My Lycan Mate of Suicide Forest

Chapter 183 - What Is The Issue

"Okay, what is it? What is the issue?" August asked, searching his eyes.

"When I went to your home, I beat her there. I was in your room waiting. I fell asleep in your bed," he chuckled softly before remembering himself. "And then Penelope showed up. That's how I had a chance to speak with her. She was actually there. I didn't even have to look for her at Eliade."

"Why?" August asked. "Why would she be at my home? You were in my bed?"

Her face scrunched, trying to picture it. Trying to understand it. Both of these people in her home that had never even known about her in her previous life. Both standing amongst her things.

"Eliade was concerned that your mom would keep returning to search for you, and that was going to create an issue for them. So they had Penelope do what they believed was some neuroscience-y stuff and, um…" he ducked his head.

"What?" she asked. "What did she do?"

"She felt horrible about it," he replied, his voice reaching that depth of his that was usually so reassuring, but it didn't work this time. This time it sank into the pit of her stomach and sat there, heavy and foreboding.

"Goddess… WHAT did she do?" August stood up and backed away from him. Why was he prefacing even telling her his truth with a defense of Penelope?

"She did an enchantment that made it so that no one remembers you. No one from your past remembers you, love. I'm so sorry," he said, beginning to walk forward—to cross the distance to comfort her.

"What?" she chuckled, taking another step away from him. "That's not possible. Is this a joke?"

"No, I'm sorry. It's not. I didn't know how to tell you…" he started.

"You didn't know how to tell me… that every person I have ever known no longer knows me," the words came out slow, as if she were testing them on her ears, because they didn't make sense in her mind. "That's not possible," she repeated, shaking her head.

This time Graeme didn't reply. He just stood there watching her, waiting for it to sink in, willing her to believe him and dreading the moment she did at the same time.

"Why was she there, though? Why—did she need to be in my home to do it?" she asked, trying to work it out little by little.

"She came to… erase the evidence," he raised a hand to run it through his beard.

For some reason these words are what hit her, piercing deep inside and flaying her open to the harsh truth of it. She was the evidence. And she was gone.

She turned and walked toward the darkness, toward the further cover of trees. Why was she always drawn to them? To disappear into them when it was too much to handle? As if there was a womb there waiting to embrace her back into itself, beckoning her home.

"August, wait," he called behind her—him whose voice alone could arrest her.

"Please, Graeme… I just," she stopped with her back to him, listening to his request but wishing for him to understand her need right now. "I just need to be alone for a minute. My mom she was…" she faltered in her words, and then the hot tears finally came, running down her cheeks, burning and salty and holding all the fullness of those memories. The pure affection of a child toward their parent before the faults of the parent become known to them. That raw need and vulnerability that only a parent can answer.

"Your mom was your mom," he said, coming up behind her with his warmth that embraced her before he did. "And she still is. All hope is not lost. She is alive."

The extra meaning of those words to him—that his hope truly was lost to have his parents back, that he knew the loss she was feeling—they bloomed in her chest as his arms embraced her from behind and he nuzzled into her neck.

"You are a powerful fae. More powerful than Penelope. Perhaps, with time, there is something that can be done to fix this," he spoke against her, his words feathering down her neck as he squeezed her closer to his warmth, allowing her that feeling that perhaps she could fully retreat into him—that deep riverbed in his chest that would gladly allow her to burrow in and be safe.

"This shouldn't be possible. To be done or undone," she whispered. "I don't want to have to be a part of it. How could she do that?" Her throat started to collapse around the words, leaving it raw. "So all of me is gone? Every trace of me?"

"No, you are right here with me," he replied, husky and deep.

"You know what I mean, Graeme," she wiggled a small protest against him.

"I took some of your things with me. They are at Greta and Sam's, because that's where I went to find you when I got back. Would you like to get them now?"

She was shocked by this. He thought to take some of her possessions with him?

"Really?" she asked, turning now to face him. "What did you take?"

"Let's go find out," he grabbed her hand.

"But Sage…" she stopped him.

Graeme tugged her behind him into Sylvia's house. "Sylvia!" he called out and found her in the kitchen with Sage and a big mixing bowl surrounded by ingredients.

"We thought to make some cookies," she smiled back at them.

"That sounds fun," August replied, happy to see the joy on the boy's face.

"We are going to pick up some stuff from Sam and Greta's. Will you two be okay?" Graeme asked.

Sylvia looked down at Sage who beamed back up at her. "I think we'll be okay," she winked at Graeme in response. "Why doesn't Sage just stay here in the loft? Do you want to try it for tonight?" she turned her attention back to him.

He turned to gaze at August as if checking for permission. It was endearing. She could see in his eyes that he truly adored Sylvia, and why wouldn't he? Sylvia had a warm, maternal way about her, and she had raised a son. They were kind of the perfect match in a way.

Graeme viewed this silent interaction between the boy and his mate, and he quickly realized there was something more to this relationship between them than just an art teacher and her student—or even a Luna and a pup in her pack.. There was something deeper.