Capítulo 39: Chapter 39: Threads of Control
MAEVE
The first thing I notice is the weight. My body feels like it's been lead – not ready to move in any way. I'm wrapped in something warm and soft, vaguely suffocating – but oh, so nice and cozy – which makes the task of getting up even harder. My eyelids are reluctant to cooperate, but eventually, I blink into consciousness, the world around me swimming into view.
The bed beneath me is plush — normally too plush for my liking, but right now I really didn't want to leave it. It smells faintly of cedar and something earthy, something unmistakably… Ronan.
Of course. Because why wouldn't I wake up in his bed instead of my own?
I faintly remember coming back from the terrace.
We walked back in, holding hands. But I was swaying in my steps, exhausted to an extreme. I've made only a few steps back in the apartment before – without even a word – he lifted me in his arms and started carrying. It was so sweet and comfy – I don't remember the rest of the way so I must have fallen asleep probably right there on the spot.
I lifted myself a little bit, enough to be in a more seated position but not to leave my sweet warm bubble yet. I rubbed my eyes and looked around.
His space is exactly what you'd expect — masculine and understated, like a luxury catalog for brooding Alpha types. Dark linens, warm wooden accents, and shelves lined with books in these faux-leather covers that were usually more for show rather than actual use – I wonder how many of those he had read. The scent of pine lingers in the air, and I half expect to see a wood-burning stove in the corner.
I'm too tired to roll my eyes at the cliché.
Somewhere close, I feel him. Not like a sound or a sight, but his presence — a steady, grounding aura that presses against the edges of my scattered thoughts. It's annoying how comforting it is, like a weighted blanket you don't want but can't seem to toss off.
The doors opened and Ronan entered with a tray of amazingly smelling goods in his hands.
The sound of my grumbling stomach welcomed him into the room.
"Awake, finally," comes his voice, low and tired, with a hint of holded back laughter. "I thought the smell of coffee will wake you up".
I turned my head to the spread he put before me. Coffee. Sandwiches. Sliced fruits. The Ronan version of bedside hospitality.
"Alpha room service," I croak, my voice not ready yet to be used apparently. "What, no silver platter?"
The corner of his mouth quirks, just barely. "Don't you know werewolves are allergic to silver?"
He sits himself right beside me at the edge of the bed, and grabs one of the mugs filled with this divine smelling dark liquid and hands me another. His gaze settles on me as he straightens, his brow furrowing in that way that makes him look perpetually concerned — or constipated.
Hard to tell sometimes.
I take it from him happily, and after a long sip I say with a smile "Oh my god, so good. Just what I needed." I take a pause and look at him. "You know what I just realized? You always cook for me. I must return the favor someday."
"Someday. Now, you need to eat," he says, like it's a command. "And drink. You lost a lot of energy."
I shudder looking down at the coffee in my hands. "Right. Yesterday."
The words come out slowly, as if saying them will help me piece together the fractured memories. Screams. Shadows. A voice — mine, but not mine — rising in a wail that seemed to split the air in two. And Ronan, always close, steadying me before I collapse.
"Hey, look at me." He lifts my chin making me meet his gaze. His eyes darken slightly, like he's replaying the same scenes. "You're safe here."
Safe. Sure.
Right here, right now it might feel like I actually am. Sitting in bed with him by my side, frozen in this small, yet intimate gesture. Warmth running through my body. For a moment there I was just Maeve. I was so close to believing it.
So close.
Except outside of this room, I'm a banshee now. And whatever that means, my world's been turned upside down so many times in the last months I did not know what to believe anymore.
All I know right now is that I really don't want to leave this beautiful bubble. I wanted to stay here, preferably in his arms being shielded from the harsh reality. Feeling his warmth, his care, his… love?
OMG have I really just thought that? Where did it come from? Was I really developing feelings for Ronan? OMG! OMG! OMG!
"Look Maeve, I want to talk to you about something…" He starts. But before he can finish and I can comprehend my newly found realization, the door flies open. Siobhan bursts in like a whirlwind, all sharp energy and pointed concern. Ronan withdrew his hand and stood up before she reached us.
"There she is!" she exclaims, making a beeline for me. "God, Maeve, you look like you've been through a meat grinder."
"That might actually happen, when you've been through one," I say bluntly, staring at her like I was throwing her some kind of challenge.
