping from my throat bitterly. “I wish things were different.” What else could I say? Nothing. Fucking nothing.

“Maybe it can be. With time,” she said, but I heard the doubt in her tone.

“Time hasn’t changed anything so far.” I clenched my fists, staving off the familiar pull of the shadows at my fingertips, ready to leap forth and engulf everything like they did when I looked at Aria and all I could see was a future we’d never have.

“Let’s keep moving. We need those herbs before the rain damages them any further,” Mia said, tactfully changing the subject.

I nodded, grateful for the temporary reprieve. We walked in silence, but my mind still churned with things I didn’t want to talk about. Mia moved with purpose, scanning the underbrush for the medicinal plants she pretended to need.

“Did my potion help at all last night?”

“It was fine,” I lied again, looking at a gnarled tree trunk, its roots like twisted fingers clawing at the ground.

Mia raised an eyebrow. “You know you can talk to me, right? About the nightmares?”

I shrugged her off. “They’re just dreams.”

“They’re not just dreams if they keep you up all night. You look exhausted.”

“Sometimes...” I faltered, my mind racing to the complexity of my thoughts into words. Aria had helped me open up in ways I never had before, teaching me the importance of not shouldering everything alone. The irony didn’t escape me. She’d discarded me in her time of need, because she thought I’d make her look weak in front of her pack. But being a good leader meant learning to accept and embrace help when needed.

“Atticus?” Mia said.

Taking a deep breath, I found the strength to say, “Sometimes I wonder if the dreams aren’t dreams, but fragments of forgotten memories.” Something dark stirred inside me.

“Memories of what?”

“Shadows, voices... my father.” Saying it out loud made it real—too real. “I don’t want to close my eyes. When I dream, I’m a kid, and darkness is moving in around me. I hear my parents, searching for me, arguing about me...” Frustrated, I kicked at the ground, sending leaves and twigs flying. “When I wake up, I do whatever I can to stay awake, whether it means dunking my head in cold water, shifting and going for a run—anything to avoid sleep.”

I looked at her then, let her see the fear that followed me. Now that I’d started, there was no turning back. The words tumbled out of me like a torrent, impossible to halt.

“Other times, I’m trapped. These fragmented memories… They haunt me. The more I try to make sense of them, the more the shadows I control slip from my grasp. They coil around my chest, constricting tighter and tighter until each breath is a struggle. I wake up gasping, my heart pounding, drenched in sweat, unsure of where the nightmare ended and reality begins.”

She reached out to touch me, but let her hand drop when I took a step back. My misery only compounded when I saw the hurt flicker over her face. She only wanted to comfort me, but my defenses were paper thin.

“Have you tried to sit and rest without actually sleeping?”

“I can’t, Mia. I’m too afraid. What if I drift off and unlock more of those memories? What if remembering changes the very core of my identity?” I scanned the trees, half-expecting shadows to leap out from behind them.

“You need to sleep, Atticus. This isn’t sustainable.”

“Neither is facing whatever’s in those nightmares.”

As we walked on, my mind wandered back to Aria. She had looked scared yesterday, vulnerable. I’d wanted to reach out, pull her into my arms and tell her it would be all right. But then I remembered that she’d rejected me, and that cut deeper than any physical pain.

“Does she miss me?” I wondered out loud.

“Who, Aria?” Mia glanced back at me, her brow furrowed.

“Never mind.”

“Atticus, she?—”

“Drop it.” I didn’t want to delve into that ache. Not now. “I shouldn’t have said anything.”

“Okay,” she said, letting the subject die, but the question lingered in the air, unanswered.

A ghostly figure materialized in front of us, a familiar yet unsettling sight that we’d grown accustomed to since the ritual. It was a woman this time, her form flickering like a faulty lightbulb.

“Can you not?” I muttered.

“Just ignore it,” Mia murmured. “They’ll take substance if you acknowledge them.”

“Fine,” I grumbled. The ghost lingered, dancing near me, which made it impossible to ignore her presence. “What do you want?” I snapped. “Can’t you leave me alone?”

“Ah, poor little living boy... What shall he do with all that living? Oh yes, live ,” the phantom crooned sarcastically.

I tried to step around her, but she floated effortlessly in front of me again. Her eyes were hollows of darkness that seemed to pierce through me.

“Enough games. If you have something to say, spit it out.”

“You seem tired. You don’t have to go all that way, you know. There’s a much shorter distance for you if you’d only use it,” she whispered, an infuriating grin curling the corners of her semi-transparent lips.

“What the fuck does that mean?” My confusion mixed with irritation. I had enough on my mind without cryptic teasing from a spirit.

Her laughter echoed like wind chimes as she vanished into thin air, leaving me staring at the empty space. The whole ghost thing was already getting old. I didn’t have the energy to puzzle over their cryptic nonsense, and I didn’t have the faintest clue where to start to find a way to return them to wherever they’d come from.

