Elara Thorne POV:

Cole’s question was a punch to the gut. "Who... are you?"

My heart clenched. I knelt down, trying to meet his gaze, but he flinched away. "I'm your mother, Cole," I said softly, my voice aching with a pain deeper than any physical blow. "I will always be your mother."

He took another step back, pulling Faye behind him. His small face was a mask of suspicion. "My mother... she doesn't use black whips on people."

Before I could answer, a tiny gurgle broke the tense silence. Faye’s stomach. Hunger, a more immediate and honest need than fear.

The worn blanket serving as our door was pushed aside. Moira Blackwood, my mate's mother and the pack's former Luna, stepped inside. Her sharp blue eyes took in the broken doorframe and the fear on her grandchildren's faces. She ignored me completely.

"Here," she said, her voice clipped, handing Cole and Faye a piece of stale bread. "Eat. Don't expect anything from her."

Her gaze finally fell on me, cold and sharp as ice. "Jax was here. What trouble did you cause this time? Did you renege on your deal, and he came to collect his due?"

In her eyes, I was and always would be a disgrace who consorted with rogues. The old me would have dissolved into tears, babbling denials. The new me simply met her gaze.

"I sent him away," I said, my voice calm. "He will not come near my children again."

Moira let out a disbelieving scoff. The fear in the children's eyes only confirmed her assumptions about me.

I knew words were useless. "Wait here," I told my children, my tone gentle but firm. "Mama is going to make you a real breakfast."

I went to a corner of the hovel, closed my eyes, and entered the Sacred Hunting Ground. My intent was clear: I needed something gentle, nourishing, something that radiated life, not violence.

My consciousness drifted over a moon-drenched meadow. I saw them. A small herd of creatures like rabbits, but their fur glowed with a soft, internal light. Moon-rabbits.

I chose the plumpest one, focusing my will. When I opened my eyes, a rabbit-like creature, warm and pulsing with a faint light, lay in my hands. It smelled of sweet milk and fresh grass.

Moira gasped, her eyes wide with shock and suspicion. "What is that? What dark magic did you use to conjure such a thing?"

I didn't answer. I moved to our small fire pit, my hands moving with an instinct I didn't know I possessed. It was as if the Luna blood in my veins knew exactly how to prepare this blessed food. With my last few embers and a dented pot, I began to stew the meat.

Soon, an incredible aroma filled our small home. It was a warm, rich scent, one that seemed to soothe the soul and promise comfort.

Faye’s little nose twitched, and she swallowed audibly. Cole's rigid, defensive posture relaxed slightly. Even Moira's harsh expression softened with a flicker of something I couldn't name. Their inner wolves, starved for so long, were captivated.

When the stew was ready, I ladled the first bowl. I didn't taste it myself, nor did I offer it to anyone. I walked to the small, crude stone shelf in the corner—our altar to the Moon Goddess. I placed the bowl there.

"Thank you for your gift," I murmured, my head bowed.

The simple act of reverence seemed to chip away at the wall of Moira’s suspicion. Just a little. She watched me, her expression unreadable.

Then she looked at the steaming pot, and back at her hungry grandchildren. Her eyes narrowed, her face hardening once more into a mask of maternal defiance.

She pointed a stern finger at me. "Before my grandchildren touch a drop of that, you will eat it. In front of me."

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."

Elara Thorne POV:

Jax’s arrogant words shattered the fragile peace in our home. I felt Faye stir in my lap, and I carefully lifted her, placing her gently on our small pile of furs in the corner. Then, I stood up.

I moved to stand between him and the pot, my body a silent barrier. My eyes were as cold as a winter night. "My food is for my family," I said, my voice low and even. "You are not welcome here."

His face flushed a deep, ugly red. Humiliation warred with his greed. "You forget yourself, Omega!" he snarled, taking a threatening step forward. "Without me, you and your pups would have starved in the woods long ago! Consider this a taste of the interest you owe me!"

I didn't back down. I took a step toward him. "I remember," I said, my voice cutting through his bluster. "I remember you taking the pack rations meant for my children, then 'gifting' me back a few scraps and demanding my gratitude."

The words hung in the air, sharp and undeniable. Jax was struck dumb, his jaw working but no sound coming out.

Behind me, I heard a sharp intake of breath. Moira and Cole were staring, their faces a mixture of shock and dawning understanding. They had believed his lies. They thought he was our protector, not our tormentor. My silence had allowed their disdain to fester.

Rage finally overtook Jax's shock. He lunged, his hand reaching for the pot.

I was ready. My hand moved in a blur, and the thorny, black vine materialized in my grasp. It sang through the air, cracking like a whip.

He had learned his lesson from before. He tried to snatch his hand back, but the tip of the vine caught him across the back of his knuckles. A thin, black line of blood welled up instantly.

He yelped and scrambled back, his eyes fixed on the vine in my hand with raw terror.

I held the vine loosely, letting it dangle from my fingers. I let my gaze sweep across the room, from the cowering Jax to my wide-eyed son, and finally, to my stunned mother-in-law.

My voice, when I spoke, was not loud, but it held the weight of absolute law. "From this day forward, there are new rules in this house. Rule one: No one touches my children. Rule two: I do not share my food with outsiders."

My eyes locked onto Jax, sharp and unforgiving. "You are an outsider. Get out. And never come back."

The combination of my unyielding stare and the unnatural weapon in my hand was too much for him. His bravado crumbled completely. He muttered a stream of curses under his breath and stumbled out of our hovel, a coward defeated.

As he disappeared, the vine in my hand dissolved into harmless motes of light.

The silence that followed was profound. Cole looked from the empty doorway to me, and for the first time, I saw something akin to awe in his eyes.

Moira’s expression was a tempest of emotions. She finally found her voice, though it was rough and strained. "Was it true? What you said? Jax was stealing your supplies?"

I simply nodded. There was no need for embellishment. The truth was enough.

A flicker of guilt crossed her face before she masked it with her usual stoicism. She stood for a long, silent moment, then turned to leave. "I... I should go."

She paused at the doorway, her back to me. "Tomorrow," she said, not looking at me. "Make extra. I want to take some to the Elder."

She left without another word, almost fleeing. But I understood. It wasn't an order. It was a request. The first she had ever made of me.

Cole walked over to me, his small hand reaching out to tug on my tunic. He looked up, his emerald eyes clear and direct.

"Mom," he said.