Christmas with my Off-Limits Alpha (Feuding Hearts Christmas)

7. Ava Mooney

Ava Mooney

Chapter Seven

S itting cross-legged on my childhood bed, I’m wrapped in a faded quilt from shoulder to lap. The soft, lightly stuffed comforter brings little relief from the chill I feel in my bones. It’s a cold that seeps deeper than skin, burrowing into my core.

“ Leave Snowy Pines.” My father told me to leave. Again! “ You never should have come back . Look at the trouble you cause just being here .”

How could he? His biting words echo in my mind, each repetition a fresh stab of pain.

The tears I refused to let him see fall unchecked now. I brush the damp from the worn leather journal in my lap and clutch it to my breast as sobs wrack my body. The anguish I’ve been holding back floods through me like a broken dam. I curl into myself, rocking slightly as years of hurt and rejection pour out in heaving gasps.

It feels like hours before the storm of emotion subsides. My throat is raw, my eyes puffy and sore. I take a shuddering breath, hoping to center myself. The pain of being banished again cuts deep, maybe deeper than the first time. Back then, I was a scared kid, unsure of my place in the world. Now?

Now I’m a woman who knows what she wants, who she is.

I close my eyes, remembering the confusion and heartbreak of that first exile. The raw emotions, being torn from everything I knew, thrust into a world that didn’t understand me. But this time is different. This time, I’m not that helpless child anymore.

As my breathing steadies, a spark of anger ignites in my chest. It grows, fueled by years of frustration and the fresh laceration of my father’s words. But instead of consuming me, it hardens into resolve. I’m not going anywhere. I came back to Snowy Pines for answers, and I’ll be damned if I leave without them.

With trembling hands, I open the journal that’s been clutched to my chest. Its comforting scent of old leather and paper reminds me of why I’m here. As I flip through the pages, my determination grows. I will find the truth about my mother, about myself, about this town. And no one, especially not my father, is going to stop me.

The pages crinkle as I turn them, filled with her looping script and familiar stories. “Town history... I’ve heard this before,” I mutter, frustration building. “Read this three times already. What am I missing?”

My fingers trace around the edges of the pages, seeking something, anything new. She was a doodler. The margins are filled with tiny images of whatever was on her mind: motorcycles, trees, flowers, a treasure chest, a rocking chair complete with teddy bear and blanket, stars and moons…

Wait. What was it about the treasure chest?

I peer at it, moving the book closer, but I can’t quite make out the detail. Is that a smudge or a doodle so tiny as to be invisible? Grabbing a magnifying glass, I look closely.

“It’s not a treasure chest.” Scowling, intensely focused, I search my mind for what makes it familiar as I stare at the magnifying glass so hard my vision blurs.

It comes to me in an instant and I look across the room at my dresser and the handcrafted jewelry box my mother gave me on my ninth birthday. The same one her mother gave to her and handed down through generations of Kitsuné mothers and daughters. That’s the image she drew in the margin!

“But is there a message for me?” I return to the book using the magnifying glass again and scour the drawing. It’s meticulously detailed. How she drew such a factual rendition of the jewelry box in such a tiny space is amazing.

And then I spot the clue. It is not a smudge.

“A fox! A tiny white Kitsuné surrounded by a heart frame filled in with dark pencil.” It’s the contrast that caught my attention. This is a message from my Mother! One only I would recognize.

Heart racing, I leap off the bed and dash to the jewelry chest, bringing it down to my dressing table for closer examination. Using the magnifying glass again, I examine the entire box bit by bit.

My nails scrape against wood as I search for a hidden latch. The ornate carvings beneath my fingertips feel different now—more purposeful than decorative. There’s a subtle ridge along the bottom edge that doesn’t match the rest of the craftsmanship. My breath catches as I press each corner methodically, listening for any telltale click.

The wood is smooth from years of handling, but there’s definitely something here. When my thumb brushes against a slightly raised portion of the intricate fox design on the right side, I feel it give way ever so slightly. A secret compartment—Mother loved secret her hiding places.

Click. A false bottom pops open, revealing another journal. And atop the book is her beautiful stone necklace. I remember it well. In pictures, she’s wearing it on her wedding day. And I remember hear wearing it on many special occasions.

The lucky fox figurine. The journals. And now the necklace. These are items I came here to find. She left them for me. Somehow. I’m certain. She left them for me to discover.

Tenderly laying the necklace back in the hidden drawer, I close it for safekeeping and turn to the second journal.

