Chapter 12 #2
“It was a lie. All of it. But Lysara knew exactly how to seem frightened, how to make herself appear small and victimized. And my stepmother was there to support every word, to speak of the violence she’d witnessed, the threats she’d overheard.
By the time they were finished, half the pack was ready to execute me on the spot. ”
“And you didn’t fight back?”
It wasn’t an accusation, but he heard the question beneath the question. Why didn’t you expose them? Why didn’t you defend yourself?
“What would fighting have accomplished?” He stood and moved to the window, opening the shutters to stare out at the snow-covered mountains.
“I could have challenged Nico for leadership, and I would have won. He was no match for me in combat. But then what? Kill my own brother? Execute my stepmother? Turn on everyone who had believed their lies?”
His claws dug into the window frame.
“The pack would have been torn apart, families divided against each other. Years of bloodshed and bitterness would have weakened us beyond recovery. I could have won the throne and lost everything that made it worth holding.”
“So you left.”
“So I left.” He turned back to face her, though she was still only a shadow in the darkness.
“I walked away from everything I was raised to be. My birthright. My pack. My family. I traveled for a while but I couldn’t stand to be around others.
Eventually I came here, to these mountains, and I’ve been alone ever since. ”
The words fell into silence like stones into deep water.
His fists tightened again as he waited for her judgment, waiting for disgust or pity or dismissal.
He had told her the truth—the ugly, shameful truth of who he was and what he had lost. Any moment now, she would see him clearly for the first time.
A male who had abandoned his own people.
Who had run from conflict rather than face it. Who had chosen exile over honor.
“I can’t imagine how much courage that took.”
He blinked. “What?”
“Your courage.” Her voice was quiet but certain. “You saw what fighting would cost—not just you, but everyone you loved—and you chose their safety over your own pride. That’s not cowardice. That’s bravery.”
The words struck him like a stone against his chest. He stared at her shadow, trying to make sense of what he was hearing.
“You don’t understand,” he said roughly. “I abandoned my heritage. My birthright. Everything my father’s blood entitled me to—”
“You protected your pack.” She cut him off, her voice suddenly fierce. “Even when they didn’t deserve it. Even when they believed lies about you. You chose their survival over your own vindication.”
“That is not—”
“Did anyone die because you left?”
He stopped. “What?”
“In your pack. After you left. Was there a war? A blood feud? Did families turn against each other?”
He thought about it for the first time in years. “No. Nico became Alpha. Vaela had her victory. From what I heard, things… continued.”
“So you made the right choice.”
“I made a weak choice.”
“You made a loving choice.” Her voice shifted, and he heard the rustle of fabric as she moved. “You loved your pack enough to let them go. To let them have peace, even if it cost you everything.”
Something cracked in his chest—some wall he’d built so long ago he’d forgotten it existed. He stood frozen by the window, unable to move, unable to respond, unable to process what she was saying.
He had never thought of it that way. It was easier to see himself as a coward, as a male who had given up rather than fight for what was his. The shame was familiar, comfortable in its way. Reframing his choices as something noble was foreign and terrifying.
“You don’t know what you’re saying,” he managed.
“I know exactly what I’m saying.” Her voice was closer now, and he realized she had crossed the cabin towards him.
“I know what it means to be trapped by expectations. To have everyone see you as one thing when you’re really something else entirely.
I know what it costs to choose something different, even when everyone around you says you’re wrong. ”
Her scent wrapped around him as she moved quietly to his side, and his beast stirred with desperate longing.
“Ember—”
“You’re not a coward, Rykan. You’re not a failure.” She stopped in front of him, close enough to touch but not quite touching. “You’re someone who made an impossible choice and lived with the consequences. That’s not weakness. That’s strength.”
Something changed in her silence—a shift he felt rather than heard. Then she reached for him, her small hands finding his chest in the darkness.
He caught her wrists, holding her still. “What are you doing?”
“I want to touch you.”
“Why?”
She was quiet for a moment, and when she spoke, her voice was soft and uncertain. “I don’t know. Maybe I want to comfort you. Maybe I need comfort myself. Maybe I just need to be close to you right now.”
His hands trembled on her wrists. Every instinct screamed at him to pull her closer, to bury his face in her hair and let her warmth chase away the cold that had lived in his chest for six long years.
But another part of him—the part that had learned the hard way not to trust, not to hope, not to let anyone close enough to hurt him again—held back.
“You should go back to bed,” he said, but the words had no force behind them.
She didn’t move. “Should I?”
The question hung between them.
He should say yes. He should put distance between them before this went any further, protecting both of them from the inevitable pain of hoping for something that could never last.
Instead, his hands slid from her wrists to her arms, drawing her closer.
“No,” he heard himself say. “Stay.”
She melted against him, her head finding the space against his chest like it had been made for her. He wrapped his arms around her small form, feeling the warmth of her body seep into his bones, feeling something in his chest slowly, painfully begin to unclench.
They stood there in the darkness, holding each other, neither one speaking. The fire crackled behind them. The wind howled outside. And for the first time in six years, he didn’t feel alone.