Chapter 4: Eli’s Tears, My Fury

Back home, Eli was slumped at the table, his small body trembling.

He looked so small, so fragile. His hair was mussed, his cheeks streaked with tears. My heart broke at the sight of him.

I rushed to hold him. "Eli, what’s wrong?"

I knelt beside him, wrapping my arms around his shaking frame. He buried his face in my shoulder, his sobs muffled against my shirt.

He tried to be brave, to hide his pain. But I could see the fear in his eyes, the way his hands clenched into fists.

"I’m fine, Daddy. I’m just hungry."

His voice was small, barely above a whisper. My heart twisted. I knew he was lying, but I didn’t push him—not yet.

That’s when it hit me—Eli hadn’t eaten.

My stomach dropped. I’d been so caught up in my own pain, I’d forgotten about his needs. Guilt washed over me, heavy and cold.

I hurried to the kitchen and made some quick grilled cheese sandwiches.

Eli sat at the table eating, but he kept crying, silent tears running down his face.

He took tiny bites, his shoulders shaking with silent sobs. Each tear that fell felt like a knife in my heart. I wanted to fix it, to make it all better, but I didn’t know how.

I couldn’t help but ask again, "Eli, if something’s wrong, you can tell Daddy."

I knelt beside him, brushing the hair from his eyes. I tried to sound calm, but my voice wavered. I needed him to trust me.

His eyes flicked to the door, afraid she’d walk in.

He shrank into his seat, shoulders hunched. I felt a surge of anger at her, at myself, at the whole damn situation.

I said, "Mommy’s not home yet."

Only then did Eli speak up.

He took a shaky breath, finally meeting my eyes. I braced myself for what he’d say.

"The teacher always hits me. If I can’t take it and cry, he hits me even harder."

His words were barely audible, but they hit me like a freight train. I felt sick, rage bubbling up inside me. How could anyone hurt my boy? My hand shook as I reached for him.

My heart twisted, remembering what Autumn and the hunters said earlier.

The pieces fell into place.

I clenched my fists, fury burning in my veins.

The sight made me want to howl.

Werewolves are sensitive—I couldn’t even imagine how much pain Eli was in.

I stroked his hair, whispering soothing words.

Her words echoed in my mind, full of condescension.

I held him tight, my voice choked.

I rocked him gently, humming an old lullaby my mother used to sing.

I whispered the promise, hoping it would give him some comfort.

He gritted his teeth, never complaining.

It was past midnight when he finally fell asleep in my arms, murmuring in his dreams, "Don’t hit me… don’t hit me…"

His words tore at my heart.

Their warnings echoed in my mind, harsh and unforgiving.

I’d do whatever it took.