Chapter Twenty

‎The Ironclaw village faded behind us as we

‎ back through the forest, the dawn light now a steady glow, filtering through the trees. The air was crisp, clean, free of the curse’s lingering bitterness, and the pack—Moonshadow and Ironclaw allies together—moved with a quiet strength, their steps lighter, their voices soft with hope. My hand rested on my stomach, the flutter of my child a constant rhythm, grounding me, reminding me of what I’d fought for. I was Lycan, a mother, a healer, and the power in my blood had saved a land, a people. But the weight of it all—the prophecy, the battles, the love I carried for Rex—settled deep, a mix of strength and fear.

‎

‎Rex walked beside me, his red eyes scanning the forest, his broad frame a steady presence. The bond between us pulsed, warm and sure, a thread that tied us through blood and love. His confession in the village, his arms around me, his vow to never let me go—it was all real, and it warmed me, even as the memory of the dark wolves’ red eyes lingered. My leg still ached faintly where one had grazed me, but my Lycan blood was healing it, the pain fading with every step.

‎

‎The pack was quiet, their weapons sheathed, their faces marked with the exhaustion of battle but also something new—unity. Moonshadow and Ironclaw had fought as one, and I felt their trust, their belief in me, like a mantle I was still learning to wear. I glanced at Rex, his jaw set, his hand brushing mine, and I saw it—the pride in his eyes, the love that made my heart ache.

‎

‎“We’re almost home,” he said, his voice low, meant for me alone. “You need rest, Talia. You and the child.”

‎

‎I nodded, my throat tight. “I know,” I said, my voice soft but steady. “But I’m not fragile, Rex. Not anymore.”

‎

‎His eyes softened, a small smile tugging at his lips. “I know,” he said, his hand squeezing mine. “You’re the strongest person I’ve ever met.”

‎

‎My chest warmed, not just from the bond, but from his words, his faith in me. I wanted to say more, to tell him how much he meant to me, how his love had anchored me through the chaos, but a rustle in the trees made us freeze. The pack tensed, hands reaching for weapons, eyes glowing in the morning light. My wolf stirred, alert, the warmth in my chest flaring, ready.

‎

‎Rex’s growl was low, his body shifting to shield me. “Stay close,” he said, his voice sharp, his red eyes scanning the forest. I nodded, my hand tightening on his, my wolf itching to break free.

‎

‎A figure stepped from the trees, not a wolf but a woman, her hair silver like Sage Elara’s, her robe tattered, her eyes sharp and ancient. She carried no weapon, but her presence was heavy, like the air before a storm. The pack murmured, their weapons lowering slightly, but Rex stayed tense, his growl steady.

‎

‎“Who are you?” he demanded, his voice a command, his hand still in mine.

‎

‎The woman’s eyes locked on me, ignoring Rex, her gaze piercing, like she saw through me. “You’re the Lycan,” she said, her voice low, resonant, like it came from the earth itself. “The cursed wolf. I’ve waited for you.”

‎

‎My heart raced, the warmth in my chest surging, hot and restless. “What do you want?” I asked, my voice steady despite the fear curling in my gut. “The curse is broken. The dark wolves are gone.”

‎

‎She shook her head, her eyes softening, almost sad. “The curse on the land is gone, yes,” she said. “But the prophecy is not finished. Your blood, your child—they carry the power to heal or destroy, not just here, but beyond. Others will come, drawn to you, to what you are.”

‎

‎Rex stepped forward, his growl louder, his red eyes blazing. “She’s done enough,” he said, his voice fierce. “Leave her be.”

‎

‎The woman’s gaze flicked to him, then back to me. “It’s not my choice,” she said, her voice calm but heavy. “It’s hers. Always hers.”

‎

‎I felt the pack’s eyes on me, their silence heavy, waiting. My hand pressed harder against my stomach, the flutter strong, my child’s life a promise I’d protect. I was tired of prophecies, of battles, but I was Lycan, a mother, a healer, and I wouldn’t run. “What do I need to do?” I asked, my voice steady, my eyes locked on hers.

‎

‎She stepped closer, her hands raising, a faint glow shimmering around them. “Your blood has healed one land,” she said. “But there are others, broken by the same betrayal, scattered across the world. Your child will carry your power, Talia, and together, you’ll shape the future—or others will try to take it from you.”

‎

‎My throat tightened, fear mixing with resolve. My child. Not just mine, but a beacon, like me, for those who hungered for power. I looked at Rex, his face tense, his eyes fierce with love and worry, and I knew he’d fight for us, for our child, no matter what came.

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‎“I’ll protect them,” I said, my voice loud, carrying through the trees. “My child, my pack, my home. Whatever comes, I’ll face it.”

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‎The woman smiled, small but real, her eyes bright with respect. “Then you’re ready,” she said. “The path will find you, Lycan. Trust your blood, your heart.”

‎

‎She turned, her form fading into the trees, like she’d never been there. The pack murmured, their eyes on me, a mix of awe and trust. Rex pulled me close, his arms warm, his heart pounding against mine. “You don’t have to do this alone,” he said, his voice rough, full of love. “We’ll face it together.”

‎

‎I nodded, tears stinging my eyes, the bond pulsing, steady and true. “I know,” I said, my voice soft but firm, my hand tightening in his. “I love you, Rex. For always.”

‎

‎He smiled, his red eyes soft, his hand brushing my cheek. “For always,” he said, his voice a vow.

‎

‎The forest was quiet now, the threat gone, the dawn brightening. We moved on, toward Moonshadow, the pack behind us, their steps steady, their voices rising in a low howl. My hand stayed on my stomach, the flutter a promise, my child a part of me, of Rex, of the future we’d build. I was Talia, Lycan, mother, healer, and with Rex beside me, the pack at my back, I was ready for whatever came next, with love, with strength, with the power in my blood.