Death's Werewolf Nymph

MEREDITH

I awoke, the remnants of tears crusted on my cheeks. I despised this feeling, so vulnerable and juvenile. I glanced at the lone mirror in my room. I yearned to reassure the reflection, to tell her she was strong and beautiful. I longed to lift her spirits. I wanted to project strength. I certainly didn’t want to be moping over a man.

But it wasn’t just about a man. It was about feeling inadequate. I never felt good enough. I never was…

I slipped into my dark blue dress, the one with the slit up the leg. I found myself studying my reflection more than usual that day.

Magdalena wouldn’t choose this dress. Her dresses wouldn’t have slits like this; she didn’t need the freedom of movement. She moved with the grace of a feather. And she would never leave her hair undone.

They always said grace was a nymph trait. I didn’t seem to inherit that trait or the ability to be ladylike.

How did we end up so different? We were raised by the same parents. Fed the same food. Dressed in the same clothes. Taught the same lessons. Why weren’t we the same?

I descended the stairs.

The small kitchen was buzzing with activity, everyone setting up the breakfast table. I would have helped, but they were already finished and Dad and Magdalena were already seated. She looked radiant that day, glowing with happiness. I noticed she was dressed a bit more elaborately than usual. Her hair styled differently.

I was about to sit when my mother stepped in front of me. “Why can’t you ever keep your hair out of your face?” she asked, sweeping it back with a hair clip. She was close enough for me to catch a whiff of her lily perfume.

“It’s more practical and ladylike,” she explained, patting my cheek.

Her hair was always neatly braided into a bun. Her dresses were always immaculate, always ironed. She even resembled Magdalena. They both had slender noses, while mine was more button-like. My cheeks were fuller than theirs, but they both had those crystal blue eyes that most people dream of.

I was never sure who I took after. I had a bit of both my parents, but I didn’t really resemble either of them.

I didn’t want to argue with mom. Not today. So I left the hair clip in. I slumped into my chair, exhaling heavily in defeat. I caught my mother’s disapproving glance and, rolling my eyes, I straightened up.

“Magdalena. When will you be back?” Dad asked her. Back? From where?

“I’m not sure, depends on how much help his parents need,” she replied, but I was lost.

“Where are you going?” I asked her, spreading butter on my toast.

“To Adrian’s family’s house. They’re renovating and I offered to help,” she explained, a broad smile on her face. They’d only met yesterday for an hour. What kind of plans were they making?

I knew they were mates…but this was so mundane. Where were the secret rendezvous? The flowers left at her doorstep? They’d just met and now they were living together?

I set my toast down. “But what about Vincent? You said you’d go this time,” I reminded her. But my father interjected.

“What about him? He’s just an old man,” he said dismissively, causing me to grimace.

“He’s sick!” I retorted, raising my voice. I couldn’t stay silent when he spoke so callously about Vincent.

“You visit him every day. Your presence won’t cure him. He could die any minute. Do you want to witness that?” His voice was now raised too. I knew my dad always had my best interests at heart. But how could he not realize how hurtful his words were?

I wasn’t usually so emotional, but Dad knew Vincent was dying. He knew Vincent was my friend, even if he denied it. He knew all this and still felt the need to remind me that Vincent was dying.

I knew that. Vincent knew that. But it wasn’t something people just casually mentioned.

Tears blurred my vision, but I fought them back. I’d promised Vincent I wouldn’t let his death bring me down, but I was failing miserably. “He was my friend.”

A bitter laugh escaped him. “Friend!” He glanced at my mom beside him. “Did you hear that, honey? Friend.” He turned back to me. “Don’t you know what people are saying about you? They think you’re his call girl,” he spat out.

I swallowed hard. “I don’t care what they’re saying. Vincent, the Moon Goddess, and I know the truth. I thought you would too!”

His jaw clenched. “You will not disgrace the Boswell name!” He slammed his fist on the table, startling both my mom and Magdalena.

I fought the urge to frown. I slammed my own fist on the table. “Then maybe I need a new last name!”

That seemed to set him off. “Maybe if you were more like Magdalena, you’d have friends. Maybe you’d even find someone to marry!” He yelled, then silence fell.

I smirked at him, slumping in my chair.

“Bernard,” my mom said softly, guilt lacing her voice.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t be a better daughter,” I told them, standing up slowly. Without a backward glance, I left the house.

I headed to Vincent’s house. I yanked out the stupid hair clip and tossed it into an empty box on the ground. I didn’t care what anyone said or thought of me. Vincent had been the best teacher and friend I could’ve asked for.

He’d been my tutor from the start. I’d never met a man smarter than him. He taught me everything my father should have.

