Aftermath
Gabrielle POV
I don’t understand what I’m feeling – only that my body does.
My body settles before my mind can catch up, heart slowing instead of racing. My breath steadies, like it’s finally remembered how.
This is what dreams feel like. Only more quiet. That’s how I know this isn’t real. Reality doesn’t offer comfort so easily.
I don’t dare move. Don’t dare test it. Everyone knows dreams break the moment you do.
He stands at the foot of the bed. Tall, broad, impossibly solid for something my mind must have invented. Not just height, but presence. Stillness. Like the room has rearranged itself around him.
When he looks at me, something in my chest goes quiet.
Not desire. Recognition.
Like I’ve been holding myself wrong my entire life, and he’s corrected it just by existing.
When he looks at me, it feels intimate in a way that has nothing to do with skin.
Like he’s seeing through me. Listening for something buried deep inside my bones.
I swallow, suddenly aware of how small I am. Not weak, just… soft in ways he is not.
“This is her,” he says. Not a question.
Rowan nods once. “She’s awake.”
He steps closer, like he can't help it. Eyes settling on me with a focus that feels deliberate.
My fingers curl slightly against the blanket. Heat pools in places it shouldn't.
I want to look away, but I can't move. Can't speak.
The tension cloaks the room now, suffocating.
Finally Rowan coughs, awkward, and Luca looks away.
“She’ll stay with you while she's healing,” Rowan says to Amara. “I need to borrow our alpha for a moment. Pack business. I'll stop by the cabin later to check in.”
Amara doesn’t look away from me.
“Of course,” she responds.
Luca thunders out the door.
I can't help a small sigh of disappointment from slipping free.
Rowan hesitates just for a beat, then follows. The door closing softly behind him.
Silence stretches.
For a moment, the room is still.
Then voices carry back through the corridor.
Low. Taut.
Rowan first. “You felt it too. Don't pretend you didn't."
A pause. Footsteps. Luca doesn’t answer straight away.
“That doesn’t mean anything,” he says finally.
“It means something,” Rowan replies. “And you know it.”
I hold my breath.
“She’s hurt,” Luca snaps. “She’s barely present. Whatever you think is happening– ”
“I think the land recognized her,” Rowan cuts in. “I think it’s been waiting longer than we realized.”
Silence.
Then Luca, quieter now. Controlled.
“She’s not what you think – she can't be.”
“She crossed the boundary without knowing what it meant,” Rowan says. “That shouldn’t have been possible.”
A lowl growl comes from Luca – sharp with frustration. “That doesn’t change what she is.”
Their voices drop lower. I strain to hear.
“You don’t get to decide this for her.” Rowan retorts.
Luca exhales hard, “I have to think of the pack. My parents nearly lost it all – consumed by each other. Is that what you want?"
Rowan doesn’t answer immediately.
When he does, his voice is firm.
“I want you to think before you touch her. Before you dismiss whatever this is.”
Silence.
“You want me to stay away from her?” Luca asks, voice tight.
Then Rowan, softer now. Not angry. Something worse.
"It's not what I'm saying. I just want you to think before denying it."
A sigh and a pause, before he adds, "A bonded alpha is a stronger alpha."
Their voices fade, as they move down the corridor.
The room feels colder without them.
A gentle squeeze brings me back.
“You were very brave,” Amara says eventually.
“I didn’t feel brave,” I admit.
She inclines her head. “That’s usually how it is.”
Her gaze drifts – not to my face, but to my ankle, to the bandaging, to the faint smear of dried blood at the edge of the sheets.
Then, briefly, to my necklace.
She doesn’t comment, but her gaze lingers.
When she looks back at me, her expression is unreadable.
“Rest now,” she says. “Questions later. You'll be staying with me while you heal.”
A flicker of sympathy passes through her eyes.
With a quiet sigh, she says, “He’s not so bad when you get to know him. Give it time. He doesn't like what he doesn't understand.”
Her eyes meet mine.
“You’re safe here,” she says, reaching out, resting two fingers lightly against my wrist.
Her touch is warm. Steady.
“You crossed a line today,” she says quietly. “Not one you were meant to see yet.”
My breath catches. “What does that mean?”
She smiles then – just a little.
“It means,” she says, “That nothing will be quite as simple for you now.”
I lie there, heart pounding, staring at the ceiling.
Not ready.
Waiting.
Whatever they think I am – whatever they’re afraid of – I think it's already found me.