Cozy • An Embry Story

.31

Winnie's POV

Werewolves are real... Werewolves are real.
Werewolves are real... Werewolves are real.
Werewolves are real... Werewolves are real.

"You knew?"

"Of course I knew, Winifred." Enola rolls her eyes at me.

After a night of barely sleeping I was at Enola's door bright and early at six, absolutely restless with questions. She wasn't surprised to see me that early, but was more interested that I didn't come demanding explanations sooner. Embry had spent all day yesterday promising me he would answer my more loaded questions with the pack, but once he left there wasn't anyone to keep assuring me.

The shock had worn off to give way to astonishment. Now I'm less in awe and now feel the beginning of an existential crisis sinking in.

"I was getting worried there you'd find out when it was too late. I wanted to tell you sooner, but Quil Senior kept telling me how it wasn't my place," Enola waves off with a bitter grumble.

"Too late?" Like yesterday, I land on one question then immediately have three more.

Werewolves are real... Werewolves are real.
Werewolves are real... Werewolves are real.
Werewolves are real... Werewolves are real.

"Why wasn't it your place? You said my grandparents would have wanted me to know." I feel small on the stool in my pajamas watching Enola ready something for breakfast. Not small in the sense of belittled, but like I'm five again.

I came over looking crazy. With mismatching pjs, hair falling out of what started as a braid, and flannel bottoms damp from the morning dew from marching across the yard to Enola's back door. I've never seen Enola this casual. I caught her quite literally at first thing in the morning—at the first morning light. It's still blue out and she's still in her robe and slippers. Despite being an early riser, I caught her too early. Enola's eyes are still a bit puffy with sleep while mine are probably lined with dark underbags.

"It was Embry's place." Enola sighs, taking a pause to give me a look. "Now your grandparents would have wanted you to know. But Quil was right, it wasn't my place. It was Embry's." Enola says more to herself than to me, going somber as she glares at the frying pan like there's something unfair about it.

"He was scared I wouldn't believe him." I supply gently. That seems to bring Enola back from whatever memory she was in, reminding her I'm here in her kitchen.

"What does that boy have to be scared of?" Enola scoffs, back in her usual spirits with a mean but keen look in her eyes. "He's a werewolf."

There it is... someone finally admitting it out loud that werewolves are real. Hearing it from Enola is chill inducing as it is gratifying. Enola doesn't bullshit—she barely even jokes. The truth rattles around in my head, nearly bringing on a sudden headache before giving me jitters, then landing at the bottom of my stomach in an all certain, concrete realization that werewolves are real.

Werewolves are real... Werewolves are real.
Werewolves are real... Werewolves are real.
Werewolves are real... Werewolves are real.

I can't even fathom how I responded so unafraid yesterday. Though, I'm aware without Embry here to assure me, the existence of werewolves is now all teeth and claws, and less of a protector without Embry.

"You haven't eaten since you found out, haven't you?" Enola eyes me.

"How do you know?" I ask, suddenly desperate for a glass of water and the greasiest plate of anything from the Lodge.