Chapter 6: Morning After, Matriarch’s Wrath

We lost ourselves in each other all night. The next morning, my whole body ached. Every inch of me remembered him.

I woke to sunlight streaming through the window, muscles sore but satisfied. I stretched, wincing a little, and smiled at the memory of his hands on my skin.

When I woke, Eli’s arm was still draped around my waist.

He slept soundly, breath even and deep. I traced lazy circles on his forearm, marveling at how safe I felt in his embrace.

He was broad and strong—one hand was enough to circle my waist. It made me feel small, protected.

I nestled closer, savoring the warmth of his body. For the first time in ages, I felt like I belonged somewhere.

Remembering last night, my face burned. Those floating words were right—he really was something.

I bit my lip, grinning to myself. Let the world judge me—I had no regrets.

With no help around, I struggled to get up. He pulled the covers over me, bundled me up, and got out of bed.

He moved quietly, careful not to wake me, but I peeked through half-closed eyes, watching him pad across the room in his boxers. For a moment, it felt like we’d been married forever.

Soon, he brought in a basin of warm water.

Steam curled from the surface, and he set it on the nightstand with a gentle clink. The gesture was so tender it made my chest ache.

He wet a washcloth and started to clean me up.

His touch was gentle, almost reverent. He dabbed at my skin, careful not to press too hard. I watched him, heart swelling with affection. I wanted to remember this forever.

At the first touch, I gasped, a red mark rising on my arm.

The sting surprised me, and I sucked in a breath. Eli’s eyes widened in alarm, and he froze, washcloth hovering above my skin.

He looked mortified, like he’d broken something precious. I couldn’t help but smile at his awkwardness. There was something so sweet about it.

“I just wanted to help you get cleaned up.”

His voice was barely audible, and he wouldn’t meet my eyes. I reached out, squeezing his hand in reassurance.

His knuckles were white, and he fidgeted with the washcloth, clearly uncomfortable with the intimacy of the moment. I almost laughed.

I blew on the spot, feeling a little mischievous at his discomfort.

The mark faded quickly, but I made a show of pouting, just to see him squirm. I couldn’t resist teasing him.

“Honey, it hurts—kiss it better for me?”

I leaned in, batting my lashes, and pointed to the spot on my arm. Eli hesitated, then pressed a quick, embarrassed kiss to my skin.

I leaned against his arm, looking at the mark, and kissed the tip of his ear.

His breath hitched, and I saw a shiver run down his spine. I grinned, feeling a surge of triumph.

[Whoa, did the side character change her mind?]

[She’s totally off-script now—what kind of awakening is this?]

Girl, you’re overthinking this. The words flashed in my mind, but I ignored them. For once, I was writing my own story.

Ignoring the complaints, I pinched his earlobe.

He yelped, and I laughed, the sound bright and unburdened. This was the real me—bold, unafraid, alive.

He’s my man now—I’ll do as I please. That’s just how it is.

I leaned in, whispering in his ear, “Get used to it, honey.” He blushed, but didn’t pull away.

By the time I’d washed and dressed, a good while had passed. The coffee in the kitchen had gone cold, then colder.

I poured myself a cup anyway, savoring the bitter taste. The house was quiet, sunlight slanting through the windows, dust motes dancing in the air. For a moment, I just let myself breathe.

When Eli led me in, the older woman’s face was pale as a sheet.

She sat at the kitchen table, hands wrapped around a chipped mug. Her eyes narrowed as we entered, and I felt the weight of her scrutiny.

The look she gave me was so fierce, it was like she wanted to eat me alive.

I straightened my spine, refusing to be cowed. I’d faced tougher critics than her.

She must be Eli’s adoptive mom, Martha Matson. Took me a second to realize.

Her hair was pulled back in a severe bun, and she wore a faded apron over her dress. She looked every bit the small-town matriarch, tough as nails and twice as sharp.

“Miss Delaney, you sure have airs. Our little home can’t handle a city princess.”

Her words were sharp, but I caught a flicker of something softer in her eyes—worry, maybe, or fear for her son. I tucked a strand of hair behind my ear, refusing to let her rattle me.

I shrank back, hooking my fingers into Eli’s palm.

He squeezed my hand, offering silent support. I took a steadying breath, ready to face whatever came next.

He dropped to one knee, head bowed in deference. The gesture was old-fashioned, but I could see it was meant to show respect, not submission. Just a country thing.

“Mom, don’t blame her—it’s my fault for keeping her up too late last night.”

His voice was calm, but there was an edge to it—a warning not to push too far. I shot him a grateful look.

