Chapter 25
Mara
I’m staring at the ceiling—counting water stains because it’s better than thinking—when someone knocks. It’s brisk. Efficient. The knock of someone who has places to be but is making time anyway.
“Come in,” I call.
Nadia pushes through the door carrying a tray. Real food. Soup that smells like actual vegetables, bread that looks homemade.
“Figured you could use something that didn’t come from an MRE packet,” she says, setting it on the narrow table beside the bed.
I push myself up. Every muscle protests. Not from any injury this time; purely from spending a week clambering around a mountain range. “You didn’t have to—”
“Yeah, I did.” She pulls the chair closer to the bed and drops into it. “Because if I left it to the men, you’d be eating cold rations and pretending you’re fine.”
“I am fine.”
Her eyebrow arches. “Sure. And I’m the Queen of England.”
Despite everything, I almost smile. “You’d make a terrible queen. Too practical.”
“Damn right.” She leans back, crosses her arms. Studies me with eyes that miss nothing—sharp and assessing in a way that reminds me she’s not entirely human. Wolf shifters have that quality. Like they can smell emotional distress the way normal people smell smoke.
Which means she probably knows exactly how much of a mess I am right now.
Great.
“So,” she says. “Want to tell me what actually happened out there?”
“You mean besides the helicopter crash, the magical kidnapping, the Syndicate facility, and the part where I almost died?”
“I mean the part where an ancient dragon king created a life-bond with you and now looks at you like you hung the moon and personally invented fire.”
The soup suddenly seems very interesting. I pick up the spoon. Set it down. Pick it up again.
“He does not.”
“Mara.” Nadia’s voice is gentle but firm. She tilts her head slightly—another wolf tell, reading body language most people would miss. “I’ve been doing this for a long time. I know what a mating bond looks like.”
The spoon clatters against the bowl.
“No.” I shake my head so hard it makes me dizzy. “No, there’s no mating bond. That’s not… That’s not what this is. He saved my life. The bond is because I was dying, and his power was the only thing that could—”
“And you think that’s all it is?” She leans forward, elbows on her knees. Her eyes catch the light—silver undertones visible for just a moment. “You think he’d bind himself to you, make you dependent on his presence, risk everything to keep you close, just because he felt obligated?”
“Yes.” The word comes out harsh. Defensive. “Because that’s what good people do. They save others. Even when it costs them something. It doesn’t mean—”
I stop. Can’t finish.
Nadia waits. She’s good at that—waiting. Not filling silence with bullshit or false comfort. Just letting the truth have space to breathe.
“It doesn’t mean he cares about you?” she finally says. Soft. “Doesn’t mean there’s something more there?”
“There can’t be.” My voice cracks. “He had someone he loved. Someone who mattered. And I—”
I stop. Swallow hard against the burning in my throat.
Nadia’s expression softens. Something flickers across her face—understanding that goes deeper than sympathy. “What happened, Mara?”
The question is gentle. Not pushing. Just opening a door.
I stare at the soup. At my reflection in the broth.
“He called me Lyria,” I finally whisper.
Silence.
I can feel Nadia processing. Waiting for more.
“When we were…” Heat crawls up my neck. “When we were together. I mean together together. He called me by her name.”
Nadia’s jaw tightens. Her eyes flash—definitely more silver now, her wolf close to the surface. But she doesn’t speak. Just lets the confession breathe.
“So you see,” I continue, “I’m a stand-in. The girl who feels enough like her, or is just… there when he needs someone to—”
“Stop.” Nadia’s voice is firm. “That’s not what that means.”
“How can it mean anything else?” I look up at her. “We were making love, and he called me another woman’s name. His dead mate’s name. That’s pretty clear, isn’t it?”
“It’s clear that he’s carrying years of grief and trauma.” Nadia leans forward. “That his memories just came back. That he’s probably struggling to separate past from present when everything he buried is suddenly right there in his face.”
“Or it’s clear that when he closes his eyes, he sees her.” My lips tighten. “Not me.”
Nadia is quiet. Her wolf eyes study me with that unsettling intensity shifters have.
“Can I tell you something?” she finally says. “About mates and memory and how this works for people like us?”
“People like you,” I correct. “I’m human.”
“People who love deeply,” she amends. “When you lose a mate—especially violently, suddenly—they don’t just disappear from your mind.
They’re woven into everything. Every intimate moment, every vulnerable space, they’re there.
It’s not about wanting them to be. It’s about the grooves they carved being so deep that sometimes you fall into them without meaning to. ”
I want to believe her. Want to believe it was just old wounds bleeding into new moments.
“She was a witch,” I say quietly. “A powerful one. She died to save the Heartstone. She mattered enough that he made an oath to protect her bloodline for eternity. How do I compete with that kind of legend?”
“You don’t.” Nadia says it simply. “You can’t compete with a memory, Mara. Memories are perfect because they’re frozen. They don’t argue or make mistakes or have morning breath. But they’re also not real. Not anymore. You are.”
“She saved his entire clan. I accidentally exposed dragons on the internet.”
“And then you climbed a mountain, survived a helicopter crash, infiltrated a Syndicate facility, and helped rescue their king.” Nadia’s grip tightens on the chair arms. “You think that doesn’t matter? You think he bound himself to someone he considers insignificant?”
“He told me I’m not a replacement,” I whisper. “But he didn’t deny that he still has feelings for her.”