We went back to the den, its interior bathed in a comforting glow from the lanterns. The heat inside was a stark contrast to the cold of the stormy woods. Joren stood stirring a pot, the smell of something hearty wafting toward us.

Mia grabbed the basket from me and set it on her table. Taking a seat, she rummaged through drawers, pulling out a glass bottles and slips of parchment to label and store the herbs.

“Morning,” Hale greeted with a sad smile.

“Morning,” I echoed flatly.

Joren called across the room, “Hey, Atticus, what did the cloud say to the other cloud after they bumped into each other? Shocking. ”

Lyza and Hale laughed. I stared at him, my eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

“Shocking. Clouds colliding, lightning... It’s shocking.” He dropped his spoon and bumped his fists together. “You know what, never mind, it’s not the same when I have to explain it.”

Their manufactured cheerfulness, meant to conceal their concern, only highlighted the growing divide with my family. If I let this shit carry on, it would become even more difficult for me to reconnect with them, but I could barely function right now, let alone lead. I needed to figure my shit out and fast.

Mia came back to the seating area and handed me a small, corked vial of liquid. In her no-nonsense manner, she urged, “Go to bed and drink this,” as if it held the solution to all my troubles. “It should give you some relief from the vivid dreams,” she whispered.

“Hey, Mia, how’s it going with Ilaric?” Hale asked, oblivious to the shift in the air.

I looked up sharply. “What’s he talking about?”

Mia shot Hale a glare that could cut stone. “Thanks a lot,” she muttered before turning to me. “We bumped into each other a while back, before the ritual. We’ve been meeting occasionally to talk, getting to know each other, that’s all.”

As selfish as it sounded, I felt a sharp sting of betrayal. I couldn’t understand why she’d kept her relationship with Ilaric, one of Aria’s closest confidants, a secret from me. Then, in an instant, those thoughts of betrayal disappeared, leaving behind a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach. Of course she hadn’t told me. I’d been too wrapped up in my own darkness.

“Sorry,” I mumbled, the guilt gnawing at my insides.

“Here. You need to eat something,” Joren said, handing me a bowl of steaming venison stew. Despite it being my favorite, the exhaustion and my downward spiral made it taste bland. Might as well have been gruel. I forced down a few bites, if only not to offend him.

“Ran the border of Crimson Fang this morning,” Hale announced casually, like he was discussing the weather.

I slammed the bowl down. “Are you out of your damn mind? They’re unstable, you shouldn’t have gone alone?—”

Hale shrugged. “Relax. It was fine. I overheard one of the sentries posted near the border saying Alpha Caius?—”

My heart seized.

“Alpha who now?” Joren asked, alarm lacing his words.

“Alpha Caius,” Hale repeated. “He’s taken Larkin as his beta.”

The name sent shivers down my spine. My father, the new alpha. It shouldn’t have been possible. And Larkin...

“Can’t be a coincidence,” Joren said, echoing my thoughts.

Lyza nodded in agreement. “What do you think it means?”

“Means I need sleep,” I said, pushing away from them. The revelations left me with a strong desire for personal space.

“Atticus,” Mia called, but I cut her off with a raised hand.

“Later,” I said, already moving, desperate for escape. Escape from the news, the ghosts, the dreams—all of it.

I walked away from the communal area, Mia following behind me until I was in my room.

“What is it, Mia?” My fatigue got the best of me, which made me sound aggressive.

“Promise me you’ll try it,” she said, nodding at the vial.

I sat on the edge of my bed, the small vial in my hand catching glints of light from the lantern. Mia stood across from me, her eyes filled with that mix of worry and hope.

“Okay,” I sighed, uncorking it. The liquid was an inky black that seemed to swallow all light. I tipped it back, swallowing the bitter draught in one go. “Happy now?”

“Get some rest,” Mia said softly. “I’ll stay here with you.”

Before I could protest, the heavy curtain of sleep fell over me faster than I expected, pulling me under into…

Darkness. Thick, suffocating darkness. The dream had its powerful claws in me, trapping me in its unchangeable reality. I held my hand up against the swirling shadows and saw the small hand of a child. My heart hammered against my ribs as I called out, a feeble sound in the surrounding void.

“Who’s there?” I mumbled, but the shadows swallowed my voice.

A rustling, then warmth. A hand found mine, and the darkness retreated, replaced with a sense of warmth and safety. The same feminine voice, soft and soothing, filtered through the fear.

“It’s okay, baby. I’m here.”

A woman appeared next to me, her form familiar yet indistinct. I knew with a certainty that defied logic that this was my mother, but her face was a blank canvas devoid of detail.

Despite the vagueness of her features, her presence brought a sense of warmth and comfort. I wanted to stay in that moment, in her safe embrace, but the dreamscape changed, shattering the peace.

I was hiding under my bed, my hands clamped over my ears, but I still heard the raised voices. I pulled the shadows in close around me, creating a sanctuary from the darkness in the outside world.

