Two Weeks after Vaelora’s Downfall
Two Weeks after Vaelora’s Downfall
“Alaric.” Evelyne nudged his arm, but he didn’t respond. “Alaric!”
His nightmare had come again. Alaric’s breath sounded ragged, his limbs twitching in his sleep, the soft murmur of whimpering pulling her from her own restless doze.
Evelyne blinked up at the jagged silhouette of stone above her, the tight crevice cloaked in shadow, a narrow refuge from the biting wind howling just beyond the opening.The packs pressed close together for warmth, thin furs their only barrier against the bitter stone of the mountain pass.
Somewhere outside their shelter, Evelyne knew the wolves were circling quietly through the dark, keeping watch for any sign of the Noskari. Kaldrek was among them.
The bloodthirsty creatures had begun hunting them again, and every night had become a gamble. But now Evelyne could reach Kaldrek without speaking. Not because he was her alpha, but because he was her mate.
Heidara had explained it once: an alpha could speak mind to mind with other alphas and with his pack, but any wolf could do the same with a mate.
Evelyne had not understood then why Kaldrek’s voice had reached her so clearly that night in Vaelora’s throne room.
Why it had seemed as real as spoken sound while her fingers locked around her father’s pistol, knuckles white, and Vaelora’s wicked gaze held hers.
Her chest had burned with hatred as she stood on the edge of pulling the trigger.
Do it, Evelyne.
She thought she’d heard the command aloud.
Only later did she realize no sound had passed between them.
It had gone straight into her mind—a silent order carried through the bond, finding her even then, minutes before her first shift, because some part of her had already been his.
And when she finally shifted, she heard him again.
Since that night, everything had begun to unravel, and she had unraveled with it.
There had been endless nights of tears, of grappling with the person she was becoming, of bearing the sting of betrayal and the crushing weight of truths laid bare.
Learning to live as a wolf had not been easy; it was alien in every way.
But now she understood more—the sharpened edge of her senses, the call of instinct, the fierce tenderness of a bond that never asked to be chosen.
And now she could feel him. His emotions. His fear. His relief. His happiness.
She hadn’t meant to discover it. The day after the bond settled into place, an unexpected swell of joy moved through her, so vivid and warm that for one disorienting moment it felt like her own.
But it wasn’t. It was Kaldrek’s, carried to her while he spoke with Holden, and the strange intimacy of it made confusion tighten in her chest.
What is this? she asked quietly in her mind.
His voice followed instantly. You feel my emotions when they rise, just as I feel yours. Forgive me, I’m a bit overwhelmed with happiness at the moment. You’ll just have to deal with it while I brag about my mate.
She blushed at the comment, but the sensation itself had left her reeling.
She learned soon enough that the bond carried more than his joy…
it carried his jealousy too. Especially the morning Alaric pulled her into a warm, friendly hug.
It had meant nothing to either of them, but apparently newly bonded males were not known for their tolerance when another man stood too close.
Poor Alaric never knew what hit him when Kaldrek appeared behind him, all silent heat and menace, practically breathing down his neck until he let her go.
For days, the cold had swept down from the mountain peaks with relentless force.
Evelyne could shift now and make the journey faster, but Cillian had not taken that form since his first transformation—since the night he came to believe Vaelora had made him a killer.
He had been quiet lately, and she let him keep his silence until he was ready to break it.
And then there was Alaric. No wolf blood ran through his veins, and dragging a wooden sled across the unforgiving terrain wasn’t exactly practical. So, they hiked—every step taken on foot, through snow and rock. Making their journey back to Centaro much longer.
Though her body ached and her lips were cracked with cold, Evelyne was grateful for the meat they had packed for the journey.
Back in Nerathar, the wolves hunted snow hare, mountain elk, and some thick-coated creature she did not recognize.
They smoked and dried the meat, then wrapped it in heavy hide and stored it in satchels cushioned with snow.
When fortune allowed, and Alaric somehow stumbled upon a shallow cave or wind-carved hollow that seemed made for shelter, they risked a small fire deep in the stone, just enough to warm their hands and cook a proper meal.
It was strange, really, how often Alaric found what they needed. He moved as though he knew the mountain’s paths before any of them set foot on them. Even the wolves had begun casting him longer looks, touched with either amusement or curiosity; Evelyne couldn’t tell which.
Yet for all his uncanny skill in guiding them through the mountains, something about him felt…
off. Over the past few days, he had spoken little, and when he did, his words felt clipped, nearly hollow.
At first, Evelyne thought she might have done something to upset him, but soon she saw he treated Heidara no differently.
It was a marked change from the easy warmth and playful banter they had shared when the journey home first began.
Perhaps the bitter trek through the mountains was wearing on him.
Unlike the wolves, he had no magic to keep the cold at bay.
Tonight marked the third night in a row she’d been woken by nightmares that were not hers.
She wished Alaric would speak of them. Perhaps in the morning she could gently draw the truth from him.
Talking might help, if only a little. But whenever it surfaced, he only brushed it aside with a tight smile and some vague mention of stress or lingering trauma.
Fair enough. She knew all too well what nightmares could do.
Even with Vaelora gone and her brother safe, they still came, but hers included visions of Kaldrek, his eyes turning black, his hands tightening around her throat until everything faded.
As though his mother’s blood magic had seeped into him, warping him into one of the creatures that had killed her father.
If she couldn’t tell Kaldrek about her own night terrors, then perhaps she wasn’t the right person for Alaric to confide in after all. They were just dreams.
Alaric’s cries rose sharply, echoing off the rock walls, and sweat slicked his brow despite the biting cold.
“Alaric—wake up!” Evelyne shook him more forcefully, and finally, his eyes snapped open, wide with fear. “It was another nightmare. You’re safe. We all are.”
He didn’t answer, just nodded once, then again, over and over, until his ragged breathing began to ease and he exhaled a long, shaky breath.
“You will talk to me about this in the morning,” she said firmly, though her hands were gentle as she pulled a cloth from a nearby bag and dabbed the sweat from his forehead. She may have been a hypocrite, but she couldn’t stand to see her friend like this.
Evelyne didn’t let herself fall back asleep until his eyes had finally closed again and his chest rose and fell in steady rhythm. She could have sworn the blue of his eyes looked darker, but it was probably just the night’s shadow.