Chapter 7 Lillies

Novalyn’s POV

I woke up annoyed.

Not confused. Not dreamy.

Annoyed.

The kind that sits heavy in your chest before you even open your eyes, like your body already knows something is wrong and your brain is just late to the meeting.

I stared at the ceiling for a long moment, jaw tight, then groaned and rolled onto my side. “I swear,” I muttered, “if today starts weird, I’m biting someone.”

No response. Just the soft creak of the cottage settling.

Good.

I dragged myself out of bed, pulled on my clothes, and tied my apron with a sharp tug. The mirror caught my reflection as I passed. Hair a mess. Eyes tired. Expression set in a permanent scowl that said do not talk to me unless you are bleeding or on fire.

That man had ruined my sleep.

That realization alone made me angrier.

“I don’t even know his name,” I said aloud, pointing at my reflection. “This is ridiculous. Absolutely ridiculous.”

The door creaked open, and the cold morning air slapped me in the face like it agreed.

The farm greeted me the way it always did. Clover bleating dramatically like she hadn’t eaten in weeks. Hens clucking and scattering. Marcus the rooster puffing his chest like he owned the place.

“Don’t start,” I warned him.

He started.

I stomped toward the barn, boots hitting the ground harder than necessary. “You are a bird,” I told Marcus. “A loud, arrogant bird. Calm yourself.”

Clover followed me inside, practically stepping on my heels.

“Yes, yes, you’re starving,” I said. “I’m sure the world has been very cruel to you in the last twelve hours.”

I poured feed into her trough. Maisey watched from her pen, unbothered and round and smug.

“Don’t look at me like that,” I told her. “You’re pregnant, not enlightened.”

She sneezed.

I snorted despite myself. “Rude.”

For a few minutes, the routine worked. My hands stayed busy. My thoughts stayed manageable.

Then my chest tightened.

It wasn’t sudden. It crept in slowly, like an unwelcome guest pulling up a chair without asking. A tug. A pressure. A reminder.

I froze mid-sweep.

“No,” I said immediately. “We’re not doing this.”

My wolf stirred, curious and irritated.

“Absolutely not,” I hissed. “He does not get to crawl into my head like he owns it.”

The broom slipped from my hand and clattered to the floor.

Clover jumped.

I didn’t.

I pressed my palms to my thighs and breathed through my teeth. His voice came back uninvited. Low. Certain. The way he’d looked at me like fear was something he could catalogue and control.

Mine.

I scoffed aloud. “The audacity.”

Clover bleated.

“Oh don’t side with him,” I snapped. “You didn’t even hear the tone.”

She chewed louder.

I finished the chores in silence and escaped to the garden before I said something truly unhinged to a sheep.

The soil was cool and damp under my fingers. Lavender brushed against my wrist, releasing its scent. Familiar. Safe. I focused on that.

Herbs didn’t claim you.

They didn’t watch you like they were memorizing your weaknesses.

Maisey waddled closer as I worked. “These are for you,” I told her. “And if you complain, I’m switching to the bitter stuff.”

She snorted.

“Thought so.”

I mixed the herbs inside, grinding harder than necessary. Lavender. Cone flower. Yarrow. Honey. My jaw ached from how tight it was clenched.

When I stepped outside again, the sun was higher.

That’s when I saw it.

Something sat on my porch steps.

My stomach dropped so hard it felt like I’d missed a stair.

I didn’t move at first. Just stared.

White lilies.

Neatly arranged. Fresh. Intentional.

The world seemed to narrow around them.

“No,” I whispered.

My pulse roared in my ears as I took a cautious step closer. Then another. Every instinct screamed at me to turn around, to run, but my feet wouldn’t listen.

I crouched slowly.

The lilies were damp with morning dew. The stems cleanly cut. No note. No sign of who had left them.

My hands started to shake.

White lilies weren’t just flowers.

They were a message.

My chest tightened painfully as memory clawed its way up from somewhere I’d buried it. A different place. Different walls. A door that never stayed locked long enough.

I swallowed hard. “You’re not here,” I whispered. “You don’t know where I am.”

But doubt crept in anyway.

How would anyone know this place?

I glanced around the clearing, suddenly aware of how open it was. The tree line felt closer than it ever had before. Watching.

My wolf growled low, hackles raised.

Good. At least one of us was ready to fight.

I picked the flowers up carefully, like they might burn me. My fingers brushed the petals and a chill went through me.

They smelled clean. Neutral.

Not comforting.

Not familiar.

Unknown.

That scared me more than anything else.

I stood abruptly and shoved the lilies into the bin by the door, slamming the lid shut like that could erase them.

“No,” I said firmly. “You don’t get to find me.”

Clover stood nearby, unusually quiet.

“Don’t look at me like that,” I said, my voice sharper than I meant it to be. “This is nothing. Probably nothing.”

She didn’t bleat.

That didn’t help.

Inside the cottage, I locked the door. Then checked it again. My hands trembled as I leaned against the counter, breathing through the tightness in my chest.

Think. Be logical.

Someone could have passed through.

Someone could have mistaken the place.

But the lilies…

My fingers curled into my apron. “It doesn’t mean they found you,” I told myself. “It doesn’t.”

Still, I didn’t open the windows.

That night, sleep didn’t come easily.

Every sound made me tense. Every creak of wood set my heart racing. I lay awake, staring into the dark, listening for footsteps that never came.

Somewhere far off, a howl drifted through the night.

This time, it didn’t comfort me.

It reminded me that the world was bigger than this farm.

And that hiding never lasted forever.

I'm not running away...not again.