“Something is wrong with that boy.” That was my father’s ice cold voice. “He’s a fucking freak. We should have gotten rid of the little bastard when he first showed signs.”

“He’s our son. There’s nothing wrong with him,” said my mother.

My mother.

Tears stung my eyes as the pieces of my lost memories came together and I finally recognized my beloved mother’s face.. I wished I could bring her into the comforting safety of my shadows and away from the evil in my father.

I fought to wake up or block out any further details, afraid of the changes I might see in her expression. What if her concern twisted into something more sinister? What if she turned away from me, agreed with him?

“Please, stop,” I murmured into the void, a plea to both the dream and the memory.

A gasp ripped out of my throat as I jolted awake. The room was dim, even with the afternoon sunlight streaming through the openings high above. Chest heaving, I tried to draw in air that felt too thick, too heavy.

“Atticus, are you all right?” Mia asked.

“You didn’t need to stay,” I said, but I was grateful for her presence.

“I’m glad I did.”

I blinked rapidly, trying to shake off the remnants of the dream that clung to me. The darkness in those visions... my shadow magic, unchecked and wild, before I knew how to harness it, were all so real. It had to be more than a dream.

My childhood memories were fractured. No matter how much I tried to remember, there were always gaps and holes in my life story. A wise old rogue I’d met when I was first been ousted from the pack told me children often repressed memories to save their psyche. But why was my subconscious urging to fill those blanks now?

My heart pounded a wild drumbeat of terror that echoed in my ears. My lungs struggled to fill with air, each inhale coming in desperate, frantic gulps.

“Atticus?” Mia hesitated for a moment, then clasped my hand firmly, just like my mom had in my dream.

Her touch grounded me, pulling me back from the brink of panic. “It was my mom’s touch that tore through the fog in my dream. I remembered her, Mia—her face, her scent, the feel of her skin against mine.”

Her voice had been lost to me for so long. Hearing it in the dream, so clear and real, shattered the last of the barriers I had put up.

“Are they real?” I whispered, my defenses stripped bare. I got up and paced the room. “Is it possible my dreams are the memories I’d repressed?”

Mia watched me worriedly. “I don’t know, Atticus. The mind works in mysterious ways.” She held up a hand. “I know it may seem like a cliché, but there’s a reason certain phrases withstand the test of time.”

I rubbed at my temples, trying to ease the throbbing there as I struggled to hold on to the fading fragments of my mother’s memory. My chest tightened, making it difficult to take anything more than shallow breaths.

“I’m sorry, Mia, I have to get out of here.” Without waiting for a reply, I ran through the den, past the startled faces of everyone still gathered in the sitting area, and out through the door. One stride was all it took for me to shift into my wolf form, and then I was off, muscles rippling beneath my sleek coat.

My paws whispered over the forest floor. Every rustle, every chirp of a startled bird, was a note in the song of the wild I understood perfectly. No shattered heart and memories trying to unearth themselves here, just me fueled by a primal instinct as old as the forest itself.

Once I reached the edge of the territories, I circled back, careful to avoid the boundaries of the Silver Claw and Crimson Fang packs. I was in no mood for a confrontation. I’d needed the run to clear my head and process everything. Now that I had, there was no doubt in my mind anymore. The dreams were undeniably memories. It was my mother’s familiar, reassuring voice. I knew that because of the sense of safety it evoked.

After a while, I headed back to my den, hesitating when I reached the concealed entrance. I wasn’t sure what awaited me inside. My sudden departure might prompt my family to ask a barrage of questions. The afternoon light barely pierced the dense canopy above, leaving the woods in a perpetual dusk. I sat on a fallen log, the rough bark biting into my palms.

“I heard you come back,” Mia said as she came out.

She walked up to the log and stood beside me. We watched the forest as the wind made the leaves sway and twirl, a companionable silence settling over us. Mia never pressured, never demanded more than I was prepared to share.

“Thanks for staying while I slept,” I murmured.

“When you started yelling, I wanted to wake you, but I wasn’t sure if I should. You really think these are repressed memories?”

I nodded. “It’ll probably get a whole lot worse before it gets better.”

She sat down next to me, her shoulder bumping against mine. “Do you want to talk about it?”

I hesitated, then the words spilled out—a short recap of the dream, the darkness, the fear. The memory of my mother’s voice that wouldn’t leave me alone. Mia pulled me into a hug, and I let myself lean into her for a moment.

“That sounds incredibly hard,” she whispered.

“Everything feels like it’s breaking apart,” I admitted.

“Remembering everything is going to hurt,” Mia said, pulling back to look at me. “But I think it’s important. It will be good for you, in the end.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“Because bringing that which is hidden out into the light always leads to good. Even if it’s painful.”

I nodded, not fully convinced but willing to cling to the hope she offered. Maybe Mia was right. Maybe there was some good to come out of all this pain.