CHAPTER 145: YOUNG LILITH XVII

*~Young Lilith’s POV~*

So not only am I pregnant... but my child’s life is in danger.

The weight of it slammed into me so hard I collapsed back onto the bed, eyes wide, lungs heaving. My whole body trembled.

The old woman brought the calabash closer, her crooked hand steady.

"Drink, child."

I shook my head, my heart racing. Everything was sinking in at once.

How will I do this? How will I keep running... while carrying a child? Do I keep running? Do I let the baby die? I can’t be a mother. Not now. Not like this. I’m already a traitor. A runaway. A runaway lover. And now a mother?

No. Worse— a bad mother.

"You don’t want that to happen," she said firmly, reading my thoughts as if I’d spoken them aloud. "If that child dies, you’ll regret it for the rest of your life. Trust me. I speak from experience."

She sat beside me. I shivered. But her aura... it was calm, steady, ancient. Somehow, it seeped into me, cooling my panic.

"I used to have a sweet little girl," she whispered, her voice breaking at the edges. "But I let her go. And it still aches me—every single day—that I never met her. Never held her in my arms. That I killed her while she was still inside me."

My breath caught.

"So I made a vow," she said, turning her gaze on me, sharp and heavy. "I will never let another mother lose her child. Not if I can help it."

She reached for my hands, wrapping mine around the calabash. "I am a witch. And you are a werewolf. Our kinds were never meant to work together. But I cannot watch you lose this baby."

My fingers trembled. My throat burned. I swallowed hard, lifted the bowl, and drank.

The liquid was sharp, earthy, bitter. It slid through me like fire. My bones weakened, then strengthened. My heart slowed, steadied. I felt the shift inside of me. A warmth... a pulse... life.

"You can feel it, can’t you?" she asked softly. "The impact inside you. The child. Don’t worry—you can stay with me until it’s born. If you are lost, if you have no family... we can raise this child together."

I nodded, though my voice was broken. "It’s fine. I wouldn’t want to burden you. I’ll... sort it out myself. I just need time to think."

She smiled faintly, patted my hand, and stood. "Then think. I’ll find us something to eat."

As she turned, she pressed her palm against the earth and then—suddenly—her hand clung to my stomach. My heart lurched.

Oh moon goddess....this is real...No possible damn way.

What will I tell Marcus? Do I even tell him? He deserves to know... doesn’t he? But I can’t just show up, swollen with his child, after running away . Not yet. Not like this. I’d need the baby in my arms, proof that something good came from all the ruin.

But then Jonathan’s words crashed through me like thunder: "The next time I see you again, I’ll be forced to kill you."

A cold shiver rattled down my spine....No. Not now. I can’t face them yet. I’ll stay here. For a few months. Long enough for my child to grow strong. Then... I’ll decide what to do.

I curled back into the bed, exhaustion crushing me. My last thought before sleep dragged me under was of Alice.

Alice, my sister, my friend... What does she think of me now?

Then she came back into the hut with a bag of meats... placed them and turned to me, ’You look too young to be pregnant. How old are you, dear?’

I froze. I was 16—but soon I’d be 17. Close enough.

’Seventeen,’ I said.

Her eyes widened. She gasped and rushed closer, gripping my hand.

’Seventeen? Oh my God. Where are your parents? Your mate? Most especially—where are your parents?’

I stared at her, then let the words drop flat.

’I killed them.’

Her body jerked as if struck. She snatched her hand away.

’Your... what?’

’I killed them. Because they weren’t worthy of being called parents.’ My voice was stone.

The silence stretched. Her face was pale, but I pressed on.

’And about my mate? I ran away from him.’

Her eyes softened then, and that pitying look crawled over me like a sickness.

’You must have a tragic story,’ she whispered, pulling me into her shoulder.

I stiffened, then shoved myself free.

’There’s nothing to let out. Absolutely nothing. And I don’t need your pity. Like you said, I’m young. I still have years ahead. So don’t worry about me.’

She studied me with unreadable eyes, then nodded slowly. "Fine."

She rose, shuffling toward the fire pit, and began cutting strips of meat. The crack of the knife against the board echoed in the small hut while my head swam with thoughts. I couldn’t stay here long. There was a pack in Paris—I’d felt it already—and if Marcus had spread word, they’d come hunting. Staying meant putting this old woman in danger. She didn’t deserve that.

The smell of roasted meat pulled me back. She carried a steaming plate, tossed a piece onto the blanket beside me.

"Eat. Food will strengthen you. Herbs can’t do that alone."

"I know," I muttered, tearing at it. The salty blood of the meat grounded me in the moment, though my mind spun with escape routes and timelines.

Her voice cut through the crackle of fire.

"So, dear... care to tell me your story?"

My heart jolted. Story. The real one? That I’m a Crescent ? That I carry Marcus’s child while Jonathan’s threat still burns in my skull? That my own people have exiled me? No. If I told her, she’d throw me out, terrified. I needed her help too badly.

So I swallowed hard and lied.

"My parents..." My voice faltered, then steadied. "They were farmers. Simple people. They didn’t understand me. Never cared. I left before things got worse."

She raised an eyebrow. I pressed on quickly.

"As for my mate... I didn’t want to be tied down. I wanted freedom. I wanted to see the world. Paris was supposed to be... my escape."

The lie tasted bitter, but I forced it down with another bite of meat.

Wendy didn’t answer right away. She only looked at me, her gaze piercing. Then she chuckled softly—too softly.

"That’s a nice story," she said, but her eyes never blinked. They pinned me like a knife. "Too nice. Too clean. For someone like you."

My stomach twisted. She didn’t believe me.