But she doesn't care.
She perches on the edge of the bed, her hands fluttering uselessly like she can't decide whether to hug me or shake me. "You scared the crap out of me, you know that? You're lying here like Sleeping Beauty, and I didn't have any word from you for two days! I didn't know what was going on with you, and Ronan didn't let anyone come. I had to threaten his Beta just to get up here."
Wow I've been out for two days? That must be why my body felt too heavy to move.
"Bet he loved that," I say, smirking faintly.
"I told you she needed to rest –" Ronan started but Siobhan just waved him off.
She looks at me. Her hazel eyes, so much like mine, soften and full of worry. "Maeve, I mean it. Are you okay? Really?"
The thing about sisters is they see through all the sarcasm and deflection. I want to tell her I'm fine, that it's no big deal, but the words stick in my throat.
Instead, I shrug.
Before Siobhan can press me further, a knock sounds at the door, and Nimah steps in. Her entrance is quieter than Siobhan's, but no less pointed. She pauses just inside, her sharp dark eyes scanning the room, landing on Ronan for a fraction too long before moving to me. Her lips twitched.
Did she just smile?
"Maeve," she says, her voice clipped but not unkind. "How are you feeling?"
"Peachy," I say, managing a weak grin, feeling my bubble bursting "You should see the other guy."
"Funny," comes another voice from the hallway, dripping with disdain. And then, of course, Ariadne strides in, her presence sucking all the air out of the room. The most threatening person in the room, even if the most petite. Her long coat flutters behind her like a cape, and her gaze sweeps over Nimah with barely concealed contempt.
I do not know what her problem is with Nimah, but she has to deal with it.
Or go to therapy.
For now, the room settles into a precarious truce, but the undercurrent of hostility lingers, ready to erupt at any moment. This, apparently, is my life now.
The silence that follows is thick, weighed down by the storm that didn't fully break. I glance at Ronan, who's watching the others like a wolf assessing a pack on the brink of mutiny. His jaw tightens, and I know he's about to say something I won't like.
"We need to address this," he says, his voice calm but firm. His eyes turn to me. "Maeve, you've barely scratched the surface of what you're capable of, and until you get control, you're vulnerable. We can't afford that."
"You need to start your training – right now" Ariadne pitches in "Banshee powers don't regulate themselves, and we already lost a lot of time –"
Nimah bristles. "She's still recovering. Pushing her too hard could backfire."
"Witches," Ariadne says, her tone like she's spitting venom. "Always skulking about where they're not wanted."
"Behave yourself!" Siobhan disciplines her.
"She doesn't have the luxury of time." Ariadne continues "Every second she's untrained the target on her back grows bigger. And the only thing this creature is doing is slowing Maeve down." Her spikey tongue attacked Nimah once more.
"Oh, for the love of —" I groan, pushing myself up against the pillows. My arms tremble slightly, but I'm too annoyed to care. "Can we not do this right now? Or ever? Nimah is my sister, Ariadne, and you're just going to have to fucking deal with it."
Ariadne's mouth twitches, her eyes narrowing as if my words are something she's considering carving onto a grudge tablet. Nimah doesn't take the insult lying down either — she straightens to her full height, which, while not particularly impressive — at least compared to me and Siobhan — radiates enough intensity to make up for it. Although, I think she might be a head taller than Ariadne.
"I'm here because Maeve asked me to be," Nimah fires back, her tone cold but steady. "Unlike some people, I don't feel the need to hover like a vulture whenever she's vulnerable."
"Vulture?" Ariadne's voice goes sharp enough to cut glass, her hands curling into fists at her sides. "That's rich, coming from a witch who couldn't recognize true power if it slapped her in the face. You can't even comprehend what she is dealing with right now."
The room practically vibrates with the tension between them. I half expect the windows to crack under the sheer weight of their animosity. My temples throb as I massage them, muttering under my breath about my excellent choices in life.
"Enough!" Ronan's voice slices through the air like a whip. He doesn't raise it — he doesn't need to. The Alpha authority in his tone shuts them both up, their glares briefly shifting to him before returning to each other.
"Take it outside," Ronan adds, his expression calm but dangerously unyielding. "Maeve doesn't need this. We'll come down to you when she eats."
For once, I'm thankful for his Alpha card. Ariadne exhales sharply, muttering something I don't catch, but she falls silent, retreating from the room. Nimah and Siobhan follow soon after her.
