The Half Blood

I needed answers.

I pounded my feet against the floor as I sprinted.

Not stopping till I reached the quaint hotel near the city where we were staying for our vacation.

I burst through Maeve’s room door, panting.

“N-Nala,” her eyes widened at the sight of me. “What is going on?”

“I just saw something,” I said. “In the forest.”

“Like a monster?”

“No,” I paused. “More like a vision.”

Maeve smirked. “Maybe the witchy half of you is finally kicking in.”

“Don’t laugh. This is serious.”

Her face fell when she saw the grave expression on my face.

“What did you see?”

“I saw myself,” I gulped before continuing, “with a man.”

“Who was he?”

“That’s the issue. I couldn’t see his face.”

“Can I take a look?” Maeve asked, reaching her hands out to me.

While I was born a werewolf, my sister inherited our father's magic. She was good at manipulating dreams and memories. She could make you remember them, learn things, and control them.

We usually did these rituals in her bedroom. She shut all the blinds and started lighting candles, red ones when it was a matter of the heart, as she liked to call it.

When we were younger, Maeve needed spellbooks, but now that she had grown up and practiced under the guidance of our father, she didn’t need them anymore.

Maeve brought her rose quartz crystal and a few others I did not recognize and arranged them in a circle between us.

We sat, eyes closed, facing each other, on a pair of comfy velvet pillows.

I never knew what to do during these rituals, so I usually just stayed quiet and let Maeve lead. While I was technically a crossbreed, I had not demonstrated any magical powers, beyond the whole werewolf thing of course.

Maeve took a few deep breaths, rubbed her palms together gently, and placed them on both my temples. She muttered spells under her breath; I could not make out the words. At first, her hands felt cold, but with every whisper that came out of her mouth, her hands got warmer and warmer. It wasn’t an uncomfortable warmth, but it did make my skin tingle. It felt like her hands were merging with my head. Then she went quiet.

“Pass me my pen and paper,” she muttered.

I quickly rummaged through her bags and found them right at the bottom.

The moment the pencil touched her fingertips, her hand started moving, etching lines on the page. Even though her eyes were still closed, I could see a face beginning to form. I tried to make out the face of the man, but I did not recognize him. No matter how hard I tried, I could not recall those god-like features.

When Maeve’s eyes flew open, she immediately looked down at her work.

“Do you recognize him?” She asked.

I shook my head.

“Neither do I,” she added, disappointed. “But Nala, this is the face of your mate.”

I stared back at her in shock.

“My mate?” I snorted.

“Yes,” she replied plainly.

“Come on,” I rolled my eyes. “Be serious. We both know that that’s never happening. I just lost my mind there in the forest back there for a second.”

“I am being serious. This man is your mate.”

Could it be?

Don’t be silly, I reminded myself. ~If you had a mate, he would have shown himself to you by now.~

"I don’t know Maeve,” I started to say. “I think I've given up. Maybe by now he's given up too."

“Look, do not ever give up on finding him. That man is your other half."

"Maeve, I'm honestly afraid to meet him, after what happened to you..." I felt stupid at that moment when I tried to mention her past. Her gaze turned somber, her expression grave.

“My situation was different, Nala. Mine was a human, and you know that humans don’t feel the bond like us. I am divorced, yes, and I suffered a lot when I discovered he was cheating on me, but I regret nothing.”

Just as I was about to apologize for bringing up the memory, the door swung open. It was our mother and father, back from their lunch.

“Girls!” Our mother exclaimed, giving Maeve a hug first, then me. “How has your day been so far?”

Maeve glanced at me, clearly unsure what I wanted to share and what I wanted to keep a secret.

“Everything alright?” My father asked, noticing the ritualistic set up in front of us.

“Yes,” I jumped in, quickly trying to divert his attention. “All good. Just doing our usual—”

“Sketches?” My mother asked, noticing the sketch tucked under Maeve’s leg.

Before Maeve could stop her, my mother pulled the page up closer to her face.

“That excited to be in the Royal Kingdom are we?” She laughed inexplicably. “Darling look, Maeve and Nala seem to have a bit of a crush brewing.”

“What do you mean?” I asked.

Maeve appeared to be just as confused as I was. Meanwhile, my father, after seeing the portrait, started laughing hysterically along with my mother.

“Sweethearts,” my mother chuckled. “That’s a portrait of King Alaric.”