With my eyes closed, I can still visualize her beautiful face, the face I grew up gazing at. My mother. I saw her standing right in front of me as if the past has suddenly changed and now she was in it. My years with Grandmother are replaced with figments of my imagination, ones including her and all the pretend things we did. The memory of my abandonment is forgotten and replaced with this new one: the sight of her calling my name, of her reaching out to me, and then of her towering figure as I lay helpless on the patchy grass.

The sight of her has given me a new hope, causing me to forget about the confusing events leading up to my slumber. If my mother is alright, then my father must be too. I have a chance at a real family again. Suddenly the bad Alpha is the least of my worries as my mind drifts to images of the three of us, living, growing, loving. They can meet Sebastian, Henry, Marina—they can join Sebastian's pack and stay with me forever. Never again will I feel unwanted. She called for me and led me from the attack. She cares for me. My mother loves me as a mother should. In this moment I am fulfilled, all my dreams are shifting to reality—all with a single glimpse of her face.

There is a softness beneath me, and covering me also. My head begins to wake as my eyes study the smears of light cast on them. There is a pounding in my skull, shaking me up and bringing my eyes to a quick flutter. My lashes act as wings, shading and exposing me to the harsh light beyond my lids until my eyes are tolerant of the gleam. My hand pulls out from my side so I can rub my knuckles and fingers against my face. As my conscience returns, I find myself searching the room, temporarily limited to the ceiling. My toes curl and flex, my legs stretch and bend, everything works but my head. My head throbs.

My hand reaches up to nurse the bump, but touch does not seem to smooth it, but make the pounding worse.

I am in a bed. Not my own, some unknown bed as my surroundings are frighteningly unfamiliar. In a panic, my body sits up swiftly which makes my head spin with a foggy dizziness. My stomach rises, and I have the urge to vomit. I feel as if my body and mind has endeared a never-ending battle, and my stomach is in protest of any movement.

After rolling onto my side, I scan my surroundings more thoroughly. Beside the bed is a nightstand, and across the room is a love seat, one with a calm pattern showing deep tones of red and pink. There is a short table in front of the love seat, holding nothing but a vase of dying flowers. The entire set up reminds me of a hotel room, unhomely and nerve-racking.

In a second attempt, I force my body up again, this time staying up. I brush my knotted hair from my face as I locate the door. My mother—I have to find her.

With a surge of determination, I swing my legs off the side of the bed and inch myself forward until my feet meet the cool, hard ground, making my legs wobble like a child learning to walk. My hands grip the bedding, my fists dig down into the mattress, and I steady myself. My eyes circle in on the door, ready to aim for the target and shoot. With a leap of faith, I begin my short, yet dizzy journey. I get the feeling people get when they wake up too quickly, a light head and upset stomach.

My hand grips the door handle, tightens, turns, stops, tugs, then nothing. I try again. Nothing. The door is locked, someone has locked me in a room. Did my mother do this? Why would she do this?

Leaning against the wall, I struggle to conjure a reasonable explanation. I remember things—only a few things, but things overall—and I remember coming to the base of the hill, spotting the strange man. He was not my father. He was of high rank, I could feel it. Then what? I cannot remember. My aching head is a clue. I scrunch my face as I think, coming up with two reasonable explanations. One, I fell and hit my head on a rock or other thing equally as rigid. Two, someone attacked me from behind, likely threw something at me. Then again, since when did I trust strangers?

My mother spoke to him, I cannot recall what she said, but she said something. Maybe she knew him well. Maybe I do not have a reason to expect him. Or, maybe he hurt us both, maybe my mother is trapped away in some other room, mimicking me.

Where am I exactly? How did I get here? Where is my mother? Where did she take me? Did she take me here? Why am I so alone? Where is my wolf? Why won't you answer, Moon Goddess?

By now I should have a clearer mind, I woke maybe ten minutes ago. Why do I still feel this dreadful tiredness? There are too many answers being kept from me, and I cannot uncover them on my own in this room.

My body slides down against the wall, my legs already overwhelmed from standing. I abruptly hit the floor, not strong enough to lift myself back up, not without time. I feel weak. I feel exhausted. I feel disoriented. Again, I attempt to move, needing more than one try. I place my hands on the floor, scoot forward, away from the wall, lift up onto my knees, crawl as far as I can towards the tacky love seat until I need to stop. My strength and energy deplete by the minute.

I feel drugged.

Confusion engulfs me as my eyes wearily open again, this time on the bed, though there is a difference, there is proof of a presence. The bed is made, I am merely laying on top of the bedding than underneath like the first time. This is all a bizarre dream, is it not? I know plenty about night terrors, and this feels like one, but slightly more alive. The real question is, where did the dream begin? When I saw my mother? When I arrived at Alpha Kenn's? When I had my first nightmare? When I met my mate? Or, the most frightening, when I crossed the stream? Somewhere in some other universe, there is a girl laying in a stream, dreaming.

