158 Ava: From the Past
“Ava, is that you?”
The familiar rasp has me frozen, my heart lurching into my throat. Slowly, I turn around, coming face–to–face with a ghost from my
past.
Our neighbor. Margot Mitchell.
Her once vibrant auburn hair is streaked with silver, her face a
roadmap of wrinkles and scars. It’s her eyes that haunt me. Piercing green eyes that see everything and do nothing.
“Margot,” I greet, my voice tight with caution. “What are you doing
here?”
She limps toward me, her gait uneven from some injury she incurred long before I was born. I remember asking about it once, and my mother slapped the back of my head, admonishing me for my rudeness. “Oh, Ava. I’m so happy to see you again.”
I tense as she reaches out, half–expecting her to grab me, to drag me back to the hellscape I escaped. But she merely places a hand on my arm, her touch feather–light.
“I’m sorry,” she whispers, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. “I’m so sorry for everything. For not intervening when…” She trails off, her gaze flickering to the ground.
The shame she tries to portray leaves me feeling dirty. Unclean from her mere presence.
Memories flash through my mind, unbidden. Margot’s face in the
$2.00
150 As from the Pant
window, watching as I was taunted and beaten, even by her own son. Listening at the front door as my parents berated me, their voices carrying through the window. Her figure rushing inside. when I tried begging her for help during one particularly brutal group assault led by Todd Mason.
I was thirteen.
He broke my wrist.
I cried for hours that day. Hours. Until my parents, tired of my whining, finally dragged me to the healers.
Margot, always watching. Never helping.
I yank my arm away, taking a step back. “You’re sorry?” Anger surges through me, hot and bitter, fueling my words. “Why are you even saying that? What does that do for me now?”
“Ava. You have to understand, none of us could help you. Please.” She grabs at my arm again. “We need you to understand us. To speak for us.”
Ah. She needs something.
No wonder she’s here.
The bitter anger continues to boil in my veins, even as my stomach churns. There’s a tiny part of me, almost miniscule, that was hopeful her apology was genuine. It’s dead now, like so many other little parts of me over the years.
“How did you know I was here?” I step back, avoiding her grip, and she stops trying.
Margot shakes her head. “I am hired to clean the lodge. I didn’t
158 Ava From the Past
know until I saw you.” Her eyes fill with tears. “Please, Ava. Think of your pack. So many of us are separated now. Taken from our mates. Forced to cut ties with the alpha. Westwood is tearing us apart. They should promote your brother, bring us back together-”
“No.” My voice is cold as I take another step back.
“No,” I repeat. “I have no intention of helping you or anyone else. from that pack. Not after everything I endured.”
Margot’s face contorts, her features twisting into an ugly mask of rage. “You ungrateful little-”
A low growl cuts her off. Selene stalks into the room, her hackles. raised, teeth bared. She positions herself between Margot and me, a living shield.
Margot returns the growl, her eyes flashing amber. For a moment, I think she might actually shift and attack. My heart pounds against my ribs, adrenaline surging through my veins.
Then Vanessa walks in, and Margot’s demeanor changes instantly. She straightens, smoothing her expression into one of neutral politeness.
“I’ll find you again later,” she says, her tone clipped. “We can talk when you’ve settled in.” With that, she turns and flees the room, brushing past a bewildered Vanessa.
Vanessa watches her go, then turns to me, curiosity etched on her face. “Who was that?”
Breathe, Ava, Selene murmurs in my mind. You’re safe now. She can’t hurt you anymore.
I’m sorry you had to face that, she says, her voice a gentle caress in my mind. But you handled it with strength and grace.
Strength isn’t the absence of fear, Ava. It’s facing it head–on, even when it terrifies you. And that’s exactly what you did.
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