Fated to a human

Haylie POV  

I watched my father die, and now I witness the removal of my wolf—a part of me I never knew existed and never imagined I would lose. These moments revealed a side of my family's story I had never known, and I became a silent observer of it all. 

I saw my mother move back to her old childhood home in town. Together with my Uncle Jacob and Aunt Camelia, she began restoring the house, bringing it back to life with furniture and care. 

 When my mother was five months pregnant, my uncle helped her assemble a wooden crib and decorate a small nursery space beside her bed. Watching them create this haven for the new life to come, I finally began to understand where I came from. 

But the sadness lingered. Every time my mother went to the doctor, she visited my father's grave afterward. It was heartbreaking to see her raw pain, the way she missed him so deeply. 

 Some nights, she cried herself to sleep, the weight of loneliness heavy on her heart. 

 On other days, she wished she had someone to share this part of her life with—a partner to hold her hand through the journey. 

My heart ached for her. Witnessing my mother endure the challenges of pregnancy alone filled me with agony, even as I admired her strength. She carried so much pain, yet she persevered, holding onto the hope of a brighter future. 

My mother's pregnancy with me wasn't easy. 

There were days when frustration overwhelmed her and moments when she doubted if she could do it alone. 

Thankfully, my Aunt Camelia and Uncle Jacob were always there to support her through those tough times, helping her in every way they could. 

One day, while my mother was at the park, she suddenly went into labor. Uncle Jacob quickly rushed her to the hospital. Watching her in such immense pain was heartbreaking, but I stayed close, feeling her struggle and determination. 

 Soon, Aunt Camelia arrived to be by my mother's side in the delivery room. 

I didn't go into the room. Being invisible, they couldn't see me, but more than that, I didn't want to witness the raw pain my mother endured. Instead, I stood in the hallway, listening. 

Her moans and screams echoed through the corridor, carrying the intensity of her labor. The sound pierced the silence, filling me with a mix of sorrow and anticipation. 

Then, suddenly, there was silence. A quiet pause that felt like eternity before it was broken by the most beautiful sound—the joyous cry of a newborn baby. 

 My heart swelled with emotion, knowing that my mother's strength had brought me into the world, and that this moment of pain had turned into one of pure joy. 

I waited in the hallway, watching the door to the delivery room. When it finally opened, I slipped inside quietly. 

The sight before me took my breath away. My mother sat on the hospital bed, her hair damp and swept to one side, hanging over her shoulder from the exhaustion of labor. 

In her arms, she held a tiny baby wrapped in a soft pink blanket. She was holding me. 

Tears filled my eyes as I witnessed this precious moment—my mother holding me for the first time. 

 It was incredible. The love in her eyes was tangible, and I could feel the unbreakable bond between us, a connection that only a mother and daughter share. 

After a while, a nurse gently told my mother that they needed to take me to wash and clean me before bringing me back. She assured my mother that she needed to rest after the delivery. 

The nurses carefully placed me in a newborn carrier and took me out of the room. Curious about where they were taking me, I decided to follow them. I walked down the hallway, keeping close to the two nurses, until we reached a brightly lit room filled with rows of plastic cribs. 

 Each crib held a newborn baby, neatly dressed and with name tags attached to their containers. 

I stood by the large window that looked into the room, watching intently. The nurses picked me up with great care, gently washing away the blood and cleaning me thoroughly. They wrapped me in a warm blanket before placing me back into the crib. 

Seeing myself from this perspective was surreal. I felt an overwhelming sense of wonder, knowing that even in this fragile state, my journey with my mother had only just begun. 

As I stood by the tall window, watching the nurses place me into the plastic crib, I suddenly felt a presence beside me. Turning my head, I saw him—Mathew. 

What was he doing here? And how had he found my mother? I hadn't seen him since the day my mother left the garden. As I studied him, he looked lost, wearing a blue V-neck shirt under a black hoodie, paired with dark blue jeans and sneakers. 

"What are you doing here?" I whispered to myself, my brows furrowing in confusion. 

Just then, I noticed my Aunt Camelia approaching, her steps hesitant as her eyes fell on Mathew standing by the window, gazing at the babies. 

"Mathew, what are you doing here?" Aunt Camelia asked, her voice laced with shock and surprise. 

I swallowed hard, stepping closer to listen. Mathew ran a hand through his dark, thick hair, his expression heavy with emotion. 

"I needed to see if the baby wasn't mine," he said, his voice breaking as he spoke. 

My eyes widened in disbelief. He had to be joking, right? But then again, thinking about it, my mother had been with him back then, and my father… only for one night. 

My hand instinctively moved to my chest as Aunt Camelia responded, her voice firm. "You're not serious, Mathew. This child is human. She is not yours." 

My aunt's words struck with certainty, but Mathew's response was filled with pain. 