“Of course he does.” Nadia says it like it’s obvious. “She was his mate. You don’t stop loving someone just because they’re dead. But that doesn’t mean there’s no room for anyone else.”
“How do you know?”
“Because I lost my mate five years ago.” The words are quiet. Matter-of-fact. “And I still love him. I probably always will. But that doesn’t mean I’m broken. It doesn’t mean I can’t—” She stops. Clears her throat. “It doesn’t mean my heart stopped working.”
Oh.
“I’m sorry,” I manage. “I didn’t know.”
“Most people don’t.” She shrugs, but I can see the grief underneath.
Old grief. The kind that’s learned to coexist with living.
“My point is, loving someone you lost doesn’t mean you can’t love someone new.
It just means your heart is big enough for both.
And sometimes—” Her voice softens. “Sometimes in the early days, when everything is raw and new and terrifying, the past bleeds through. It doesn’t mean the present matters less. ”
“But how do I know?” The question tears out of me. “How do I know if what he feels is real or if I’m just—” I gesture helplessly. “A ghost made flesh. The second chance he gets to not fuck up.”
Nadia studies me. Her wolf eyes seeing things I’m not saying.
“You’re in love with him,” she says quietly.
Not a question. A statement.
I can’t breathe.
“I—” The denial sticks in my throat. “I’ve known him for a week. Love doesn’t happen that fast.”
“Shifters can scent their mates in seconds.” She tilts her head. “Time doesn’t always matter when the connection is real.”
“That’s different. That’s biology. Fate. Whatever. This is just—”
“Just what?” Her voice is gentle but unyielding. “Just you falling for someone who saved your life? Who bound himself to you? Who refuses to leave your side even when his entire clan is falling apart around him?”
“He’s staying because he has to. Because of the bond.”
“Is that what you really think?” Nadia leans back. “Because I saw how he looked at you back there after the battle. And Mara—that’s not duty. That’s not obligation. That’s a man who’s just found something precious.”
My chest aches. “You don’t know that.”
“I am wolf. I could literally smell the pheromones rolling off him when he was near you.” She says it bluntly. “He’s bonded to you on more than just a magical level. Whether he’s admitted it to himself or not.”
Hope flares in my chest. Painful. Dangerous.
“Even if that’s true—even if he feels something—what does it matter?” My voice cracks. “When we were together, when we were as close as two people can be, he was thinking of her. Calling for her. That’s not—” I stop. “That’s not something you can just explain away.”
Nadia is quiet for a long moment.
“No,” she finally says. “It’s not. And I won’t lie to you and say it doesn’t hurt or that it doesn’t mean something.
But Mara—” She leans forward. “It also doesn’t mean you’re worthless.
It means he’s dealing with trauma he’s only just remembered.
It means he’s human—or dragon—or whatever.
It means he’s messy and broken and trying to figure out how to live again after four hundred years of sleep. ”
“I don’t know if I can be with someone who sees someone else when they look at me.”
“Then ask him.” Nadia’s voice is firm. “Ask him what he sees. What he feels. Give him the chance to explain instead of assuming you know.”
“And if the answer breaks me?”
“Then you’ll survive.” Her smile is sad. Understanding. “You’ll hurt. But you’ll survive. And at least you’ll know. At least you won’t spend your life wondering ‘what if.’”
I want to argue. Want to explain all the reasons why asking would be the stupidest possible thing I could do.
But I’m too tired.
Too wrung out.
A sob builds in my throat. I try to swallow it down.
Fail.
Suddenly I’m crying, and Nadia’s arms are around me, and she’s making those soft sounds that mothers make to soothe their children.
Not that I’d know from experience.
“I can’t tell him,” I manage between sobs. “I can’t.”
“I think you’ll find that you can,” Nadia says into my hair. “Everything is hard right now. But you’ll be back to your old self soon, and things will be easier to face.”
She’s right. I know she is. It’s the reason I’m so emotional right now. I’m never like this normally.
The crying slows. Stops. Leaves me wrung out and hollow.
Nadia pulls back. Produces tissues from somewhere. I take them and wipe my face.
“Sorry,” I mutter. “That was—”
“Needed.” She squeezes my shoulder. “You’ve been through hell. Probably got a touch of PTSD. You’re allowed to fall apart. That’s what pack is for.”
Pack.
The word sits warm in my chest.
“I’m not pack,” I say. “I’m not even shifter.”
“Pack isn’t about species.” Her smile is fierce. Protective. “It’s about who shows up when things get hard. And you’ve been showing up, Mara. For Elena. For Caleb. For all of us. That makes you pack.”
Something in my chest loosens.
“You mean like family?”
“Yes.” She smiles. “But better.”
“Thank you,” I whisper, realizing she’s offering me something I’ve never really had.
She stands. Smooths her pants. “Eat your soup. Get some rest. And maybe—” She pauses at the door. “Maybe give him a chance to explain. Dragon kings aren’t known for doing what’s expected. But they are known for being loyal to what they claim as theirs.”
She leaves.
The door clicks shut.
I’m alone with the cooling soup and the truth I can’t speak and the feelings I can’t admit.
But something feels different.
Lighter.
Like maybe I’m not as alone as I thought.
I press my fingertips against my temples.
Try to breathe through the ache.
Try to convince myself that I don’t care for him.
That I don’t want him.
That I’m perfectly fine the way things are.
But I’ve never been good at lying.
Especially not to myself.