I sigh, leaning back against the pillows, exhaustion creeping in again. "And people wonder why I hate group projects."
I finish my breakfast and, with a groan, I swing my legs over the side of the bed, ignoring the ache in my muscles. Ronan moves to steady me, his hand brushing my arm, but I wave him off. "I've got it."
"Sure you do," he says, his tone dry but his eyes watchful as I shuffle toward the door.
"Oh and next time – the coffee. Please make it Irish." I add before we leave the room.
***
The apartment's living room has been transformed when I was asleep. The furniture has been pushed back, creating a wide-open space. When I walked there a few hours ago the polished floors gleamed under the overhead lights, and I caught sight of a vase perched precariously on a nearby shelf.
Well needless to say they weren't there anymore.
"Shit!" I stumble backward, staring at the jagged pieces of yet another vase scattered across the floor like they personally offended me. The haunting wail still echoes in my ears, my own voice ricocheting back at me in fragments. My hands tremble, the adrenaline spiking before the frustration sets in.
"That's the third one," Siobhan says from her perch on the couch, her tone light but her eyes full of concern. "At this rate, Ronan's apartment is going to be a minimalist dream."
I let out a shaky laugh, though it's devoid of humor. "I am his wife. I think that gives me the right to redecorate a little."
It's a good thing that Ronan decided to go to his home office to work a little and not bother us while practicing.
Ariadne sighs loudly, stepping forward like a disappointed schoolteacher. "Focus, Maeve. You can't keep letting the energy control you. Direct it. Feel it build, but don't let it out all at once."
I glare at her, my patience threadbare. "Oh, is that all? Just direct it? Thanks for the groundbreaking advice."
Her lips press into a thin line, her sharp features hardening. "Sarcasm isn't going to help you master this."
"No, but it helps me stay sane," I snap back.
Nimah steps closer, her tone softer but firm. "Maeve, maybe you need a break. You've been at this for hours. It's too much too fast."
"Back off witch," Ariadne cuts in, her voice slicing through the room like a whip. "She's just not trying hard enough."
That does it.
Something inside me snaps, raw and frayed. "Not trying hard enough?" I whirl around to face her, my voice rising. "May I remind you I just found out – it's like less than 24 hours for me plus those two days I was out but that doesn't really count for my mentality – that I am Banshee. Something I didn't know even existed. I'm dealing with powers I don't understand. I just learned how to make a banshee scream at all. And you think I'm not trying hard enough?"
"Exactly," she fires back, crossing her arms. "If you spent half as much energy focusing as you do complaining, you might actually make progress."
"And if you spent half as much energy on teaching as you do on being a bitch to me and everyone else – I might actually have." I spitted at her and went to the kitchen to grab a bottle of water.
GOD! I'm so done dealing with her!
"Maeve how can I help –" Siobhan approaches me silently but I don't let her finish.
"Stop it. Now. Stop babying me." I say through my teeth. My chest tightens, my frustration boiling over into something sharp and uncontrollable. "You don't get it, do you? None of you do! You all act like I'm some kind of ticking time bomb, hovering around me, waiting for me to explode. It's suffocating!"
The room falls silent for a moment, my words pressing down on everyone. Siobhan shifts uncomfortably, Nimah's face hardens with quiet guilt, but Ariadne doesn't flinch. Instead, her eyes narrow, her condescension flaring like a match struck too close.
I take a deep breath to calm myself down."Siobhan, Nimah I love you. And I know you are doing it because you care about me. But stop. I can't breathe or do anything when you're acting like I'm some fragile doll. It's frustrating." I turn my sight and look directly at her. " And as of you Ariadne – I don't know what kind of deal you have with Ciaran and I don't care. But you need to fix your attitude. I'm not you. I never had the opportunity to learn all of this stuff as a child – You did. And I won't learn everything about being a banshee overnight. I'm willing to train – but not when you're treating me and everyone else like you do."
Ariadne bristles but doesn't argue, her mouth snapping shut as she glares at me.
"I'm willing to call the truce," I continue "I get that there are not many of us left in the world, and you are probably my only chance for help right now. I can cut down my snarky comments - or at least not voice them. But either stop being such a bitch and start being a teacher, or don't bother showing up tomorrow. Because for today – I'm done."
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