Chapter 17
Morning found her slowly. Pale light spilled across the sheets, brushing her skin like breath. She reached for him without thinking, half in dream, half in memory, seeking the warmth that had held her through the night. Her hand met only cool linen. He was gone.
No.
The ache came fast.
She rose onto her elbows, heart tightening. She had spent too many mornings alone, but this one felt different. Crueler. Without him, the silence pressed harder. She was not ready to lose the weight of him yet. Her gaze swept the room looking for a trace of him. Anything.
Then she saw it. A slip of parchment, faintly creased, resting where his head had been. Her breath hitched.
She reached for it, fingers trembling as they touched the edge. The paper felt fragile. Intimate. His handwriting curled across the page, instantly familiar, even through blurred vision.
She inhaled slowly, steadying herself, unfolding the letter as if it might break if touched too roughly.
My Eris,
Leaving you this morning felt like severing something vital, like stepping away from the very air I breathe.
If I could have stayed, if the world had been kind, I would still be there, tracing my fingers along your skin, watching the sunlight spill over you like a jealous thing trying to claim you for itself.
But I had to go. And though I could not wake you with a kiss, know this: I left every piece of myself with you. You are woven into every thought, every heartbeat. And no distance can change that.
And before you accuse me of writing this just to make you swoon—yes, I know you. You would have been utterly inconsolable waking without some grand, poetic proof of my love.
So here it is. Read this. Smile for me. And know I will return to you soon.
Yours, always
Stephan
She held the letter to her chest, eyes closed, as if she could hold the shape of him through the page.
The words still echoed. Gods, the words.
Every line was him. Measured. Aching. Love shaped in ink.
At the bottom, a flicker of his humor. The final line tugged at her lips.
A soft, breathless laugh slipped out, tangled in disbelief and too much love.
She wiped her eyes, but the tears had already come.
“Damn you, Stephan,” she whispered. He always knew.
And somehow, in the hush of morning, she did not feel alone. Not while his words still held her.
She sat there for a moment longer, the letter pressed to her heart. Then her breath steadied. Her spine straightened.
Love had stitched her back together. Now it was time to act.
While the kings brokered strategy and Stephan steered the weight of war, Eris was already moving. She could not wait for decree or approval. The pack needed to see her, alive and unbroken, and she needed to see them. She needed to see him: Kareon.
Through the bond, she knew he had felt all her suffering. She had to go, not for politics, but for faith. She was the one they believed in, the one they would follow through ash and blood. If she faltered now, their hope could collapse.
She would not let it.
With a sharp breath, she pushed open the stables' doors. Her mare stood waiting, dark eyes flicking toward her in quiet recognition. Just as Eris reached for the reins, a figure stepped into her path.
Cassiel.
He stood rigid, arms crossed. Beneath the disciplined exterior, something coiled, restless and edged in frustration.
“Eris,” he said, voice low with warning. “Stephan put me in charge of your security. His orders were clear: You do not leave the estate.” His gaze hardened. “Especially not alone.”
Eris tilted her head, a smirk curling her lips. “Poor Cassiel. I will have to scold Stephan for assigning you such a dull, thankless job.” Her tone was light, teasing, but her stance was all defiance.
Cassiel dragged a hand through his hair. “Oh, fantastic. That will really help when he skins me alive.” He narrowed his eyes. “Where exactly do you think you are going?”
“The Den.”
His entire body stiffened. “Absolutely not.”
Eris met his glare with something sharper. “You are welcome to try and stop me,” she said, swinging into the saddle without breaking stride. “But I promise, it will not be easy.”
Cassiel swore under his breath, frustration radiating off him like heat. He stared at her a beat longer, then exhaled, defeated. “Damn it, Eris.” He pinched the bridge of his nose, already imagining the reckoning Stephan would deliver. Then, reluctantly, he nodded. “Fine. But I am coming with you.”
Eris smirked. “I assumed that was implied.”
Cassiel muttered something she didn’t catch, but he mounted without further protest.
With one last glance at the estate, at the place where Stephan had held her, Eris pushed past the ghosts and urged her mare forward.
The woods rose to meet them, shadows curling like whispered secrets as they slipped into the trees, bound for the Den.
Cassiel’s curses were low but relentless, his grip tightening on the reins as they neared the pack’s perimeter.