It is older; the leather cracked and pages yellowed. I cradle it gently, settling back on the bed. The first page makes my breath catch.

“The Way of the Kitsuné,” I read aloud, voice muted yet hopeful.

Page after page unfolds a history I never knew existed. Centuries of lore, histories, conflicts, and wondrous stories.

Tucked between the last page and the cover is a lavender envelope with one word penned in my mother’s script, “Ava.”

My hands shake, nearly tearing the delicate paper as I open the envelope and begin reading.

My darling Ava. It is my dearest hope when your menses arrive in a few years and you feel the first pull of your Kitsuné heritage that I will be with you to guide you along your amazing path, the Way of the Kitsuné.

I have had a vision, dear heart, and fear I must take precautions in case I am no longer on this earth when you come into your powers.

Guard and protect this journal, and the others when you find them, with your life, child. These are the words that define us and must be embraced by each generation of Kitsuné.

There is so much I want to say and share with you. I fear there is not enough time to do more than ensure you will know to search for your heritage. I have done what I can to protect what is yours by right. The necklace represents the thirteen powers of the Kitsuné. It is yours. I give it to you as it was given to me, as you will give it to your daughter or daughter’s daughter.

Live your life in love, Ava.

And child, forgive your father. Please. He will make many mistakes. Out of fear, he will hide his love and push away your love. He never wanted the Kitsuné life for you and does not understand it’s not a choice. You are Kitsuné, and the Way of the Kitsuné will find you. It will not be denied.

I have failed to bring him to an understanding this. You will show him the truth of your path by living it. Help him find his way back to love, Ava. Forgive him, for my sake, for he is worthy of our love, daughter. Show him how to forgive himself.

Farewell, my child. I am ever and always your loving mother. Search for me when you come into your power. I will be waiting.

“No,” I breathe. Forgive Dad? How could he not tell me? How could he keep me from my heritage all these years?

I want to scream, to confront him right now. But a cold dread settles in my stomach. If he kept this from me, what else is he hiding? Are the accusations Diggs made real?

“Is he protecting me?” I wonder aloud, voice cracking. “Or just covering his own ass?”

The more I read, the more alone I feel. Everything I thought I knew about my family, my heritage, my place here—it’s beautiful. And denied to me because my father could not face what I am, what my mother was.

I slam the journal shut, unable to take any more. Anger bubbles up, hot and fierce. How dare he keep this from me? I’m not a fragile human who needs sheltering. I’m Kitsuné, for fuck’s sake.

But beneath the anger, a sadness creeps in. All those times I felt like I didn’t belong, like there was something wrong with me for being different. If I’d known the truth...

I tuck both books into my backpack and grab my keys and jacket, the journal’s revelations burning in my mind. The walls of my childhood home press in, suffocating me. I can’t face Dad, not yet.

My boots thud against the wooden stairs as I rush out. The cold air hits my face, a shock that barely registers through the turmoil in my head. I swing my leg over my bike. The familiar leather seat is hard and cold, offering no comfort.

The engine roars to life, and I’m gone.

Snow-covered trees blur past as I speed out of town. My mind races faster than my bike. I can’t stay in his house. Not after what I found out. The betrayal cut deep, leaving me hollow.

I take the winding road into the woods, muscle memory guiding me. I don’t know who to trust. Do my brothers know? Are they part of this conspiracy to keep me from being who I am meant to be? The thought echoes, a painful reminder of how alone I truly am.

The trees grow denser, branches reaching out like grasping fingers. I push my bike harder, as if I could outrun the truth I’ve uncovered. But it clings to me, as inescapable as my own shadow.

I slow as I approach a familiar clearing. Two streams converge here, their gentle burbling a stark contrast to the chaos in my head. It’s no surprise to find myself drawn here. This is where Liam and I used to come... it was a lifetime ago. Yet, it’s familiar. Soothing. Safe.

Killing the engine, I let the silence of the woods wash over me. I need space. I need to breathe. But even here, surrounded by nature, the air feels thick with secrets and lies.

I walk to the edge of the stream, my boots crunching through the snow. The water flows on, oblivious to my turmoil. How many times did Liam and I sit here, dreaming of a future we never had?

“Dammit!” I yell, my voice echoing through the trees. A flock of birds takes flight, startled. I envy their freedom.

I sink to my knees, not caring about the cold seeping through my jeans. The journal’s words flash through my mind. Her letter… “Forgive him.”

