Chapter 249

Olivia

The morning sun painted the town in a golden hue as I stepped out of the villa, the chill in the air leaving a light fog hanging low above the ground.

I pulled my jacket tighter around my shoulders, the fabric rustling softly in the morning silence. My heart raced, a mixture of anticipation and anxiety, as I headed toward the town square.

The previous day’s events weighed heavily on me, and volunteering at the food drive felt like my chance to reconnect, to mend. I was both excited to prove myself and terrified that it would go south again.

But Nathan had been right: it would take time. Someday, perhaps people would learn that I wasn’t an evil witch like the Elders had made me out to be. I was just Olivia, a normal girl with a fate spinning out of control.

The streets, normally quiet at this hour, were alive with hustle and bustle. I could see the tops of tents peeking over the buildings, the distant sound of chatter filling the morning. The air still smelled like smoke and soot from the fire, but it also smelled like hope. And soup.

I quickened my pace, eager to help and prove my genuine intentions at the same time.

The town square itself had transformed. The cobblestone pathways were flanked with tents of different sizes, each covered in a patchwork of colors.

Tables lined the path, filled with bread, vegetables, and other essential supplies. Children darted between stalls, their laughter a contrast to the wearied expressions of many adults. As I stepped into the square, the aromas of freshly baked bread and brewing coffee enveloped me.

“Olivia!”

I turned, my spirits lifting a bit as I spotted Angela, her long hair cascading down her shoulders, shimmering under the sun’s early light. She waved me over, a friendly smile playing on her lips.

“Angela!” I replied, trying to keep my voice upbeat despite my reservations. “You look awfully rested for someone who was working her ass off the last time I saw you.”

Angela smirked. “It’s called coffee,” she said, gesturing toward a table beside her that was laden with cardboard coffee cups and steaming pots of brown liquid. “Want a cup?”

I nodded, swallowing. “I could use it, if I’m being honest,” I said, watching gratefully as she filled one for me. “I… Didn’t sleep well last night. Or the night before, for that matter. I almost wish I was back in the hospital, sedated by the medicine they gave me. I could use a few more hours of deep sleep.”

Angela handed me my cup, which I sipped gratefully. The coffee was bitter, but it was warm and invigorating. “You were a huge help the other night, by the way,” she said gently, her warm eyes flickering around us. “I’m sorry I had to… kick you out.”

I felt a slight pang in my chest at Angela’s words. She had had to kick me out because people were getting irritated just by my presence, even though I was only trying to help. Would that be what it was like today? Would it always be like that if I became Nathan’s Luna?

I forced a weak smile, shaking my head. “Don’t worry about it,” I said.

As we talked, I couldn’t help but feel the weight of the many stares directed toward us. Conversations dimmed, curious eyes darted my way, only to turn quickly when I met their gaze. Whispers spread like wildfire.

I swallowed hard, trying to suppress the rising unease. “I just want to help,” I began, looking around for a task. “Where can I start?”

Angela pointed to a nearby stall. “They could use some assistance over there.”

With a deep breath for courage, I moved toward the stall she’d indicated, hoping my actions would speak louder than the poisonous words that seemed to float around me.

As I got closer, however, the volunteers whispered among themselves, eyeing me with palpable distrust.

One elderly lady, Mrs. Travers, whom I remembered offering me a warm smile once, now looked at me with wariness in her aging brown eyes. Her fingers clutched a small pendant around her neck, eyes widening as I approached as if she’d seen a ghost. She murmured something, and I caught the word ‘witch’ being passed around.

Trying to ignore the stares, I attempted to engage. “Hello, Mrs. Travers. Can I assist with arranging these?”

But she recoiled, looking around as if seeking support from her peers. The protective sign she made with her hand stung more than I’d anticipated.

“Stay back!” she hissed, her voice filled with genuine fear.

Frustrated, I stepped away, moving toward another tent.

Maybe it was a one-off incident, I thought. But it became evident it wasn’t. Each tent I approached responded similarly. I was met with cold shoulders, sharp glances, and hushed voices.

The word ‘witch’ seemed to be on everyone’s lips. Protective signs followed me like a shadow, the town's collective superstition making me feel more like an outsider with every step.

“You!” A voice sliced through the murmurings, causing a few heads to turn. Mrs. Halloway, a stout woman known for her bakery and less-so for her tact, stood with a defiant posture, finger accusingly pointed at me.

“Mrs. Halloway, what’s wrong?” I inquired, hoping to defuse the tension.

Her voice was filled with contempt. “Don’t act innocent. My son saw you, late at night, heading toward the witch’s hut. Twice. It’s clear what you’ve been up to since you returned to our pack.”

I felt like the ground was slipping from under me. “I don’t know what he saw, but it’s not what it seems like,” I protested, thinking back on the two times that I had visited the witch’s hut. If only these people knew why I was really going, and how horribly it had turned out the second time.

Gasps and mutters rippled through the gathering crowd.

“Witch!” a voice shouted.

“Traitor!” came another.

The murmurs grew louder, their collective voices morphing into a cacophony of suspicion.

An accusatory voice broke through the clamor. “You’ve come to take over our pack, haven’t you? Manipulating our dear young Alpha Nathan?”

My face felt hot, my vision blurry from burgeoning tears of frustration. “You’re wrong. I came here to help, to be a part of this community! To come home!” I retorted, struggling to keep my voice steady.

But the more I defended myself, the more it felt like I was adding fuel to the fire. The crowd’s animosity seemed to grow, their faces a mixture of distrust, fear, and anger.

Tears threatened to spill, and my voice cracked as I said, “I am not a witch. Why won’t anyone believe me? I’m the A—”

My lips wanted to form the words, to tell everyone what I really was. The Ancient Wolf.

But thankfully, before I could say more, a firm hand wrapped around mine, pulling me gently but urgently away from the swelling crowd.

I turned to see Angela’s face, her expression stern, her eyes conveying a silent message: ‘This isn’t the place.’

She tugged at my hand, leading me away from the center of the commotion.

“Come with me, Olivia,” she said firmly, and there was nothing left to do but follow her lead.