Chapter 40
Feray
The walk back to the alpha house feels longer than I remember, each step echoing with the rhythm of the fight still playing on repeat in my mind. Every move. Every moment of fear. Every instant of triumph.
Torben and I held our own against that terrifying wendigo—its decaying flesh clinging grotesquely to its monstrous form, its green-fire eyes burning with a hunger that should have frozen me solid with terror.
But it didn't terrify me. Not like it would have before.
Back then, I was smaller. Weaker. Shackled by magical restraints that dimmed my wolf to a whisper and made me believe I was nothing more than a defective witch.
Now, I am free.
My mates have worked tirelessly to remove every chain, break every binding, purge every poison from my system. And what remains is me—stronger than I ever knew I could be, more confident in who I am than I ever dared to dream.
My wolf is a constant presence now, not a distant echo but a voice as clear as my own, guiding me, comforting me, lending me her ancient strength when mine falters.
I'm never truly alone anymore. Even in the darkest moments, she's there—a warmth in my chest, a whisper in my mind, a reminder that we are one and we are powerful.
I feel a sense of independence and self-assurance I've never experienced before, a certainty that settles into my bones like it was always meant to be there. This is who I was born to be.
As we climb the stairs to the alpha house, I shift back to my human form, grateful that my clothes remain intact despite the violence they witnessed. I push the heavy oak door open, stepping aside to allow my mates to enter before me—a habit of protection I've developed without realizing it.
We move through the house slowly, the adrenaline finally beginning to fade and leaving exhaustion in its wake. Khal's shifted form slithers gracefully beside us, his massive basilisk body gliding over the polished floors with serpentine elegance.
Some inhabitants stare at him in terror, shrinking back against the walls with their hands pressed to their mouths.
Others gaze with open awe, having never seen a creature of legend move through their halls before today.
Most simply bow their heads in deference to me as I pass, acknowledging my lineage and my fresh wound with a respect that makes my heart swell.
We reach the suite, and the guys retreat to their rooms without a word, sensing through the bond that I need space to process the turmoil churning inside me.
They give me that gift without being asked—one of the countless ways they've learned to love me.
I head to my room, craving a hot bath to relax muscles that have been coiled tight since the first howl of warning split the morning air.
As I enter the bathroom, I reach for a towel and drape it over the mirror before I can catch even a glimpse of my reflection.
I'm not ready. Not yet. I turn the water on, adjusting the temperature until it's more hot than cold, watching the steam rise in curling wisps that fog the air.
The heat is already soothing, promising relief from the aches that pulse through every fiber of my being.
I peel away my dress—a garment I always dreamed of wearing every day when I was a girl locked away in that magic school, a symbol of the princess I longed to be when everyone told me I was nothing.
Fi fought hard for me to keep that dream alive.
She protected my imagination when the world tried to crush it, allowed me to fall in love with love itself even when I had no reason to believe it existed.
One day, I hope to do the same for her.
Out there, somewhere beyond these frozen mountains, she's learning to open her heart to her own mates.
Tiernan, the sweetest of them, with his gentle soul and unwavering loyalty.
Dezi, who needs to stop running from himself and the feelings that terrify him.
Rev, who longs to be loved for who he truly is rather than the mask he wears.
Khol, the male version of Fi herself, always guarding his twin with a ferocity that mirrors her own.
Her mates are different from mine, but I hope with everything in me that they bring her the same strength and love that mine have given me.
The echoes of the fight still ring in my ears as I turn off the water, releasing a sigh I didn't know I was holding.
I peel away the last remnants of fabric that cling to my skin like a second skin, the weight of it slipping away along with some of the tension in my shoulders.
Gingerly, I step into the bath and let the warmth embrace me like a long-lost friend.
The heat permeates my muscles, loosening the tight knots of tension that had bound me since the battle began.
It's as if I can finally breathe deeply again, the oppressive weight of anger and adrenaline lifting off my chest like a physical burden being set aside.
I defended my people today. I stood as a barrier between them and the creature that hunted us—that hunted me—and I survived.