"I just needed to be sure," he said, his voice trembling as he looked at Aunt Camelia, tears brimming in his eyes. "We were together back then, and I needed to know for certain that she's Kaysen's child." 

I stood frozen, staring at both of them. My mother had been mated to Mathew back then. Could it be possible that Mathew was my father? 

"No," I whispered to myself. "This is crazy." 

"Mathew, if Olivia saw you now," Aunt Camelia said, her voice filled with tension, "it would break her to see you like this." 

Mathew let out a heavy sigh. "She doesn't have to see me," he said, his pain evident in his voice. "Please, Camelia, I just need to know if she's mine or not." 

The anguish in his eyes was almost too much to bear, even from where I stood. 

"Mathew," Aunt Camelia said after a pause, her tone firm but tinged with compassion, "if I do this, you must promise me that if she isn't your daughter, you'll leave. No more lingering. No more questions." 

Mathew exhaled shakily, his shoulders slumping. "I promise," he said, his voice barely audible. 

My heart raced in my chest. Why hadn't I known about this part of my life? I followed them as they walked into the room where the newborns were kept. The sound of babies crying filled the air, mingling with the distinct, clean scent of new life. 

But my focus was solely on Mathew and Aunt Camelia as they approached one of the nurses. I watched as my aunt spoke quietly, asking if a paternity test could be performed to determine if Mathew was the father. 

At first, the nurse hesitated. "We'd need the mother's consent for something like this," she explained. 

I saw Aunt Camelia subtly move her fingers; a faint shimmer of magic barely visible at her side. The nurse's expression softened, and after a moment, she nodded. 

"Alright," the nurse said. "We'll do it." 

Minutes later, another nurse retrieved the crib where I lay. I watched with mounting anxiety as they brought it over to Mathew and Aunt Camelia. 

Mathew stepped closer, his eyes meeting mine through the clear plastic. His expression softened, a mixture of awe and sadness washing over his face. 

"She's beautiful," he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. 

One of the nurses gently swabbed Mathew's mouth, then turned to take a fresh cotton swab from me. I tensed, unable to tear my gaze away as the nurse carefully collected the sample. 

"This will take a few minutes," the nurse said, looking at them both. "Feel free to wait in the hallway. We'll let you know as soon as we have the results." 

Mathew nodded silently, and the nurse walked away with the samples. 

As soon as the nurse left, I heard Mathew's voice, hesitant and heavy with emotion. "Could I hold her?" he asked. 

The tension in the room was palpable, thick enough to cut with a knife. Aunt Camelia hesitated but then nodded. "You can," she said softly, "just be careful." 

Mathew approached the crib where I lay, his movements deliberate and cautious. With great care, he slid his hands under my tiny body and gently lifted me. I stood there, watching as he cradled the newborn version of me in his arms. 

He held me as if I were made of glass, so gentle and reverent, his every movement speaking of both fear and awe. Slowly, he brought me closer to his chest, his eyes fixed on my face with an expression I couldn't quite describe. 

My heart swelled as I watched him holding me. 

A part of me wondered—what if he was my father? Could it be possible? But another part of me pushed the thought away. It seemed too impossible, too far-fetched. 

What I did know was this: Mathew loved my mother. And in some unspoken way, I think he wished that I was his. 

After a while, he exhaled a shaky breath and placed me back in the crib with tender care. His hands lingered for a moment before he wiped a tear from his cheek. 

"I'll wait in the hallway," he said, his voice thick with emotion. 

He turned to leave but paused at the door, his eyes drifting back to the crib for one last look. His gaze was filled with longing and heartbreak, as though he was memorizing the moment. Then, without another word, he left the room. 

Liam POV  

After a while, my friend Titan left, and I decided to take a shower. My strength was slowly returning, and I could walk on my own again, though with some effort. Making my way toward the bathroom, I turned on the shower and let the water run for a few minutes to warm up. 

With a deep breath, I removed the blanket wrapped around me and stepped under the stream of water. The warmth stung at first, sharp against the acne and healing wounds scattered across my body. But after a few moments, the sensation softened, and I let the water flow freely over me. 

Standing there, I closed my eyes briefly, feeling the heat relax my muscles. 

The water washed away the dirt and dried blood clinging to my skin, but it couldn't touch the ache in my soul. The pain of Haylie's death lingered like an unshakable stain, etched deep into my heart. 

Opening my eyes, I reached for the shampoo bottle, twisting it open and squeezing a small amount into my palm. Slowly, I worked it through my hair, scrubbing away the grime until it felt clean and refreshed. 

 Rinsing out the suds, I turned my attention to the soap, carefully lathering it in my hands before washing my body. 

Every motion was deliberate, as if treating myself gently might ease the pain still clinging to me. My wounds were mostly healed, but the lingering soreness reminded me of how far I had yet to recover. 

I stood under the warm spray of the shower for what felt like an eternity. 

