"Just shut up! Shut the fuck up and let me explain," I snap at the other end of the call, Elijah falling silent as I find myself frantically searching through my dresser as I look for where I put the object I've become dressed about losing. "I am heading out, I swear I will be there shortly." Running a hand through my hair, I look to the wedding photo on Nixon's nightstand, the picture framed in a lilac frame as it brings back memories of that night, the night he set his wedding ring down right before that picture as he told me he would be home before I knew it. "Telling a mother that a plane will be leaving within four hours I have to be on is too short a time, Elijah. Do you not see how fast this is all going? Hell, the sitter for my daughter is not even here yet. How do you even know the witches will be waiting for us at a select time?" Just as my hands rummage through his old sock drawer, I find the small pouch I placed in here five months ago. People had told me to slowly remove things of Nixon from the house, to box up his old suits and shirts and donate them. I did that to half his closet, keeping the ones I enjoyed the most, the ones which reminded me of dates or specific evenings he would come home with a smile on his face to see me. Picking up the pouch, I take out his wedding ring, once safely stored away is now back out as I place a silver chain through it, the ring hanging from the necklace as I put it around my neck, the wedding band falling to the valley between my breasts. I feel like Frodo, hiding away a ring I want no one to take from me. Why bring my dead husband's wedding ring with me across the world? Perhaps a symbol a good luck, a piece of him other than memories with me as I will be continuing his vision.
"Will you be here soon?" Elijah asks, annoyed with me as I take in a calm breath.
"Yes." Just as I hang up, the knocking at the front door draws my attention away to looking at the ring and back to my rushed evening as I scramble to zip my luggage, carrying it down the stairs with me as I try and remain quiet to not awaken my daughter. As I reach the front door and pull it open, a ginger stands before me, her green eyes holding a simple kindness to them as I offer her a welcoming smile. "Hi, you must be Quinn," I greet, holding out my hand to shake as she smiles back, shaking mine as I open up the door further to invite her in. "Peggy highly recommended you, I am sorry to call you on such a short notice."
"Oh, no problem at all," Quinn comments, gazing in aw at the size and interior of the house. "I heard your husband had build this house, it is simply breathtaking." Her words sting as I can remember how happy Nixon was to show me the house. "I am sorry to hear of your loss. How long as it been?"
I can remember the funeral, the shallowness of my heart as I thought of Zion, the pain I felt for the loss of the love of my life, and the bitterness which soon swallowed me whole. "It's been ten months since," I reply, knowing that soon it will be a year since my husband was killed. "I'll show you to my daughter. She's pretty easy, not a big crier, but she tends to wake up hungry in the night a lot. Peggy informed me she sent you some details on what to do?" Quinn nods to inform me she has the directions, causing me to feel bitter as I know it seems like I am a mother too busy for her daughter. Perhaps Terrance's words are true, that I've been so consumed with pack matters and revenge that I have forgotten my daughter in the mix of it all. Opening the door to my daughter's room, Quinn checks out the interior, looking to my sleeping daughter as the night begins. "I am sorry to be in such a rush, I know I may not be able to give you too much information right now, but I bet many of the pack members would be happy to inform you."
"I am actually from another pack," Quinn comments. Peggy had mentioned Quinn is not from Crimson Lock, but a neighboring pack. "I've got a few connections here since my mate is from Crimson Lock."
Terrance. This is his mate, the women he made me declare him a rogue to be with. "Terrance, correct? We had gone to high school together."
"Yes." No doubt he has told her of me, the drama, how he feels about me. "I know it is a bit of a drive for me to take care of your daughter, but I do not mind. I am not able to have children, I have been taking care of them ever since I was a teenager, I got the news a few months ago."
"I am sorry," I add, unable to understand the pain Quinn must feel at the fact she can never have a child. As I inform her of where a few items are located, we migrate back downstairs and I grab my luggage and keys to Nixon's favorite car. "I should be back in a week, thank you."
I drive off, unaware of what will happen in the week I am away from the life Nixon and I built together. The entire drive is filled with memories of him, the man who showed me his soft side and let me only help to grow and improve it. He was never someone I would have expected myself to end up with. I can still remember the fights, the intimidation, the ultimatum, and everything that happened which once made me wonder if I was in over my head, but overtime our souls learned how to hold piece together and to dance through the rest of the life we shared together. In a way, he showed me that the innocent self I was once could never fully support me into adulthood, that I would have to grow up eventually and accept that there would be awful people in this world and I should never hold people to the high standards which I always used to. Sure, he did not demonstrate that to me in a kind way to submerge me into that world, but I was thrown into the shallow end and pushed into the deep end quickly. How he murdered Gavin before me, would fight with me, he confessed his killed his past wife, and he eventually went on to kill one last time only to find it his last battle in a war just beginning. The way we came around to love one another and become better people in a dark world which surrounded us, those are the moments I cannot wait to tell my daughter. But a piece of me still wonders if telling Leala of who her father is will do more good than harm to her childhood and will shape her into someone. Now here I go as well, to meet up with witches and form a group of warriors to take down a palace, to strip the kingdom of its government, to dethrown a king, and begin a new age of werewolves. If we win, Leala will be raised seeing her parents as those who issued in a new era, but even with that, hate will always be faced. There will be revolts, there will be those who oppose the government if we win, and if I am still alive and standing as the Alpha of Crimson Lock at the end of everything, then she will be raised seeing the victories of her parents. But if I lose what I life I have left in all of this, I know my name will be put up there next to my late husband's, the Maxwell name cursed with the ties to a man who killed a pregnant queen and the woman who tried or was successful in taking down a government, King, and kingdom as she issued in a new one.
