Genevieve’s POVThe clearing behind the pack house was quiet, blanketed in silver light from the full moon rising overhead. The wind was cool and still, the trees standing like silent witnesses. André stood beside me, his expression unreadable, but I could feel his tension beneath the calm. He hadn’t said much since we walked here just held my hand and stayed close.I knew he was worried.So was I.But I needed to try.I had spoken to her my wolf. I had felt her presence, heard her voice. For the first time in what felt like forever, I was ready to meet her not just in spirit, but in form. I needed to prove to myself that I was whole again that I was strong enough to step into my true skin.“You don’t have to do this tonight,” André said quietly, his hand still in mine. “There’s no pressure, Genevieve. You just started reconnecting with her.”“I do have to,” I whispered. “If I wait too long, I’ll lose my nerve.”He didn’t argue. He just gave a tight nod and stepped back, allowing me s
Genevieve’s POVThe day passed in gentle rhythms soft meals, whispered conversations, warm glances. André had kept close but careful, giving me the space I needed while never straying too far. He could sense something was shifting in me, something fragile and sacred. And I was grateful that he didn’t try to rush it.That evening, after dinner, I sat on the balcony just outside our room. The wind was cool, brushing against my skin like silk. Stars blinked above the treetops, scattered across the night sky like scattered hopes, ancient and unchanging. The moon hung low half-full, soft, and steady. I drew my knees to my chest and stared into the forest beyond the pack house, the shadows of trees swaying like quiet sentinels.My fingers played with the empty vial that once held the violet potion. I had taken it just the night before, and already the difference inside me was undeniable. But what I craved wasn’t just the presence of my wolf. I wanted her voice. Her guidance. Her truth.I cl
Genevieve’s POVDawn broke gently.The pale light slipped through the curtains in ribbons of gold and silver, falling across the wooden floor like blessings whispered by the sun itself. The air in the room was cool but not cold, fresh in a way that made it feel like the world had been washed clean overnight. Somewhere beyond the windows, birds were chirping soft, melodic notes that seemed to echo in the quiet chamber of my chest.I blinked slowly, adjusting to the light.For the first time in weeks, maybe months, I didn’t wake up with the heavy stone of dread sitting on my chest. My limbs were still sore, but there was something new beneath the ache. Something I hadn’t felt in so long, I barely recognized it stillness, not the kind born of numbness, but of calm.My hand instinctively moved to my stomach. The empty vial from the night before still rested on the nightstand, its glass tinted faintly violet, a ghost of the potion that had once shimmered within it. I remembered the warmt
Genevieve’s POVThe healer’s room smelled of dried lavender and damp moss, the kind of scent that seemed to seep into your skin and settle in your lungs like old magic. The air was still, but it pulsed with something ancient something watching. I sat quietly on the edge of a cushioned bench draped with furs, my palms resting on my thighs to keep them from trembling. André stood behind me like a silent shadow, one large hand resting gently on my shoulder, his thumb brushing back and forth in slow, grounding strokes. His presence was solid like a wall I could lean on without ever fearing it would crumble.The healer moved like water. Each of her motions was slow, deliberate, as if she were listening to something none of us could hear. Her silver hair was braided down her back, catching glimmers of the sunlight that filtered in through the tall window. Shelves lined the stone walls, cluttered with herbs bundled in twine, jars of crushed petals and roots, and tiny bottles filled with liqu
Genevieve’s POVIt started small.A flicker.A murmur beneath my skin.Not loud. Not demanding. Just... present.At first, I thought it was my imagination. A phantom echo left behind by the dream or the grave visit. But as the hours passed, it didn’t fade.It lingered.The walk back from the clearing was quiet. The air had warmed, and the trees shimmered with sunlight breaking through the canopy. My body moved, but my mind was somewhere else floating in this strange, weightless space. A space I hadn’t known existed inside me. Lighter than before. Freer.When I reached the edge of the pack house, I paused. The wind brushed against me, and I inhaled deeply.And for the first time in years, I smelled everything.Not just the pine or the distant woodsmoke from the kitchen. But the layered, delicate tapestry of scent the birds nesting in the tree above, the slight decay of wet earth beneath moss, the faint trace of André’s scent from where he must have passed this way earlier.My pulse qui
Alaric’s POVShe didn’t say a word when we reached the edge of the woods. Just kept walking. Head low, shoulders rigid beneath her jacket like she was holding back a storm, and I knew better than to interrupt. This wasn’t a moment for words. This was a moment for silence, for ghosts.So I followed.The forest was unnaturally quiet, like it, too, had gone still for her. No birds. No wind. Just the faint crunch of leaves under our boots and the distant sound of her breath uneven, almost fragile. It echoed in the stillness, each exhale a reminder that she was here. That she’d finally come.I knew where she was going. She hadn’t said it outright, but I could feel it in her energy raw, coiled tight, trembling at the edges. Her past was waiting for her. He was waiting for her.And she was ready, even if it hurt.The sun hadn’t fully broken through the mist yet, but light filtered down in broken pieces through the canopy above, casting golden streaks that flickered across her hair, her face.