My fist connects with the frozen ground. Pain shoots up my arm, but it’s nothing compared to the ache in my chest. How could he keep this from me? All those years of feeling different, feeling wrong... and he knew. He knew, and he said nothing.

I look at my reflection in the stream. My eyes, flecked with gold, stare back at me. The mark of my Kitsuné heritage—a heritage my father seems to have betrayed.

“Who am I supposed to be?” I whisper to my reflection. The rushing water offers no answer.

I strip off my clothes, letting them fall to the forest floor. The cool air kisses my skin, and I close my eyes, focusing on the shift. It’s instinctual, but I’m not very good at it. I’ve only shifted a couple of times.

The change ripples through me. My senses sharpen. The world explodes into vivid detail. The loamy scent of the earth fills my nostrils, rich and complex. I taste the crisp pine on my tongue, hear the rustling of small creatures in the underbrush.

I open my eyes, and the world has transformed. Colors are brighter, more saturated. I see individual droplets of dew clinging to blades of grass, catch the glint of sunlight on a spider’s web.

This is what I needed.

My paws sink into the soft earth as I take off running. The wind rushes through my fur, carrying a symphony of scents—decaying leaves, fresh water, the musk of deer that passed through hours ago. Each breath fills me with life, pushing away the suffocating weight of betrayal and lies.

I dart between trees, leaping over fallen logs. My body moves with a grace and surety I never feel in my human form. Here, in the depths of the forest, I’m not the sheriff’s daughter or the girl struggling to fit in. I’m just... me.

A rabbit darts across my path, and for a moment, I give chase. Not to catch it, but for the pure joy of the run. My heart pounds, but it’s from exertion now, not anxiety. The forest floor flies beneath my paws, and I feel invincible.

I skid to a stop at the edge of a small clearing, panting. Sunlight streams through the canopy, dappling the ground. I flop onto my back, rolling in the soft grass. The earth cradles me, and I feel its steady, ancient heartbeat.

This is who I am. Not the confused, crying girl back at the house—this.

For the first time since I found the second journal, I feel a sense of peace. The secrets and lies still exist, but they can’t touch me here. In this form, connected to the primal energy of the forest, I’m free.

I close my eyes, letting my other senses paint a picture of the world around me. The chatter of squirrels in the branches above. The whisper of wind through leaves. The rich tapestry of scents that tells the story of this place better than any book ever could.

I am Kitsuné. I am nature itself. And for now, that’s enough.

I pad back to the stream, my fox form melting through the brush as I approach the spot where I left my clothes. The forest is quiet, save for the gentle burbling of water over rocks. Something’s off. My nose twitches, catching an unfamiliar scent.

A massive wolf, silver-gray and powerful, sniffing at my sweater. My muscles tense, ready to bolt, but then our eyes lock.

Those eyes. I know those eyes.

Liam.

Before I process this revelation, he’s moving. With one graceful leap, he clears the stream, landing near another pile of clothes I hadn’t noticed. In a blink, the wolf is gone, replaced by Liam’s human form.

He pulls on his shirt, his voice projecting without shouting. “Ava!” Amazement spreads across his words. “You are Kitsuné.”

My shift happens almost involuntarily, leaving me standing, naked and stunned. I scramble for my clothes, my mind reeling.

“You... you’re a shifter?” The words tumble out as I grab my clothes and duck behind a rock.

Liam nods, his blue eyes never leaving mine. “Wolf. Alpha of the Shadow Claw pack.”

The adrenaline fades, replaced by a warmth spreading through my chest. Liam is like me. I’m not alone in this supernatural mess.

“Huh. Pack. Wolfpack. Hiding behind a motorcycle club. Great cover story.” Grabbing my sweater, I tug it over my head, followed in short order by my jeans, skipping the underclothes in a rush to get the basics covered.

“How long have you known…” Sitting on the rock, I put on my socks and sneakers and stuff the rest of my clothes into my backpack. “that I’m Kitsuné?”

“I’ve always suspected you had shifter blood. The way you move, your scent. It’s more than human. But until now, seeing you in your fox form... I didn’t know for sure. You are beautiful, Ava.”

His words send a shiver down my spine that has nothing to do with the cool forest air. For the first time in forever, I feel seen. Really seen.

“I’ve never met another shifter,” I admit, my voice barely above a whisper. “Well, not that I know of, anyway.”

Liam takes a step closer, his expression softening. “It’s lonely, keeping a secret like this. Especially in a town like Snowy Pines.”