As I find my drive coming to an end and I spot the private jet ready to depart, I find myself wondering what will happen to my daughter if I die in this, if she should be sheltered from the world and be raised living a new life somewhere with no ties to the people who murdered royals and destroyed a kingdom. Should she remain within Crimson Lock or should I have someone put her up for adoption in another pack with no one unable to trace her family tree back to myself. I believe in the reason for why I am to get on this jet and be flown to Europe to speak with witches who may join the cause Elijah and I have worked on.
With my luggage on the jet and my head leaning back in the seat, the engines starting up as we taxi out onto the runway, Elijah texts me that he will see me soon in Scotland. Taking out my purse, I pop a few of the pills I've brought for the trip, wishing to fade away in to a peaceful sleep before we touchdown. Swallowing the pills, the water which runs down my throat seems to cool me down, my body relaxing back into the chair as I close my eyes and get ready for a long journey.
All I can think about is Nixon as I fall asleep, those eyes which would watch me with such a peculiar mischief in them as I would play the piano or walk towards him. The man was a personification of dominance, seduction, and mystery, his combination of the dark past and hopeful future drawing me in. In his death he gave me the miracle of our daughter who I wonder will grow up to become a wonderful Alpha or Luna like her parents...but who knows what will come of her when all is said and done. If I die, I do not want her to remain in Crimson Lock. But am I sure about that?
As the plane glides away into the sky, I allow myself to dream of peaceful times Nixon and I could have experienced together with our daughter. For her to run and jump onto our bed fur Christmas as Santa brought her presents, to perhaps have a second child and watch our children play outside in the swing set Nixon might have built for them, for the two of us to go grab dinner with our children as they light up the room, and to see our children grow up into wonder and strong adults who will still call home and visit for the holidays. Perhaps a fairytale life is something I always knew deep down that I could never get, for no life is perfect, but dreaming of what Nixon and I could have been makes me wish. Nixon had his demons and I had mine, though they were bundled up until the right time, and together we dealt with darkness and made light out of what we could. Nixon was my solitude and harmony...he was my other half and left without a chance to really see what we could have been. And if I am to join him in the afterlife, I know we will watch our daughter with eager eyes to see where she goes in life. I know Nixon is watching me from above, proud of the woman I have become, not because of him alone, but because of the strong force in me to make good out of what there is.
By the time the pills wear off and I find myself a tad drowsy and eyelids heavy, the pilot is walking over to me as I see we have landed and the field of green may before us. As I get to my feet and my luggage is loaded into a car before the stairway, I see Elijah exit the sleek car and stand awaiting me. Walking down the stairs, my body a bit weak from the trip, Elijah takes off his sunglasses, greeting me with an eager smile as he stands tall and head held high.
"What a pleasure to see you once more Lily, motherhood makes you look so tired." Handing me a phone, I look down to the screen to see a picture of men and women surrounding a table, about seven of them present as they look present in meeting. "A fellow rogue has sent me an image. The Ring Leaders, those who run the rogue laws, have agreed to meet with us on the battlefield."
"And now we just need the witches? Are rogues not enough?"
"The witches know spells, Lily, spells which bring down the shield surrounding the palace laced in magic from the elves who deserted that land a good bit back. Witches get revenge from this too and those sly little witches cannot turn down a chance to get revenge," Elijah replies, putting his phone away as he opens the door for me. "We will be meeting with Fiona, a witch from the coven that Zion's ancestors betrayed eons ago. They hold a special place in their black hearts for wanting to destroy what Zion's ancestors built up ages ago." As Elijah instructs the driver to head for the mansion, he turns to me, watching my expression as I take everything in. "Zion's ancestors came from the Nightstar pack before his family branches off and gained the throne. Nightstar was the first pack, their Alpha was the first werewolf, and Zion May decide to seek shelter there if word gets out. Keeping our plans under lock and key means no chance of Nightstar fighting against Crimson Lock or those we have willing to fight with us."
"So keep the plans secret and safe, I've got it."
"There is one key fact I am keeping from you," Elijah admits, goosebumps rising upon my skin.
"Fiona and her coven are known for their dark magic, using it as it damns them to hell the more they do. Their coven has been known to use magic so dark that it can knock on the devil's door."
"And?" I ask, wondering where this is all leading. "Will I be selling my soul by asking for help?"
"Someone already dear to our hearts has sold their soul to bring someone back from the dead." Someone back from the dead? "A shell of who they once were, Zion did not go through with the deal to life the curse of Fiona's coven."
"What are you saying?" I ask, throat running dry as I wonder if my speculations are right to this news. "They can bring someone back from the dead?"
"For a heavy price...and this person did not pay the price."
"Who?"
Elijah places a hand on my lap, as if to calm me down like a mother would her child. "Lily....Zion brought Sybil back from the dead."