Kalissa's pov~~~~
The U-Haul lumbered to a stop in front of a small, unassuming apartment building, its paint a faded shade of yellow. It wasn't much, but it was mine. For now, at least. I climbed out, stretching, the small-town air a welcome change from the smog-choked atmosphere of the city. Havenwood. Just the name tasted like peace.
Kalissa Casteo De la Grande. "Snow." The name felt foreign on my tongue, a costume I wore for the world. Here, I was just Kalissa. Maybe. Hopefully.
My reflection in the side mirror was a stark reminder of the life I was trying to escape. Greyish-white hair, a genetic quirk I'd learned to embrace, framed a face tired beyond its twenty-four years. My eyes, mismatched in a way that had once been a source of insecurity, now felt like windows to a soul that had seen too much, too soon. One was a deep, soulful brown, the other, a glacial blue that could freeze a room. Heterochromia, the doctors called it. Ironic, considering my stage name.
I hauled myself out of the truck and surveyed my temporary refuge. The apartment had a tiny porch, just big enough for a couple of chairs and a small table. A postage stamp-sized lawn stretched out front, a pathetic patch of green struggling against the encroaching weeds. It was perfect. Imperfectly perfect.
Inside, the apartment was simple, clean, and blessedly quiet. I spent the next few hours unpacking, the rhythmic rustle of packing paper and the thud of boxes a soothing balm to my frayed nerves. I arranged my few belongings, each piece a carefully chosen memento of a life lived before the avalanche of fame. A worn copy of "Wuthering Heights," a collection of smooth, grey stones gathered from the beach near my grandmother's house, a framed photo of my parents, their faces beaming with a love I desperately craved.
As dusk began to paint the sky in hues of lavender and rose, I stepped out onto the porch, sinking into one of the rickety chairs. The air was cool and carried the scent of freshly cut grass and damp earth. Crickets chirped their evening chorus, their song a welcome change from the relentless bass of city club music. I closed my eyes, inhaling deeply, feeling a sliver of the peace I so desperately sought.A life I desperately wanted to be normal, mundane even.
A tiny, cherubic girl, no older than four, with eyes as blue as the summer sky and a smudge of chocolate on her cheek, waddled up to me, clinging to my leg. "Mommy!" she squeaked, her voice brimming with innocent joy. "You're home!"
Mommy? My heart stuttered, a frantic bird trapped in my chest. I knelt down, my hands trembling slightly. "Sweetheart, I think you have the wrong person…" I started, but the words caught in my throat. Her eyes, so incredibly blue, held a disconcerting familiarity.
Before I could stammer a more coherent denial, a whirlwind of masculine energy erupted onto my porch. The air itself seemed to crackle with anticipation. He was tall, impossibly handsome, with sharp, commanding features and eyes the color of molten gold. His presence exuded power, radiating off him like heat from a forge. It was him. Xander Blackwood. Havenwood's renowned CEO and, rumor had it, Alpha of the local werewolf pack. A rumor I had hoped was just that – a rumor.
Xander's gaze locked onto mine, a possessive spark igniting in his depths. It was a look that both thrilled and terrified me, a look that promised both paradise and peril. "Kalissa," he rumbled, his voice a low, intoxicating growl that vibrated through me. "You're back. It's time you embraced your destiny. You are meant to be my Luna, and the mother of my child."
My carefully constructed peace shattered like a dropped mirror. A child? Luna? Werewolf Alpha? This was absurd. This was exactly the kind of chaos I had run away from, the kind of life I had vowed was supernatural. The irony wasn't lost on me; running from the so called supernatural only to land smack-dab in the middle of it.
But beneath the shock and the rising tide of panic, something shifted. There was a connection to this little girl, a warmth that resonated deep within my soul. Lily. It was an odd, gentle name. And Xander… his presence, though overwhelming, also held a strange allure, a primal pull that resonated with something deep within me, something I had tried so hard to suppress.
