Chapter 18 #3
The silver ribbons pulsed once, and the air filled with a smell that made my throat tighten instantly.
Pine sap.
Woodsmoke.
And something softer underneath.
Lavender.
“Mom,” Daniel whispered, barely audible.
My chest clenched so hard it hurt.
The silver light shifted, and for a heartbeat I saw it—just a flash, like an afterimage burned into the world.
A woman standing where Daniel knelt.
Dark hair pulled back. Strong shoulders. A hand resting on Daniel’s head like a blessing.
Then it was gone.
Daniel’s breath hitched.
I didn’t move. Didn’t speak. Just stayed, because some moments deserved silence.
When Daniel finally opened his eyes, they were bright. Not crying—Daniel didn’t look like a man who let tears fall easily—but wet enough that my throat tightened in sympathy.
He stood slowly, like his bones had gotten heavier.
And then he turned to me and said, voice rough, “Now.”
“Now what?”
“Now you,” he said, and held out his hand.
I stared at it. “Daniel—”
“You don’t have to go in,” he said. “Just… come closer. Let it see you.”
My heart thudded painfully in my chest.
I stepped to the stone ring, fingers still threaded with his.
The silver pool shimmered.
And then—like a breath—light rose and brushed my boots, cool and clean.
I sucked in a sharp inhale.
It didn’t feel like the Moon Clearing.
It felt like being looked at by something ancient that didn’t care what mask I wore.
The light brushed my ankle, my calf, and a pulse of warmth spread through my chest like recognition.
Daniel’s fingers tightened.
The silver ribbon curled up my wrist and paused—hovering, waiting.
I swallowed, throat tight. “It wants—”
“The truth,” Daniel finished quietly.
So I gave it.
Not in words.
In the way my chest ached when I thought of Anna.
In the way fear lived in me like a second heartbeat.
In the way I wanted Daniel and didn’t know how to want something without expecting it to be taken away.
The light warmed, softening around my hand like it had decided something.
Then it faded.
Not rejecting.
Just… acknowledging.
Daniel exhaled, slow. “Yeah.”
“Yeah what?” I asked, voice unsteady.
His mouth curved faintly. “It didn’t push you out.”
I let out a breath that almost sounded like a laugh. “That’s the bar?”
“Welcome to my life,” he said dryly.
I shook my head, and the laugh finally came—quiet, shaky, real.
Daniel stepped closer, slid a hand to my waist, and leaned in until his forehead touched mine.
“This is why I brought you,” he murmured. “Not for pack politics. Not for training. For this.”
“For what?” I whispered.
His voice softened. “For belonging.”
My throat tightened. “That’s a big word.”
“It is,” he agreed. “And I don’t throw it around.”
I swallowed, then said, quieter, “You’re doing the talking thing again.”
Daniel snorted. “Don’t ruin it.”
I smiled despite myself. “I wouldn’t dare.”
He kissed me—slow and sure—right there on the edge of something ancient and hidden and sacred. And for a second, the forest felt like it exhaled around us, patient and alive, like it had been waiting for this moment and wasn’t going to rush it.
When we broke apart, Daniel’s phone buzzed in his pocket.
He pulled it out, glanced at the screen, and his expression sharpened—Alpha slipping back into place.
“Pack business?” I asked.
“Evan,” Daniel said. “Patrol schedule.” He typed a quick response, pocketed it again, then looked at me like he was reluctant to let the moment end. “We should head back.”
“The real world awaits,” I said dryly.
Daniel’s mouth quirked. “Unfortunately.”
I took his hand, tugged him gently toward a flat rock overlooking the ridge.
“I want ten minutes,” I said. “Ten minutes where we talk about something normal.”
Daniel lifted a brow. “Such as?”
“Such as your favorite color,” I said. “Or whether you have any weird hobbies. Or the worst meal you’ve ever cooked.”
His laugh was surprised and genuine. “My favorite color is green. I used to carve wooden figures before I got too busy. And the worst meal I ever cooked was a lasagna that somehow came out both burned and frozen in the middle.”
I stared at him. “How is that even possible?”
“I genuinely don’t know,” he said solemnly. “The physics of it still baffles me.”
I leaned into his side as we sat, his arm coming around me like it belonged there.
“My favorite color is blue,” I admitted. “Deep blue. Like the sky right before full dark.” I hesitated, then added, softer, “And I collect old maps. Not valuable ones. Just… interesting ones. Places that don’t exist anymore. Or never existed at all.”
Daniel turned his head to look at me. “That’s not weird.”
“It’s extremely weird. Anna used to make fun of me constantly.”
The mention of her name didn’t cut the way it used to. It still ached, but softer now. Survivable.
Daniel’s thumb traced slow patterns on my shoulder. “She sounds like she was good for you.”
“She was,” I said quietly. “She really was.”
We sat there watching the valley wake up below, the forest breathing around us, and for a few minutes everything was simple.
No threats.
No politics.
No magic demanding answers.
Just a man beside me who made the loneliness feel less permanent.
“We should go,” Daniel said eventually.
“Probably.”
Neither of us moved.
“Five more minutes,” I said.
“Five more minutes,” he agreed.
And the Evernight, ancient and patient, let us have them.