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Chapter FOUR HUNDRED & NINETY-FOUR: Meredith’s Grandmother
[Meredith].
"But she won’t be unsafe." Draven’s tone shifted to calm and certain. "Moonstone Pack is still under my authority. Madame Beatrice will keep her close and won’t let anyone get near her without permission."
I hesitated. "Even your father?"
Draven’s jaw tightened, just a fraction. "Especially my father."
That answer settled something in my chest.
I leaned back against the seat, exhaling slowly. "I just don’t like leaving her. Not after everything."
"I know," he said. Then, more quietly, "But you don’t have to carry that worry too. I won’t let anything happen to her."
I looked at him. He wasn’t promising for comfort’s sake. He meant it.
And somehow, that steadiness made the rest of my nerves resurface stronger. Because if he could protect everyone so confidently, then the truth waiting for him would hurt all the more.
I turned back to the window as the convoy pressed forward.
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A few hours later, the three convoys slowed as we entered the village.
And immediately, I felt it—the shift in the air. It wasn’t dramatic, not something that could be pointed at, but it pressed softly against my skin, like the land itself was breathing.
The houses were spaced far apart, each surrounded by wide stretches of land, gardens, and trees that looked far older than Stormveil’s walls.
Nothing felt rushed here. Nothing felt loud.
As we drove through, people stopped what they were doing.
Their eyes followed us not with fear or hostility, but with quiet curiosity. It wasn’t the kind of staring I was used to. It felt measured, observant, as if they were noting us rather than judging us.
Draven leaned slightly toward me, his gaze fixed outside the window. "I didn’t know a place like this existed," he said softly.
My heart skipped. "Don’t expose it," I told him quickly.
I was afraid he might accidentally mention it to his father, who would, in turn, get interested. And then, my grandma and the others like her would have a hard time finding another place to call home.
Draven turned to me, surprised for only a second before smiling. "It’s not a big deal. I won’t tell anyone. I don’t want to disrupt the peace here."
Instantly, relief loosened something tight in my chest.
The convoys finally came to a stop near an open space bordered by several homes. As soon as we stepped out, the stares intensified. No one approached, but no one looked away either.
Dennis came up beside us with hands on his hips, clearly looking unsettled. "Why does everyone keep staring?" he muttered. "It’s uncomfortable."
Jeffery joined him calmly. "Isn’t it obvious? We are foreigners on this land."
Dennis narrowed his eyes. "That’s not enough reason when they are looking at us like they have never seen our kind before. Are they not werewolves like us?"
The moment his question reached my ears, my breath hitched.
Quickly, I turned towards him, ready to stop him from saying any more. And then I saw her.
She was walking toward us slowly, tapping a wooden walking stick against the ground. Her back was straight despite her age, her steps steady and sure.
Her eyes were open, but completely white, unfocused, seeing nothing of the physical world. Yet she walked directly toward me.
A younger woman followed a step behind her, watchful, ready to help if needed, but never touching her.
The moment I saw that familiar smile, my chest tightened.
"Edith," she called warmly. "My lovely girl."
I didn’t think twice before making a move. I crossed the space between us and dropped to my knees, wrapping my arms around her waist.
Her walking stick slipped from her grasp as she laughed softly and cupped my face with trembling hands.
"Edith," she said again, brushing her thumbs over my cheeks as if she were memorizing me. "You came back to me."
Tears burned my eyes. "I missed you," I whispered.
She leaned down and rested her forehead against my hair. "I know. I felt it."
Meanwhile, behind me, everything went quiet. I didn’t have to look to know they were staring.
"She is blind?" Dennis murmured somewhere behind me.
I stood slowly, still holding my grandmother’s hands, and then I turned to Draven. "Grandma," I said gently, "this is Draven. He is my mate. My husband."
Her warmth vanished almost immediately after I was done with the introduction.
Through the mate bond, Draven’s voice brushed my mind. "Does she hate me?"
I swallowed. "Yes," I answered honestly. "Prepare to be punished."


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