 The bathroom had filled with thick steam, the air heavy and humid. Closing my eyes, I took a deep, shuddering breath, the kind that felt like it could break me. A sob sat heavy in my chest, threatening to spill over, just like my wolf, who whimpered and howled within my mind, drowning in shared grief and pain. 

Where would I go from here? How could I possibly move forward after what had happened? My heart felt hollow, an aching void that no comfort could fill. The rawness of my sorrow coursed through my veins, settling deep into my bones. 

Opening my eyes, I placed a trembling hand against the cold, slick tiles of the shower wall. 

The chill of the surface contrasted sharply with the heat of the water cascading over me. I bowed my head, staring at the water pooling and swirling around the drain. Tears blurred my vision as they mingled with the stream, falling silently. 

My mind began to spiral, thoughts racing, until a sensation pulled me back. A warm, delicate hand rested on my bare shoulder; the touch impossibly gentle under the water. 

My lips parted, a gasp escaping me. Was I imagining this? The longing for Haylie had become so unbearable that I was starting to conjure her presence. 

Taking a deep breath, I felt the hand slide down my upper arm, and the figure moved closer. This presence felt real—too real. Slowly, I lifted my gaze, expecting to see Haylie, hoping desperately that somehow, she had returned to me. 

But reality struck hard and fast. It wasn't Haylie. The face before me belonged to the last person I wanted to see. 

"You," I growled, anger and shock rising like a tidal wave. My wolf surged forward, fueled by fury and grief. 

Without hesitation, I grabbed Melody by the throat, my hand tightening as I pushed her against the shower tiles. The sound of water beating against the walls was drowned out by the blood rushing in my ears. 

"What are you doing here?" I snarled, my voice low and dangerous, trembling with restrained rage. 

Melody's eyes widened, her hands clawing weakly at my grip, but I held firm, every muscle in my body taut with tension. 

Anger coursed through me like wildfire, my grip on her throat tightening as my wolf surged to the surface. My claws pricked into her skin, drawing faint lines of crimson. 

"How dare she show her face here?" my wolf snarled in my head, his voice a guttural growl that mirrored my own fury. 

I didn't care that Melody was naked, standing there vulnerable. What right did she have to intrude on me after everything she had done? She had taken the one thing that mattered most to me. 

"How dare you show yourself!" I shouted, my voice a raw blend of my own and my wolf's. The words ripped from my chest, filled with rage and pain. "I should kill you for what you did to Haylie!" 

Melody's eyes widened, glinting with fear as she gasped for breath, her hands clawing at my grip. Then she spoke, her voice strained and barely audible. "Would you kill me… with your child?" she choked out, her words scraping through the tension. "What about your child?" 

For a heartbeat, her words hung in the air, slicing through the roaring chaos in my mind. 

My claws dug deeper into her neck, and I felt the resistance of her flesh beneath my hand. The scent of blood mixed with the steam of the shower, fueling my anger. My wolf growled louder, his presence pressing harder, demanding control. 

"I don't care!" I growled, my voice a feral snarl. "Your child—your child with you—means nothing to me!" 

The words came out venomous, filled with the raw, unrelenting fury that had consumed me since Haylie was taken from me. 

 My body trembled with the effort of holding my wolf back, the desire to unleash him barely restrained. 

Every fiber of my being burned with hatred for her—this woman who stood before me, her very presence a mockery of everything she'd taken from me. I hated her looks, her scent, the sight of her. 

"You have no soul, Liam," Melody whispered, her voice cutting through the air like a blade. 

Her words made me laugh—a dark, hollow sound that carried no humor. "No soul?" I echoed bitterly, a smirk curling on my lips. My eyes locked onto hers, burning with rage. 

"You dare speak of souls, Melody? You, who stole an innocent life? A human who had done nothing to you. You watched her drown, watched her lungs fill with water until there was nothing left. You let her die!" I spat, my voice rising with fury. 

My claws dug deeper into her throat, her flesh giving way under the force of my grip. The air around us seemed to tremble as my wolf surged forward, taking control. The world blurred; my vision tinged with the fiery blue of my wolf's eyes. 

I growled low, the sound reverberating through the room, primal and unrelenting. My hand moved from her neck to her chest, claws tearing through skin and flesh with savage precision. 

"You don't deserve a soul," I snarled, my voice a guttural mix of man and beast. 

In one brutal motion, I drove my claws deeper, feeling the resistance of bone and muscle. The heat of her blood spilled over my hand as I reached her heart, the beating organ that symbolized everything I despised about her. 

With a roar of unbridled anger, I ripped her heart from her chest, the sound of tearing flesh echoing in the room. 

For a moment, time seemed to stand still. My hand trembled, holding the lifeless organ as her body crumpled to the ground. The blood dripped from my claws, mingling with the water cascading from the shower. 

I stood there, numb, consumed by rage. There was no relief, no satisfaction—only the cold, hollow emptiness that remained.