I nod, thinking of all the times I’ve felt like an outsider, even in my family. “You have no idea.”

“Maybe I do,” Liam says, a hint of a smile playing at his lips. “Want to talk about it?”

I hesitate, years of keeping my guard up wavering against a desperate need to be acknowledged. “Yeah.”

I surprise myself with how much I mean it. “I really do.”

In the end, need wins out. We sit cross-legged on the grass, the rush of the stream a soothing backdrop to the chaos in my mind. Liam stretches his legs out beside me, his presence as solid and reassuring as the rock he leans against.

“So...” My fingers absently trace the outline of my fox tattoo. Saying yes to talking about it does not make the actual words come any easier. “I found these journals in my mom’s old things. And... fuck, Liam. It’s like everything I thought I knew about this town, about my family, is bullshit.”

As I speak, a weight lifts from my chest. Liam listens, his expression serious but open. He gets it. He knows what it’s like to carry the burden of secrets and expectations.

I let out a bitter laugh. “I’m a fucking mess. I’m caught between two worlds, and I don’t belong in either of them. And now, with all this history...” I trail off, doodling shapes with my finger in the snow.

Liam shifts closer, his warmth a comforting presence. “You’re not alone in this, you know. Being caught between worlds... it’s something I understand all too well.”

I look at him, really look at him, and see the weight of responsibility in his eyes. The Alpha of the Shadow Claw pack, navigating the human world and the supernatural one. Maybe he does understand.

“I often wonder how many of the humans choose to turn a blind eye, pretend we’re not shifters. I find it impossible that generations of people living in this community truly believe Shadow Claw and Iron Wolves are ordinary MCs. Think about it. Both 'clubs' existed before motorcycles. What do you suppose they called us back then? Horse Clubs? Buggy Clubs?

I chuckle at the idea. “How do you do it? Balance it all?”

Liam’s lips quirk into a half-smile. “Who says I do? It’s a constant struggle. But having people you trust, people who understand both sides of you... it helps.”

His words sink in, and I realize that’s exactly what’s happening here. For the first time since I came back to Snowy Pines, maybe since my mother’s death, there’s someone who sees all of me—the human, the Kitsuné, and the confused mess in between.

“Thanks, Liam.” I wipe across my eyes with an edge of my sweater. “For listening. For... getting it.”

He nods, his eyes never leaving mine. “Anytime, Ava. In fact, I really mean that. I’ve realized something as we’ve been talking. My dad. He knew. He knew you were Kitsuné. He also knew your father couldn’t handle it. Your mother…she must have had something to do with it…”

“Do with what, Liam?” He catches my eye and I see a lightness that wasn’t there a short time ago.

“I could never figure out why he insisted I learn everything possible about the Kitsuné. I mean, wolves and foxes don’t mix.”

We share a grin, and suddenly I’m thinking about just how much I want to mix with this particular wolf.

His smile widens as he growls, “Don’t sidetrack me, woman.”

Ignoring my batting eyes and mock lecherous leer, he continues.

“She knew there would be no one to teach you. To the Kitsuné using their powers is only partly instinctive. Kitsuné must learn and coax their talents out of hiding. It’s like you have to earn your powers. Wolves do this, too, on a smaller scale. We have to learn to become one with our inner wolf, to control his animal nature and nurture his instinctive needs.”

“You think my mother asked your father to teach me?”

He leans toward me and takes my hand. “No. I think your mother asked my father to teach ME to teach you. They had to know how strong our connection is, Ava. Your mother had second sight, right? She knew I’d be here and neither of them would be.”

A chill spins through my body, having nothing to do with the thrill I feel having Liam hold my hand.

“Whoa. That’s fucking Machiavellian. And totally fits.”

Neither of us speaks for a long moment. It’s an adjustment to realize how our lives were manipulated, even when it might be a good manipulation.

“Well, wax on, wax off, dude. When do we start?”

He grins and rises. “Not now. Time to get back before we’re missed. Is tomorrow soon enough?”

“Here?”

“Yes, here. Nobody comes to this clearing but us. I’ve let it be known this is my quiet place, and we’ll need privacy. It’s about the only place I can be sure they won’t come looking for me. Six am. You bring the coffee.”

“See you then, Mr. Miyagi.”

As we sit our bikes and ride the road side-by-side back to Snowy Pines, I feel a spark of hope. Whatever comes next, I’m not facing it alone.