I am allowed no concept of time, no clock, no window, only the artificial light hanging above my head, casting a yellow film across the room.

In however long it has been, all I have accomplished is an attempt to leave and failure. Though, I do not have many options when it comes to acts of heroism. Maybe instead of me saving my mother, she will be the one saving me. Any second now she will burst through the door and explain everything sloppily as we attempt an escape. We may run into trouble two or three times before we defeat the final boss, but the bad Alpha will soon lay helplessly at our feet. Mother and daughter, saving the day.

I am drugged. Something surges through my veins that leaves me helplessly and unconsciously idiotic. A child placed in a crib. All I can do is grow and imagine scenarios of nothingness.

Alpha Kenn—the thought hits me hard as I stare at the ceiling once again. Alpha Kenn, I remember him and his plan to capture the bad Alpha, and suddenly I am here. My mothers face is the image burned into my brain, but now I see more, I see myself running towards her. She called for me during a surprise attack. The bad Alpha did not fall for our trick, but instead, he brought his own men to defend himself. And my mother, she was there, at the opposite end, standing with a man I had never seen before.

Thinking this critically gives my head a spin, making it difficult to hold onto the newly regained thoughts. I squeeze my eyes shut to focus.

My mother was standing with the man. Could it have been. . . No, it could not have. Was my mother standing with the bad Alpha himself? Then I was right. He did capture her along with me. She called for me to run away with her, but the Alpha caught us both before we could escape. That means my mother is trapped somewhere here also.

The door taunts me, shaking in joy as it traps me here. Then the handle turns, and I realize I am not just imagining this. The door is opening.

It glides across as I struggle to focus on it, my head still tampered with. My heart squeezes. The man from before walks confidently in, and I feel a sort of insomnia. I cannot move, and he is going to attack me. I wearily push myself up on the bed as my eyes shift in and out of focus on his face. "You," I mutter, my throat itchy. "My mother. . ."

He shushes me as if he is worried about my health. "There is no need for you to talk, Evangeline." The stranger drifts into the room, closing the door behind him, making my heart thump heavily like the beast who once haunted my dreams. "I'm sure you understand what is happening here. Why you're here. You've been a detective, recently." He takes a seat on the loveseat.

I croak again, "My mother."

"You're mother is fine for now, your father too. We're just waiting on that last guest," his eyes stare into mine, and all I can think is how crazy he is. "She's gone to fetch him. They should be back any hour now. I thought I'd come to see you since you're up now."

There is so much my body and mind are fighting to do, yet it hurts to move. "No," I murmur, "no. Not him." I slide back down against the headboard like a dying person. I want to ask where I am, where my mother is, what is happening, but my eyes betray me and begin to shut once again, swaying open and closed like curtains, and I power through the urge to sleep.

"I'll have to thank my nephew for the recipe, but I'm sure they'd given you too much. He's not so smart, that little boy. I could smell that mixture once we arrived. I'd forgotten about it, but it's working quite well in your case. Too much could kill you, but you seem to be fine," Victor says, blinded. "I've been watching you, but you already knew that. It was stupid of your mother to lead me to you, but mothers just get so desperate to see their children sometimes, I suppose. Now tell me, you don't have any children, do you? I'm not much to kill little ones."

My jaw clenches as he continues to throw logs into my fire. "Why?"

"Why?" He mimics me. "Why what? Why everything? You know the story, Evangeline. You've heard it, and you've shared it. Daughters of the Moon Goddess, you, your mother, your grandmother, and everyone before her!" I flinch at his sudden burst. "You're monsters. All of you. You're killers hidden behind the innocence of women. Witches. Demons. All of you. Power drunk and whiling to take all for yourselves. Things like you need to be exterminated. You're dangerous to our entire kind."

I watch him, mesmerized. "Lies."

The man's eyes flood with hatred. It is something that can never be healed—he can never be convinced to see the truth even if sat down and brainwashed. His own beliefs have become his own addition, and he is a prisoner to it. These truths passed down from his father, read to him from a book, shall rule his life forever. His truths against my family and me have become his God.

There is a short, cold moment of silence between us before he stands up and leaves the room, leaving me alone once again. I realize that Alpha Kenn was right, that killing someone may be the only solution. The animalistic side of me, her, the dark part that lurks in the shadows of my mind like the beast she is, creeps forward due to this.

She feeds off of this. She grows excited knowing that his fate will come, and it will come delivered through her own hands.