Chapter 82
Tristan
"Then don't."
The voice slices cleanly through the quiet — calm, aged, unmistakably familiar.
I flinch so hard I nearly fall backward. My body jerks up from the ground on pure instinct, legs unsteady, eyes snapping toward the sound.
Madam Jones stands a few feet away, arms folded, expression unreadable.
Elijah's mother.
Stone Lake's shaman.
A woman who has always terrified me more than any alpha ever could.
"Madam Jones," I say quickly, scrambling to my feet, wiping at my face like I can somehow hide the fact that I've been crying like a pup. "I—I didn't hear you."
"You were… occupied." Her voice is flat. Not unkind, not soft — simply stating a fact with that unnerving shaman calm that sees through everything.
She steps closer, the leaves whispering around her as if they're bowing out of her way. She has aged, silver threaded into her dark hair, lines carved deeper around her eyes. But her presence? It is the same as ever: sharp, grounded, immovable.