The memories flash before my eyes unbidden—each strike of claws against my fur, each desperate lunge for the wendigo's throat, the hot spray of black blood across my face, the moment those burning green eyes fixed on mine with ancient, hungry malice.
I force them away, focusing instead on the soothing touch of the water against my skin.
As I wash, I notice the small cuts that crisscross my arms and legs, wounds I didn't even feel in the heat of combat but which now tingle sharply in the hot water.
I run my hands over my muscles, massaging away the ache with gentle, circular motions.
Each stroke is a reminder of my strength and resilience, a testament to the battle hard won.
The water cools too quickly, and I drain some away, twisting the tap to add more heat. I'm not ready to leave this sanctuary yet. I crave the comfort of the warmth for just a little longer—a few more minutes of peace before I have to face what's waiting for me in that covered mirror.
I sink back into the water and rest my head against the edge of the tub, closing my eyes as a gentle warmth unfurls within me.
Easton's accidental gift—the healing factor that flows through my veins now, knitting together torn skin and bruised tissue with supernatural speed.
I feel it working, a pleasant tingle beneath my skin as my body repairs itself.
I reheat the bathwater several times before I finally find the strength to step out.
My mates have given me space, sensing my need to process the turmoil within.
I almost killed that beast myself—almost ripped the dark being from its chest that my wolf says powers such abominations.
If I had pulled it free completely, it would have died.
At least, that's what she told me through our bond, her voice carrying the weight of ancient knowledge.
Her species has hunted wendigos before, in ages when winter wolves ran in packs that numbered in the thousands.
And now, so have I.
"Time for the moment of truth," I mutter to the empty room, wrapping a towel around myself as I walk toward the mirror on unsteady legs.
The cool air brushes against my damp skin, heightening my senses as I reach up and grip the towel I draped over the glass.
My heart pounds against my ribs. My hands tremble slightly.
I pull.
There it is.
The scar.
It begins at my hairline on the left side, a thin silver line that cuts through my skin like a trail left by lightning.
It bisects my eyebrow—somehow, impossibly, it misses my eye, a small mercy I'm profoundly grateful for.
The deepest part carves across the apple of my cheek, the skin there puckered and pink where the wound was worst, before snaking down the left side of my face to end at my jaw.
I study the silver line in the dim bathroom light, the way the skin has knitted back together in a ridge that will mark me forever. The girl who looked back at me from mirrors before is gone. In her place stands someone harder. Someone forged in fire and blood and the desperate will to survive.
Slowly, I reach up and trace my finger down the length of the scar, feeling the slight ridge of healed tissue beneath my fingertip.
We did good, my wolf says, her voice a blend of pride and reassurance.
I feel her presence wrapping around me like a warm blanket, a comforting strength that bolsters my own wavering courage.
My eyes grow icy in the mirror as I stare at my reflection, my wolf rising to join me in assessing the change to my once-flawless skin.
The human part of me—the girl who spent years being told she was worthless, that she would never be beautiful or loved or wanted—that part of me fears how others will perceive this mark. Will they see weakness? Damage? A flaw that proves I'm not fit to be Luna?
But my wolf is proud. This scar was given to us by a polar bear wendigo—a creature of nightmare and legend that should have torn us apart. We survived its attack. We held it at bay until our ancient mates could come to our aid. Because of Torben and me, my people remain safe.
All the doubts I harbored before—the whispered fears that I wasn't strong enough, smart enough, enough in any way that mattered—they melt away like snow in spring, leaving only the certainty of my purpose. I know now what needs to be done.
The first order of business is hunting down the council members responsible for my parents' deaths. Those who still hunt me need to meet their end as well. The basilisk blood. The poisoned babies. The wendigo sent to finish what they started twenty years ago.
I exhale deeply, feeling a newfound resolve harden within me like steel being tempered in ice. This scar is a reminder of my strength. A testament to my survival. A promise of the vengeance yet to come. My wolf and I are ready for what comes next.