I am 15 chapters ahead on my patreón, check it out if you are interested.
https://www.patréon.com/emperordragon
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Chapter Ten: Roots and Reality
With a soft click, Richard popped open the trunk of the car, the hinges groaning slightly under the weight of the afternoon heat. Inside were the bags we'd packed over the last two days—some clothes, toiletries, sturdy boots, and other essentials. All the things I'd need for an indefinite stay with Emily. My things.
That idea still felt strange—unnatural, even. Like wearing someone else's jacket. I had never really had my things before. Not in a place that might actually be considered home.
I took a step forward to help unload, instinct kicking in before I could think better of it.
But Richard held up a hand, waving me off with a casual confidence. "Nah, I've got it."
I stopped, uncertain what to do with myself now. So I just hovered awkwardly nearby, watching as he reached in and pulled out one duffel, then another, tossing them effortlessly to the ground like they weighed nothing. He was stronger than he looked—most hunters were—but even so, he made it look easy.
My eyes drifted past him to the porch, where Emily still sat in her comfortable chair, a steaming mug of tea cradled in her hands. Her posture was relaxed, almost regal. Her expression? Completely unreadable. Not cold, not warm—just… still. Composed.
She didn't look like someone who'd be facing down monsters. She wasn't frail, exactly, but she didn't exactly project the image of a hardened warrior or a guardian of ancient forest secrets, either. She looked like someone's grandmother—someone who baked apple pies and knitted scarves and had a collection of birdhouses.
I turned back to Richard, lowering my voice. "I know you said druids are powerful, but… come on. She's got to be at least seventy. You said I might lose control during the full moons. What if something happens? What if I… I don't know… hurt her?"
Richard's response wasn't concern or caution—it was a burst of laughter. Loud, unrestrained, and entirely amused. He threw his head back and laughed like I'd just delivered the punchline to the best joke he'd heard all year.
"Seventy?" he repeated, still chuckling. "Try one-seventy."
I stared at him, blinking in confusion. "Wait. What?"
He nodded, grinning now. "Emily's not just powerful. She's ancient. And trust me—she can handle herself just fine."
I must've still looked doubtful, because he tilted his head toward the porch and said, "Tell you what—why don't you test it out? Go on. Take a swing at the 'delicate' old last. See what happens."
I looked at him like he'd lost his mind, but he just raised an eyebrow, daring me.
Then I looked back at Emily.
There was something about her. The way she sat, unmoving. The way she seemed to radiate calm, like an old tree that had weathered countless storms and still stood tall. She smelled like cinnamon and pine needles and something older, something grounding—like the feeling you get right before you fall asleep, safe and warm. She was the best-smelling person I'd ever encountered—and considering my werewolf senses, that was saying something.
She didn't even glance my way. Just sipped her tea as if none of this concerned her.
Then, gathering my nerves—and tamping down the guilt of what felt like preparing to tackle a sweet old lady—I sprinted forward.
I moved fast. Faster than most people could follow. I launched myself up the porch steps, every muscle coiled, ready to pin her down before she could blink.
But she didn't blink.
She didn't even move.
She simply lifted one hand. Just one.
One moment, I was charging forward. The next, I was airborne, hurtling backwards through the air like a leaf in a windstorm. I hit the trees with a crack, the impact knocking every breath from my lungs. Before I could recover, the branches moved.
They twisted, wrapping themselves around me—snaking around my wrists, ankles, even my chest. Thick and unyielding. The forest wasn't just holding me. It was restraining me. Like it had decided, all on its own, that I was a threat. I couldn't move. Could barely breathe.
From the porch, Emily's voice came, calm and unbothered.
"You're a hundred years too young to worry about me, you brat," she said, like she was chastising a child for tracking mud into the house. "I can take down pups like you in my sleep."
Pinned like some unfortunate insect in a spider's web, I groaned. "Noted."
Then, as suddenly as they had grabbed me, the branches released. They slithered away, back into the canopy, as if they had never been alive at all. I stumbled forward, sucking in a deep breath, brushing bark and dirt from my clothes.
But something inside me had shifted.
Because now I knew—knew for sure—that I wouldn't hurt her. Not even on my worst day. Not even if I completely lost control. Emily wasn't fragile. She wasn't vulnerable.
She would break me before I ever laid a finger on her.
I turned to Richard, who was already lifting another bag from the trunk. He met my eyes with a smirk that said, told you so.
We finished unloading in silence, the air between us filled with something like awe, or maybe just the lingering echo of whatever old, quiet power had just pinned me to a tree.
We walked past Emily, who still hadn't moved from her spot. She looked like a character from an old storybook—timeless, ageless, utterly at home in her surroundings.
But now I knew better.
She wasn't a fairy tale.
And as I stepped over the threshold of the cabin, bags in hand and heart still hammering, only one thought circled in my mind:
I really shouldn't mess with druids.