"I… I don't understand," I managed, my voice barely a whisper, the brown and blue of my heterochromatic eyes wide with confusion.
"You will," Xander assured me, stepping closer, his scent of pine and something wilder, something undeniably Supernatural, filling my senses. He was too close. I could feel the heat emanating from him, the almost tangible power that swirled around him like a cloak. "Everything will be explained. But first, you need to acknowledge what's already yours." He gestured to the little girl, who was now tugging at my skirt, her blue eyes fixed on me with unwavering adoration. "Our daughter, Lily."
Lily giggled, reaching up to touch my face. "Mommy's hair is funny colors!" she declared, pointing at the greyish-white tone of my hair, a genetic quirk I'd always been self-conscious about.
Funny colors? Maybe. But the touch of her tiny hand, the sweet, innocent sound of her laughter, did something to me. It chipped away at the wall I had built around my heart, a wall designed to keep out the pain, the chaos, the supernatural that had supposedly haunted my past.
I looked at Xander, his molten gold eyes burning into mine, demanding acceptance, demanding… something more. Something I wasn't sure I was ready to give. "I don't even remember…" I began, then stopped. How could I explain something I didn't understand myself? How could I explain the gaps in my memory, the lost years that haunted me like a phantom limb?
Xander sighed, a sound that seemed to carry the weight of centuries. He knelt beside me, his powerful frame somehow making the small porch feel even smaller. "You were hurt, Kalissa. Badly. You blocked out the memories, a natural defense. But they're still there, buried deep inside you. And Lily... she's real. She needs you."
He was right. Looking at Lily, I knew, with a certainty that defied logic, that she was telling the truth. She felt like mine. But how could this be? How could I, a woman with no recollection of the last four years of her life, suddenly be a mother, a so-called Luna-to-be?
"Come inside," Xander said, his voice softer now, laced with a surprising tenderness. "Let me explain everything. Then, you can decide what you want to do."
I hesitated, glancing at my meticulously unpacked belongings, the fragile illusion of normalcy I had so carefully constructed. Could I really walk away from it all, into the embrace of a werewolf Alpha and the unknown destiny that awaited me?
Lily, sensing my hesitation, reached for my hand. Her tiny fingers curled around mine, her skin soft and warm. "Please, Mommy? Come inside. I have pictures!"
Pictures. Proof. Perhaps a key to unlocking the secrets that lay buried within my mind.
With a deep breath, I stood up, Lily still clinging to my hand. I looked at Xander, his eyes filled with a mixture of hope and apprehension. The choice was mine. Always had been. I could run, I could hide, I could cling to the life I thought I wanted. Or I could face the truth, embrace the destiny that awaited me, and become the woman I was always meant to be.
Lily immediately went towards a small table, spreading on it photographs that look aged but meticulously kept. She pointed to a picture of a smiling woman with greyish-white hair and heterochromatic eyes, holding a newborn baby.
"That's you, Mommy!" Lily exclaimed, her voice filled with pride. "And that's me when I was a baby!"
It was me. The woman in the picture was undeniably me. But her eyes… they held a light, a joy that I didn't recognize. A light that had been extinguished by the darkness of my past.
Xander placed a hand on my shoulder, his touch sending a shiver down my spine. "Those memories are in you, Kalissa. They're waiting to be rediscovered."
He spent the next few hours recounting the last four years of my life, filling in the gaps in my memory. He told me about our first meeting, a chance encounter in the forest, and the instant connection that had sparked between us. He told me about our love, a passionate, all-consuming love that had defied the odds. He told me about Lily's birth, the joy and wonder that had filled our lives. And he told me about the attack, the rogue werewolves who had tried to take me, to use me against him. The attack that had left me with amnesia, that had forced me to flee, to protect myself and Lily from further danger.
As he spoke, fragments of memories began to surface, fleeting images, whispers of forgotten emotions. A feeling of warmth, of belonging, of fierce, protective love for a tiny, blue-eyed girl.