I spent most of my days at his house, never caring about the whispers. Vincent didn’t either.

Vincent never held grudges because he understood everyone had their reasons. He was always helping others, always giving away everything he had. He had the means to live lavishly, but he never did. I was never sure where his wealth came from, but I knew he earned it in the human world and spent it there, buying things for the pack.

Our alpha didn’t approve of us visiting the human world, but he couldn’t exactly leash us. Vincent traveled freely, and the alpha never said a word. But it was a shame that despite all Vincent did, he was never promoted to a higher rank.

He spent most of his life alone, caring more for others than himself. He had no family. His mate died young, long before I met him. They never had a family together. And he never sought one on his own.

When I turned twelve, people started gossiping about my frequent visits to his house. That’s when my parents, especially my father, tried to limit my visits. When I was a toddler playing in the park with him, no one said a word. But when I started to become a woman, they did.

No one understood our friendship, the value it held.

I knocked on Vincent’s door, and his caretaker, Jasper, opened it. Dressed in his usual blue jeans and button-up shirt, Jasper was a middle-aged man from our Silver Star Pack. His job was to look after the elderly.

“Good morning, Meredith.” He smiled, letting me in.

It wasn’t a good morning, but I had a knack for hiding my emotions. Once I learned how, I used it to my advantage. The less people saw of my emotions, the better.

“It’s good you’re here. Vincent was asking for you,” Jasper said.

“But I was here last night,” I told him.

“His memory is getting worse. I told him you came, and after a while, he remembered.” He stayed behind to tend to the house as I headed upstairs to Vincent’s room.

Lately, Jasper practically lived there. He took care of Vincent and the house—watering the plants, dusting, running errands in the human world that Vincent used to do himself. Jasper kept his business private, and I was sure Vincent paid him well.

I walked into Vincent’s room. It felt cold—not the kind of cold that made you shiver, but a mental coldness. Vincent lay in bed reading a book, covered in a checkered knitted blanket. When he saw me, a smile spread across his face.

He looked terrible, exhausted. He needed to sleep, but that’s all he’d been doing for the past month. “Good morning, Vincent,” I greeted him, forcing cheerfulness into my voice.

“My light, my rain, my thunder has arrived,” he always said. “Why so sad?” he asked.

I feigned ignorance. “I’m not sad,” I lied, flashing him a smile.

“I’m not a fool just because I’m dying,” he declared, his laughter causing his gray mustache to twitch with his exhale.

He never promised anyone he’d get better. He was well aware of what was coming his way. He refused to let anyone feed him false hope; he didn’t want to be lied to.

I settled into the armchair next to his bed, a chair that was there for my visits. Despite Vincent’s insistence that I visited more than enough, I couldn’t shake the feeling that I wasn’t doing enough. I was always aware that any visit could be my last. “Why do you talk about death so casually?” I asked him.

“Death isn’t trivial,” he replied in a raspy voice. “It serves a purpose and we, as mortals, need to accept it. Death isn’t the end; it’s just a small part of the test for the worthiness of a new life.”

“Aren’t you scared of dying?” I asked him.

He laughed. “Why should I be? Fear doesn’t stop death; it stops life. Too many people are plagued by this fear, thinking that dying is the worst thing that could happen. Darkness is far scarier than death.”

“Death is darkness,” I murmured, my gaze falling to my hands in my lap.

“Why do you think that?” he asked.

I paused, unsure of how to respond. He always asked questions that made me think. I could never ask him anything that left him puzzled. He was a master at asking those kinds of questions.

“Well, it’s certainly not light. There’s a reason people don’t embrace death,” I explained. But he was smiling that smile. I’d known him long enough to recognize it. It meant he wasn’t satisfied with my answer. It always made me reconsider our conversation and how I could have responded better.

“Have you ever met death?” he asked, not waiting for a response. “If I focus on what I want death to be, not what I don’t want it to be, I have more reason to hope, even on my deathbed.”

“It’s not just about death…it’s…” I struggled to find the right words. “Aren’t you scared to leave everything behind?”

“I’m okay with leaving,” he said, smiling. I hated how he made it sound like he was just going on a trip, not turning to dust.

He finally set his book aside on the bedside table. “But I hate the thought of leaving you alone.”

He studied me in silence for a moment.

“Why are you sad?” he asked. I could have said it was because he was dying, but he would know that wasn’t the real reason. I didn’t want to burden him with my problems.

“Right now, I don’t care much about my life, or how it will turn out. If I could save you by giving you my life, I would,” I said, not going into detail.

“Why do you think my life is more valuable than yours?” he asked, his eyebrows furrowed.

