Chapter 9

I am standing in the Garden of Eve, feeling the mystical energy pulsing through the air around me. Celine has finally shown up, her ethereal presence commanding attention, and the mysterious black dog that had appeared before has returned, its intelligent eyes watching my every move.

"Who is the dog?" I ask Celine, my curiosity ablaze like a wildfire in my chest, the mystery of this magical world unfolding before me.

She chuckles softly, her eyes twinkling with ancient wisdom. "Dear child, that is not what you came here for," she responds with gentle amusement.

As I took in the Garden of Eve, I was struck by the sudden appearance of ornate wrought iron chairs and an antique marble table. They seemed to materialize out of thin air, adding to the enchantment of this magical garden.

Celine gracefully takes a seat, her movements fluid like flowing water. The magnificent black dog positions itself precisely between her and the other chair, maintaining perfect posture. Celine gestures elegantly toward the empty chair and says, "Sit, my dear," her voice warm and inviting.

"I know you have many questions, and I can now answer them," Celine says, her tone carrying the weight of essential revelations.

As I sat in the chair, the cool surface beneath me, a sudden torrent of questions burst from my mouth. It was as if my brain and mouth had disconnected, each operating independently. I found myself bombarding Celine with my questions, the black dog's eyes gleaming with unmistakable amusement.

"Breathe," Celine said firmly but kindly, her command instantly calming my racing thoughts.

"Let's start at the beginning. Azria is correct; you cannot come to the Garden of Eve unless you are a power witch," she explained, her words measured and precise.

"That, my dear, you are," she said, her declaration sending shivers down my spine.

"You are a Fey witch," she continued, her voice filled with reverence. "Fey witches are powerful and rare, blessed with extraordinary abilities. We actually thought they were extinct until I saw you. Your powers have not been unlocked, and I am sure my friend Belinda can help with that." She finished the sentence, looking meaningfully at the wolf, who seemed to understand every word.

"I don't understand," I said, my mind struggling to process this life-changing information.

She cleared her throat and started speaking again, her voice taking on a more serious tone.

"I believe your mother was a Fey witch," Celine revealed, her words carrying a weight of revelation. "The white wolf is a dormant gene that can be passed down through generations. Only women can be white wolves and Fey witches. Your sister Katelynn did not inherit this gene from your mother. You must meet your mate for all your white wolf gifts to come out."

My heart dropped like a stone in water. "My mate?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.

"Yes," she confirmed, "once you have your mate, you will be at your full potential, though there lies the second problem," she said, her expression growing concerned.

"Your Fey powers have not come in. Without your Fey powers, you cannot feel the mate bond. Your mate could be right before you, but you would not know," she explained gently.

I dropped my head and quietly said, "It's not Jared," feeling relief and uncertain.

The wolf growled loudly, the sound reverberating through the garden, startling Celine and me.

"That was unnecessary?" she chided the wolf sternly.

"No, it is not Jared," Celine confirmed definitively.

I felt my body relax, tension leaving my muscles I hadn't even realized were tight.

"He is not Jennifer's mate, and he is not your mate either," she stated firmly.

"I am unsure why your Fey powers did not appear when the wolf gene was activated. They were dormant for too long and need your coaching," she mused thoughtfully.

"My friend Belinda, I think, can help," she said, addressing the wolf more than me. I still want to know who this mysterious wolf is; its presence is both intriguing and slightly unnerving.

The wolf rose with graceful dignity and started walking away, its movements purposeful and measured.

"Wait," I called out to the wolf, unable to contain my curiosity any longer.

He stopped and turned, his penetrating gaze meeting mine with unexpected intensity.

"What is his name?" I asked Celine, desperate to unravel at least one mystery today.

"You will know in due time, my dear; right now, it's not important," Celine responded with a gentle but firm tone that left no room for further questioning about the wolf's identity.

The magnificent black wolf cast me one last meaningful glance, its eyes holding secrets I couldn't yet comprehend, before gracefully padding away into the misty depths of the garden.

I found myself alone with Celine, and the wolf's absence created a subtle shift in the garden's mystical atmosphere.

I sat in contemplative silence, my mind working overtime to process Celine's extraordinary revelations. Each piece of information felt like a puzzle piece slowly clicking into place. Yet, the complete picture remained tantalizingly out of reach.

I was a Fey wolf with powers – the words echoed in my mind like a magical incantation, both thrilling and terrifying.

What incredible abilities lay dormant within me, waiting to be awakened? The possibilities seemed endless and overwhelming.

How could I unlock these mysterious powers that were my birthright? The question burned in my mind with increasing intensity.

The Pack House library beckoned to me like a beacon of hope. Surely, within its ancient tomes and dusty volumes lay the answers I sought. I was determined to dive deep into research, to uncover every scrap of information about my true nature and the extent of my abilities. The truth about my powers was waiting to be discovered, and I was resolute in my quest for self-discovery.

"Jackson, a good man," Celine's voice cut through my thoughts, her tone warm with genuine approval. I felt a sense of responsibility settling on my shoulders, the weight of my destiny becoming more apparent.

"What?" I asked, slightly startled by this sudden change in topic.

"Jackson is a good man; you can trust him completely," she elaborated, her eyes holding mine with maternal concern. "I understand your hesitation, given your painful past experiences with men. Those scars run deep, and I truly empathize with your suffering. But Jackson is cut entirely from a different cloth. He possesses a noble heart and would rather harm himself than cause you any pain."

