Chapter 47 Mo
Mo
Over the next few days, Sophie grows stronger.
She eats more, sleeps less, and speaks more freely.
She spends hours on the porch, watching the pack work and calling out suggestions.
They listen to her. They remember who she was before, the omega who took care of everyone, knew every pack member’s favourite food, and could settle anything with a soft word and a kind smile.
She also has bad days, when she spends the entire day curled in bed, shaking, eyes vacant, but those are becoming less frequent.
The brown wolf remains a constant presence. I catch Sophie watching him sometimes, her expression thoughtful.
On the twelfth day, Sophie joins the gardening crew. She can only work for an hour before exhaustion forces her back to the cottage, but her face glows with accomplishment. The next day, she stays out a little longer. And the next, longer still.
“I think it’s time for you to go back,” she says quietly one afternoon.
“What?” I ask. “Soph, I don’t want to leave you—”
“You’re not leaving me,” she says. “You’re going home. There’s a difference.”
Home.
“I’ll visit all the time,” I promise. “And when you’re stronger, you can come and stay with me for a few days. See the lake. Meet everyone properly.”
Sophie smiles. “I’d like that.”
“You’re sure you’ll be okay here?”
She looks out at the compound, at the people moving through it. “I’m where I need to be right now. Healing this place while it heals me.”
Her eyes drift to the wolf, who lifts his head as if he can feel her attention. “Besides,” she adds softly. “I’m not alone, not anymore.”
I watch the wolf watching her. The way his eyes never leave her when she’s outside. The way he positions himself is always within reach but never crowding.
The last thing Sophie needs is another alpha a-hole controlling her life. But this wolf feels different. This one seems like he’d set fire to heaven and earth just to keep her safe.
* * *
The guys are waiting for me by the trucks. Archer leans against the hood, arms crossed. Elias sits on the tailgate, swinging his legs. Silas stands apart, watching me walk toward them. And Darius is behind the wheel.
I stop in front of them.
“There’s something I need to tell you,” I say. “My name isn’t Blue. It’s not Bluebelle O’Reilly, either, before any of you smartasses bring that up.”
Elias opens his mouth. Archer elbows him.
“My name is Mo. Moira. But if any of you call me Moira, I’ll end you.”
Elias grins. “Mo. Short, angry, and to the point. Suits you.”
Archer nods. “Mo.”
Darius looks at me through the open window. “Mo,” he says. And the way he says it, low and certain, like he’s filing it somewhere permanent, makes my chest do something cartwheels.
Then Silas steps forward. He’s looking at me the way he always looks at me, steady and warm and completely present. His lips part. And for the first time in ten years, Silas speaks.
“Mo.”
One word. One syllable. Rough and cracked, and barely a sound.
Nobody moves.
Elias’s mouth falls open. Archer goes still. Darius turns in his seat, his eyes wide.
I stare up at Silas. His eyes are bright, and he’s looking at me like my true name was the only word worth breaking his silence for.
My eyes burn. I step into him, press my face against his chest, and his arms close around me.
“Yeah,” I say against his shirt. “That’s me.”
He holds me, and nobody says a word; it’s not needed.
I climb into the truck, and Elias hops in beside me while Silas takes the other side, his hand finding mine on the seat between us.
As we pull away, I look back at the compound one last time. Sophie is on the porch, one hand raised. The wolf lies at her feet.
I face forward.
Home.