“I don’t think my life has any value,” I explained, adding a laugh at the end. I didn’t want him to think I was depressed. “But you, you’ve helped so many people.”

“Maybe that’s why I need to go,” he said. “To let you take over helping others.”

I shook my head at his ridiculous argument. “I could never do what you do.”

“Don’t say that. You’ve been my friend for twenty-two years, I’ve taught you everything I know. Don’t waste it, give it back to the world. You’re not ready to disappear yet.”

I let out a heavy sigh and ran my hands over my face. “Can we maybe not talk about dying now?”

He let his arms fall to his sides, mimicking my sigh. “We can talk about anything you want. What would you like to discuss?” he asked. I didn’t have a topic in mind, but I knew I didn’t want to talk about death.

I gave him a nonchalant shrug. His gaze wandered around the room before finally settling back on me. “How are things at home?”

The first image that came to mind was of Magdalena. Her radiant joy. “Magdalena met her mate yesterday, Adrian,” I shared, and his smile mirrored mine. “She’s over the moon. I’ve never seen her this happy,” I confessed, my gaze dropping to the floor as I got lost in my thoughts. I was thrilled for her, truly. But there were elements that stirred up a melancholy I thought was gradually fading.

“Is that why you seem down?” he inquired.

I quickly shook my head. “Why would I be? I’m genuinely happy for her.”

He continued to observe me, silent. He understood. He always did, often even before I did.

I averted my gaze. “I didn’t anticipate how it would affect me. I never considered it.”

“Did you think she wouldn’t find her mate?” he probed.

“I…” I tried to respond but faltered.

“Did you hope she wouldn’t?” he questioned.

I was taken aback by his insinuation. “Absolutely not!” I exclaimed, shocked that he would suggest I’d wish ill on my own sister.

His lips pressed into a thin line. He muttered something under his breath before returning to his book.

I sat up straighter in my chair, waiting for him to speak. He opened his book and began to read, seeming completely engrossed. It made me second-guess whether I should say anything at all. “Do you really believe I’d wish my sister wouldn’t find her mate?” I asked, but he didn’t respond. He didn’t even acknowledge me. “Vincent!” I called out, and this time he lowered his book and looked at me.

“I think you’re not entirely sure of your feelings right now. But they’re misguided, and they’re hurting no one but you. You’re upset because you haven’t found your mate. Until now, you were okay. Because Magdalena was still young. You wouldn’t wish ill on your sister, but you hoped you wouldn’t be alone, that she’d be in the same boat. That way, you’d have an excuse for your situation,” he said, and I was left speechless. “But now you know that’s not the case, and you’re left wondering why it’s happened to you. You may never know why, Meredith. It’s the harsh reality of life that good people often suffer. But where you’re going wrong is letting it break you.”

He extended his hand to me. I didn’t realize how much his words had stung until I hesitated to take it. But I did, eventually.

“It’s unfortunate that you were led to believe that finding a mate is the be-all and end-all. But it’s not. There’s so much more to life, so many things that can bring you joy and fulfillment…you have all the choices, Meredith. You can spend your life pining for something that may never happen. Or you can carve your own path. There’s never just one way,” he said, giving my hand a reassuring squeeze.

“What if…,” I began, my voice barely above a whisper. “What if that’s what I want to know the most…? Why?” I asked quietly.

He nodded. “I can’t tell you what to do, or how to feel. If that’s what you’re most passionate about…pursue it. But do something about it. You won’t find answers by moping around. You have to seek them out. Get out there, find a way to get your answers.”

I always took his advice to heart. I always felt like he knew more, and he usually did. And I always valued his opinion. “But you don’t think there is one?” I asked.

“Do you think there is?” he countered, but I didn’t respond. “I think your path is meant to be different. It’s not necessarily a bad thing…unless you make it one. But if you continue to dwell on the happiness you didn’t get, you might never find the happiness you could have,” he said, just as Jasper walked in.

“Time for bed,” Jasper announced.

Vincent gave me a final smile before settling into his bed. He had to take his medication three times a day, which was how he’d managed to stay alive for the past month. They weren’t exactly sleeping pills, but the combination of herbs and remedies made him drowsy.

“I’ll stay until you fall asleep,” I told him as he took his pills. He’d initially protested my staying, but once he realized I wasn’t going to listen, he stopped objecting.

I remained in my seat long after he’d drifted off to sleep. I leaned back, closed my eyes, and let my mind wander.

I closed my eyes and listened to the silence. Until I heard something. Footsteps, slow and deliberate, behind me. I knew it wasn’t Jasper; he’d left earlier.

I turned around and jumped up from my seat at the sight before me…