Though uncertain about the timing of this particular endorsement, I acknowledged her words with a thoughtful nod, showing I was taking her counsel seriously.

Celine bid me farewell with a promise of future meetings, her form gradually fading into the garden's mystical mist.

The following day, I awoke to delicate rays of sunlight filtering through the curtains, creating a gentle golden glow in the room. It took a moment for my mind to orient itself to my surroundings. The luxurious bed enveloped me in unprecedented comfort and warmth. For the first time in countless months, I had experienced restorative sleep, awakening with a refreshed spirit. As I sat up, stretching my well-rested muscles, the previous night's conversation with Celine flooded back into my consciousness.

Two urgent tasks demanded my attention: consulting with the King about Belinda and investigating the library's resources. Rising from the bed, I selected fresh clothes. I headed toward the bathroom, mentally noting that I needed to discuss the wardrobe situation with the King. I had consciously decided to keep my newfound knowledge to myself for now. The revelations about my nature were too significant to share without proper understanding and context.

After dressing, I went to the elevator, my stomach protesting its emptiness and my mind fixated on the promise of morning coffee. Lost in caffeine-fueled daydreams, I collided with a solid form. I would have tumbled backward if not for Jackson's quick reflexes. He pulled me against his chest with protective urgency, his touch sending unexpected tingles through my body. I attempted to hide my face, knowing my cheeks had turned a brilliant shade of crimson.

"Were you in a hurry, too?" the King asked, his voice hinting at amusement.

I carefully extracted myself from his embrace as my traitorous stomach announced its presence with an audible growl.

Maintaining proper protocol, I bowed and admitted, "I was going for food."

His rich chuckle filled the hallway as he responded, "Me too," while pressing the elevator call button.

As we waited for the elevator to arrive, I seized the opportunity to inquire about Belinda, trying to keep my voice casual and controlled.

"Yes, I do; she will be here at 3 PM today," Jackson's response caught me completely off guard. The coincidence seemed almost too perfect to be real. I hadn't spoken a word about Celine's revelations to anyone, yet here was Belinda, scheduled to arrive today of all days. It defied logical explanation—there was no way Jackson could have known about my conversation with Celine.

The timing was so precise it left me wondering if there were more mysterious forces at work than I had initially imagined.

Could he?

The elevator finally reached us with a soft ding, and we made our way toward the dining room. The tantalizing aroma of freshly cooked breakfast wafted through the air, making my mouth water instantly and my stomach protest even louder than before.

"Coffee," I breathed longingly, unable to contain my craving for the beloved beverage I had been denied for so long.

Jackson's warm chuckle filled the space between us. "Yes, we have coffee," he confirmed, his eyes twinkling with understanding at my enthusiasm.

I could barely contain my excitement. Coffee had been one of the simple pleasures I'd yearned for most during my time away, its rich aroma and comforting warmth a distant memory until now.

"Would you like some?" Jackson offered kindly.

"Yes, I miss coffee so much," I admitted, my voice tinged with nostalgia. "Where is it kept?" I asked Jackson, hopefully.

"Do not worry," he assured me with a gentle smile. "I will go get you some. You just grab a plate and get some food."

I approached the impressively laid-out buffet table, my eyes widening at the abundance. The spread was magnificent – perfectly scrambled eggs, fluffy omelets, crispy bacon strips, succulent sausages, golden-brown potatoes, fresh pastries, and perfectly cooked waffles steaming invitingly. A familiar presence appeared beside me as I was carefully spooning some creamy scrambled eggs onto my plate. It was Jared, whom I hadn't seen since our arrival. He flashed that characteristic smile that used to make my heart skip beats, though now it merely stirred memories of what once was.

"Hi, Zoe," Jared said, his voice soft and tentative.

"I miss you and want to talk to you."

"Where is your mate?" I questioned, trying to keep my voice neutral.

He lowered his head, his voice dropping to a whisper, "She lied to me; she wasn't my mate," he confessed, pain evident in his tone.

"Hmm," was all I could manage in response, unsure how to process this revelation.

I was just adding some crispy potatoes to my plate when Jared's next words hit me like a physical blow: "Not too much; you don't want to gain all the weight back you lost on the trip here."

My stomach clenched painfully as tears threatened to spill from my eyes. The words echoed in my mind, each repetition more painful than the last. Was I really that overweight? Did I not deserve to enjoy this food?

"I had lost weight?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.

"I am just trying to help you. I know how much you want to lose weight, and I care about you," Jared said, his words dripping with false concern.

His comment had effectively destroyed my appetite, leaving a bitter taste in my mouth.

"Coffee, at least, I can have that," I thought desperately, scanning the room for Jackson. My eyes finally found him, but the sight before me sank my heart even further. He stood, holding what I assumed was my coffee, deeply conversing with Jennifer. She was practically draped over him, her manicured hand running up and down his arm. At the same time, she thrust her chest forward provocatively. Her choice of attire left little to the imagination – a scarlet dress that barely reached mid-thigh, so tight it seemed painted on, with her ample cleavage threatening to spill over the top.

The final remnants of my appetite and my desperate desire for coffee vanished utterly. Without a word, I turned and fled the dining room, muttering about my intense dislike for Jennifer. I directed my steps toward the library, determined to lose myself in the study rather than dwelling on my hunger or the now-forgotten coffee. The sanctuary of books seemed far more appealing than the emotional minefield I'd just escaped.