The Golden Prodigies

Chapter 48

Are you enjoying the story so far? I would love your feedback :') 

- Sian

Jacota's mind was thrown all the way back to when he was seventeen, lived in a small house with his dad, mum, and brother. He used to get up early and go to college. He felt depressed, full of anxiety, and on the brink of self-destruction. Hunter talked to him in his head, but he thought he was going crazy. Werewolves didn't exist, neither did demons, angels, vampires, and other worlds.

The last time he saw his mother's face, she slapped him when the Rayson's invited Nathan over to their bonfire, and Jacota tried to confront her in front of their families. After that, Grace left a goodbye note and divorce letters for Scott.

Nobody had seen her or heard from her since, or so they thought.

The white wolf was spotted thousands of years ago on the edge of the Rason's territory and had been watching them ever since. Nobody knew it was Grace. Only Hunter, his pack, and Anthony had seen her, and they weren't familiar enough with her scent to pinpoint who it was, but they did recognise her smell.

After all this time, Grace Jones stood in front of her son after shifting from the animal she loathed. Her hair had lightened from years of being in the sun. It's length covered her front and stopped by her waist, hiding her topless body.

"Wait." Bren's voice sliced through Jacota's concentration, forcing him back to the present. "You just called her your mum. That's your mother?" His tone wasn't as snarky as it was before.

"Jacob," Grace said. Her voice hurt her son; it was too familiar.

"My name is Jacota." The God clenched his hands, but his voice was quiet and frail. His body wasn't sure how to react. Should he feel angry? Upset? Pleased that his mother was still alive? Disappointed in himself for buckling under her gaze? Fearful of her return? Jacota knew he should ask her questions, but his words lodged in his throat, unable to be said with confidence.

"That is not the name you were supposed to have," Grace whispered. Her heart was thumping. She told herself that if she ever got the chance to speak to her children again, Grace would say to them that she made a mistake. She would apologise and beg to be a part of their lives, but through the years, her family moved on and were happier without her.

"Grace, you're Jacota's mother?" Bren was now standing next to the God of lightning, staring at the woman with both uncertainty and curiosity.

"Yes."

"No," Jacota said forcefully. "She's not my mother, not anymore." The electricity bolts flickered around his hands. Bren felt the static atmosphere around him. "You walked out of my life so many years ago; I forgot what you looked like."

"Don't say that, please, I've been trying to get you back-"

"Wait, wait, wait." Bren stood between them with his hands up. "You," he said and pointed at Grace, "have been coming to the God's for thousands of years, feeding us information about Jacota and what he was doing to deem himself as unworthy to be our leader. From day one, you said you could prove that he was unworthy. If you're his mother, why would you do that to your son?" Bren pinched the bridge of his nose with a long and tired sigh. "Yeah I'm a horrible guy, and I'm not fond of Jacota, but you're his family."

"We were family," Jacota corrected. "She never wanted me to be a werewolf, let alone a God. Her parents were the most dangerous werewolf hunters in the country. For all you know, she could have been getting information from the Gods and plotting against you- this entire time-" Jacota's words slowed, and his eyes narrowed. "How are you a werewolf?"