Every step deeper into Lycan territory felt like a deliberate march toward his own demise.
“This is insane,” he muttered. “We are walking straight into the wolves’ den. Literally.”
Eris, already dismounting, shot him a sidelong glance as she tied her mare to the usual post.
“You will be fine,” she said, voice light with mischief. “You are under my protection.”
Cassiel snorted. “Oh, perfect. I am sure if they decide to tear me apart, your glare alone will strike terror into their savage little hearts.”
Eris smirked, motioning for him to follow. “Stay behind me, keep quiet, and try not to smell like a challenge.”
He stopped mid-step. “Wait—what?”
She turned, deadly serious. “Lycans can smell fear, Cassiel.”
She let the silence hang a beat before adding, in a low, conspiratorial tone. “And they consider excessive sweating a sign of weakness.”
Cassiel’s jaw locked. “You are making that up.”
Eris shrugged and kept walking. “Am I?”
He dragged a hand down his face. “Perfect. I get to die humiliated and sweaty.”
But he followed.
Ahead of them, the Den pulsed with life. The air was thick with pine, damp earth, and burning wood. Eris inhaled deeply, letting it settle in her lungs, stirring something ancient in her bones.
It wasn’t just familiarity. It was recognition, as if the land itself called to her.
Whispers in a voice older than memory.
Each step eased the weight she’d carried since yesterday. After Stephan, after the fear and the shame, this place didn’t just steady her. It mended something. The pain was still there, but it no longer owned her.
Then came the shout: “She’s back! She’s back!”
Urgent footsteps pounded through the clearing. The words leapt from voice to voice like wildfire.
Laughter followed, swelling in waves. Pack voices, raw with relief and joy. Eris moved through them, smiling, embracing.
Then came a heartbeat. It was not hers. It belonged to something else. Not sound, but force, cracking violently through her like lightning. It struck beneath her ribs and expanded, vibrating through bone and breath, silencing the world in a single, consuming pulse.
Her laughter died. She stood still, chest rising and falling, as if something ancient had awakened inside her. Then her gaze lifted. The crowd parted. And she saw him.
Kareon stood across the Den, still as stone, the air around him trembling. His eyes locked on hers with something like reverence, as if he had felt it too.
Then the bond snapped into place. Her awareness blurred—she felt her breath, her pulse—but it was like standing just outside herself. She didn’t choose to move; she simply did. One step. Then another.
The crowd vanished. The world dulled to an echo. Her body—her soul—had already chosen, drawn to him like water to its riverbed.
By the time her mind caught up, she stood inches from him. The air between them sparked, magnetic. Sacred. His eyes, ancient and golden, held her fast.
She could not look away.
For a moment, nothing else existed. She was still herself, but not only herself.
Her hands trembled and her lungs tightened.
Her mind fought for control, but her soul had already reached his.
Then she blinked, her head tilting as the spell slipped like fog lifting off a lake.
Bit by bit, the Den returned to her senses: murmurs, fire crackle, the rhythm of lives continuing. But something inside her had changed.
What was that?
The thought dissolved before she could name it.
He stood before her, real and whole. Gods, how she had missed him. She smiled, radiant, with a warmth that asked for nothing and offered everything.
His lips curled in return, reverent, like worship. Then she stepped into his arms, and he folded her in like a man made whole.
“You’re back,” he murmured, voice raw. “Welcome home, princess.”
Eris stilled against him.
Home.
Yes. That was exactly how it felt.
He pulled back just enough to see her, his hands still at her waist, as if afraid she might vanish.
His gaze searched hers, desperate to read what he had not been there to witness.
He brushed a strand of hair from her cheek, and in his silence, she heard everything: the guilt, the helplessness, the shame of not being the one to save her.
So she reached for the one truth he had given her.
Her fingers lifted to the pendant at her neck, the one he had placed there—another lifetime ago.
“It kept me safe,” she whispered.
He stopped breathing. His eyes dropped to the tarnished necklace, still glowing faintly where her skin had warmed the metal. She held it like it was holy, and in that moment, he shattered. He had not known if she would keep it, but she had. She had held on to him.
“Good,” he said softly. “That’s what it was meant for.”
Then Kaelioth’s voice cut through the crowd. It was rough with disbelief, full of soul. “Eris?”