As soon as he said this, Emma’s expression shifted.

She blinked, tears welling in her eyes. Her lower lip trembled, and she looked away, struggling to compose herself.

Her eyes filled with tears, like she’d suffered some huge injustice. She looked like her whole world had just fallen apart.

[Poor main girl—the werewolf isn’t pure anymore.]

[It’s all that damned side character’s fault, seducing the werewolf.]

The accusations echoed, but I refused to let them get to me. I squared my shoulders, determined to stand my ground.

Even though Eli took all the blame, Martha’s expression didn’t soften.

She glared at me over the rim of her mug, lips pressed into a thin line. I met her gaze, refusing to look away. The tension between us was thick.

She lifted her mug and took a sip.

The coffee must have been bitter, because she grimaced, but she didn’t say another word. The silence stretched, heavy and uncomfortable.

“You haven’t been around many women—don’t let some vixen steal your soul.”

Her voice was low, almost a growl. I bristled at the accusation, but forced myself to stay calm.

Her words were harsh, and I wasn’t about to bow my head. I wasn’t going to let her see me flinch.

[The side character’s no good, but the old lady’s not much better.]

[She’s a rich girl—it’s normal for her to look down on country folk.]

[Evil meets evil, let them duke it out.]

The commentary was relentless, but I tuned it out, focusing on the people in front of me.

I glanced over. I hadn’t looked closely before, but Emma really did look gentle and sweet.

She sat quietly, hands folded in her lap, eyes downcast. I almost felt sorry for her, caught in the middle of all this drama.

Eli said nothing, laying a mat on the floor and kneeling beside it. He was all calm on the outside, but I could tell he was tense.

His posture was respectful, but there was a stubborn set to his jaw. He was ready to defend me, no matter what.

“Mom, Miss Delaney is my wife now. For my sake, please don’t make things hard for her.”

His voice was firm, leaving no room for argument. I squeezed his hand, grateful for his support.

I leaned against Eli’s arm, half-collapsed at his side. Playing the part was easy—anyone could do it.

I let my head rest on his shoulder, feigning exhaustion. A few fake tears slipped down my cheeks, just for good measure. I was laying it on thick, but it worked.

With one lowered tilt of my head, big teardrops splashed onto the floor.

The tears came easily, fueled by equal parts frustration and relief. I let them fall, hoping they’d soften Martha’s heart. For once, I hoped my performance landed.

“Call me a vixen if you want, ma’am. But only scoundrels love vixens—are you calling my husband a scoundrel?”

The words slipped out, sharper than I intended. I met her gaze, daring her to answer.

My words caught Martha off guard; she nearly choked on her own breath.

She coughed, sputtering into her coffee. Emma rushed to pat her back, shooting me a look of pure venom. Ouch.

Her eyes flashed with anger, and I realized I’d made an enemy. I straightened, ready for whatever came next. Bring it on.

“Cousin, girls like her are the best at putting on a show. Don’t let her fool you!”

Her voice trembled, but her words were laced with steel. I raised an eyebrow, unimpressed.

Eli was startled by my sudden tears and clumsily tried to wipe them away. His rough fingertips brushed my face, and he frowned.

He fumbled with a handkerchief, dabbing at my cheeks. His touch was gentle, but his hands shook slightly. He looked like he’d rather be anywhere else.

“Mom, Miss Delaney could have married a doctor if she wanted. She doesn’t mind my humble background, so I won’t let anyone bully her.”

His words rang out, clear and strong. I felt a surge of pride—he was finally standing up for himself, and for me. My heart thudded.

He knocked over the tea set and helped me up.

The clatter echoed through the room, and I stifled a giggle. Eli steadied me, his arm strong around my waist. For a second, it was just us.

“If you can’t get along with her, I’ll leave and we’ll get our own place.”

The threat hung in the air, and Martha’s eyes widened in shock. She opened her mouth to protest, but no words came. The room felt like it was holding its breath.

At the mention of splitting the family, Martha jumped up.

She paced the kitchen, wringing her hands. The idea of losing her son clearly rattled her. The tension in the room was thick as summer heat.

She sighed over and over, but in the end, she accepted my tea. She wanted to scold me, but Eli’s look shut her up.

She took the cup with trembling hands, muttering under her breath. Eli shot her a warning glare, and she fell silent.

[The side character’s got guts—put that mean old lady in her place!]

[Good for her. If not for the old lady, the werewolf wouldn’t have suffered so much.]

Y’all, I’ll take that win. The words felt like a pat on the back, and I allowed myself a small, triumphant smile.