Martin’s POVThe change was subtle at first.The kind you’d miss if you weren’t a wolf, if your senses hadn’t been sharpened by years of reading the world through instinct instead of logic.The pack still smiled. They still trained, hunted, and laughed in the courtyard. But beneath that, something had shifted—an unease crawling through the air like static before a storm.I could smell it in the halls.Fear.Not of war or hunger… but of her.Clara.Every time she walked by, wolves fell quiet. Some bowed their heads in reverence, others looked away quickly as if ashamed of the reverence itself. The bond between us hummed with power these days; it was stronger than ever, but it also carried a weight that pressed against the edges of who I was.I had seen the light in her before, but that night—the night of the hum—it was different. When her body glowed like gold fire and the whole pack knelt… even I felt it. Not just love. Not just awe. But the instinctive submission of a wolf to somethi
Clara’s POVAt first, I thought it was just my imagination.That the wolves were restless because of the shifting weather, the way the air hung thick with rain and silver light. But then the whispers started.The pack began waking at strange hours, pacing the halls or staring blankly into the woods. Some said they could hear the heartbeat of the earth; others swore the moonlight burned when it touched their skin.And somehow… they always looked at me when they said it.It started with Mara, the healer. She approached me one morning with trembling hands, her eyes wide as she whispered, “The child’s aura—it grows stronger each day.”I laughed softly, brushing her concern away. “Mara, it’s just a baby, not a prophecy.”But when she took my wrist and pressed her fingers over my pulse, the light shimmered under her touch—just a flicker of gold, brief but undeniable.She gasped. “Clara… this isn’t just a child. This is something new.”Her words haunted me all afternoon. I tried to distract
Martin’s POVThere’s something about peace that makes a warrior uneasy.Maybe it’s because I’ve lived too long on the edge of war — because silence feels less like comfort and more like waiting for the next attack.But lately, it wasn’t the world outside that unsettled me.It was Clara.She had started waking up in the middle of the night, breath shallow, eyes glassy, like she was listening to something I couldn’t hear. When I asked, she’d smile and say, “It’s nothing, I’m fine.” But her hands would always find her stomach, as if shielding it from something unseen.And then there were the lights.Small things at first — candles flickering brighter when she walked by, sparks of gold that danced around her fingertips when she was emotional. The first time it happened, I thought it was just the lamplight. The second time, I realized it wasn’t.“Martin,” Isreal said one morning as we watched her from across the hall. She was sitting near the window, sunlight pooling over her hair like spu
Clara’s POV Peace has a strange way of feeling fragile—like glass that looks perfect until light catches a hidden crack. It had been three weeks since we learned about the baby, and life inside the Redwood mansion had finally slowed into something close to normal. The morning light poured through the windows like honey, warm and golden, filling the halls that once echoed with screams and battle cries. I’d wake before Martin most days. Sometimes, I’d just lie there, tracing the faint pulse beneath my skin, feeling it beat against my palm. Our child. Our miracle. The thought alone was enough to make my throat tighten. But lately, the nights had been different. I’d wake up drenched in cold sweat, my heart racing as if I’d been running. Every time, it was the same dream—dark woods, silver mist, and a shadowed figure whispering something I could never quite catch. “She will burn brighter than the sun,” the voice would hiss. “And the world will kneel or break.” I never told Martin ab
Clara’s POVThe second trimester came with surprises I didn’t expect.For one, my energy returned — like the moon had pulled life back into my veins. The nausea faded, replaced by cravings that made even Isreal question my sanity.“Let me get this straight,” he said one afternoon, watching as I spread peanut butter over roasted yam. “You want to add pepper sauce and honey?”“Yes.”He blinked. “You’re not human anymore.”“Never said I was.”Martin, sitting across from me, didn’t even react anymore. He just slid the jar of honey closer, resigned to my chaos.“She’s growing a hybrid,” he muttered. “No rules apply.”Despite the constant teasing, the pack adored me — or rather, the life growing inside me. Every day someone left something at the door: a knitted blanket, a handmade bracelet, sometimes even herbs for “easy labor.”It was strange, feeling so… cherished.I had spent most of my life being feared or challenged. Now, every smile, every gift, every soft glance was a reminder that m
Clara’s POVThree weeks later, peace had become almost unnerving.No battles. No blood. No ghosts lurking in my dreams. Just the rhythmic hum of life returning to normal—birds in the trees, wolves patrolling in calm shifts, and Martin constantly hovering around me like I was made of glass.At first, it was sweet.Then it became annoying.“Martin,” I groaned one morning as I sat up in bed. “You don’t need to follow me to the bathroom.”He didn’t even look guilty. “What if you faint again?”“That was one time,” I said, glaring. “Because someone”—I shot him a look—“thought it would be a good idea to feed me raw deer meat because ‘the baby needs protein.’”He crossed his arms, unbothered. “You didn’t complain about protein when you were chewing my neck last night.”“Martin!” I threw a pillow at him, mortified.Isreal’s voice came from the hallway, far too loud: “Oh, so the Alpha Couple is awake! Should I start making breakfast or leave you two to… your neck-protein exchange?”“Isreal, I s