Chapter 10: Second Chance And New Beginnings

Cordelia's Pov 

Six months after saving Lysander's life and accidentally revolutionising pack hierarchy, I was elbow-deep in clay when he found me in my studio. 

The afternoon light streamed through the windows, illuminating the controlled drama of my workspace, shelves lined with drying pieces, the wheel spinning quietly in the corner, and bags of clay stacked like promise for future creations.

"You're making that face again," I said without looking up from the vase I was shaping.

"What face?" But I could feel his amusement through the bond, warm and fond.

"The face that says you're about to interrupt my work with something ridiculously romantic." I finally glanced over at him, noting the suspicious bulge in his jacket pocket.

 "Please tell me you haven't bought me jewellery again."

"It's not jewellery."

"Thank God. I'm running out of places to hide the necklaces your mother keeps sending as 'peace offerings.'"

The relationship with Margaret had improved, though 'improved' was relative when the starting point had been open hostility. 

She'd grudgingly admitted that having a Luna who could balance the pack's books and negotiate better prices with local suppliers had certain advantages. High praise from someone who still believed I was corrupting her precious son with radical ideas like 'equality' and 'communication.'

Lysander moved closer, and I felt the familiar flutter of awareness that came with his proximity. Six months of being properly bonded had taught us both how to maintain mental boundaries while still enjoying the deep connection. 

It was like learning to live with a constant, comforting presence in the back of my consciousness.

"Actually," he said, settling onto the stool I kept for visitors, "I have news."

"Good news or 'we need to discuss pack politics over dinner' news?"

"The Blackthorne family grimoire has been found."

That made me pause in my work. "Come again?"

"Cordy's been researching your family history since the curse was broken. Apparently, Moira didn't just cast one curse and call it a day. 

There's an entire collection of Blackthorne magic that's been scattered across Britain for the past century."

I set down my tools, giving him my full attention. "And this matters because?"

"Because some of it is beneficial magic. Healing spells, protective wards, fertility blessings." His smile was soft, hopeful. 

"Your great-great-grandmother wasn't just angry, she was incredibly talented."

The implications hit me slowly. "You're saying I might have inherited more than just the ability to break curses."

"I'm saying you might be considerably more powerful than either of us realised." He reached into his jacket and withdrew not jewellery, but a leather-bound journal that looked older than the estate itself.

 "This was found in a private collection in Edinburgh. The dealer said it had been waiting for the right person to claim it."

I took the journal with reverent hands, feeling an immediate tingle of recognition as my fingers traced the worn leather. The moment I opened it, symbols and text that should have been incomprehensible made perfect sense, as if I'd been reading them all my life.

"Healing tonics," I murmured, scanning the first page. "Protection spells for pregnant wolves. A ritual for... oh, that's interesting. A bonding ceremony that ensures absolute fidelity between mates."

"Interesting how?"

I looked up at him, noting the way his jaw had tightened slightly. "Interesting because it's completely unnecessary for us. We're already as bonded as two people can be."

I closed the journal carefully. "Why does that make you tense?"

Through the bond, I felt his flash of old insecurity, quickly suppressed but not quickly enough to escape my notice.

"Lysander," I said gently, setting the journal aside and moving to stand between his knees. "What aren't you telling me?"

"It's nothing. Just..." He sighed, his hands coming up to rest on my hips. "Sometimes I wonder if you'd have chosen this if the circumstances had been different. 

If you'd bonded with me because you wanted to, not because it was the only way to save my life."

The vulnerability in his voice, both heard and felt through our connection, made my heart ache. Six months of partnership, of growing trust and deepening affection, and he still carried traces of the fear that had led to his original rejection.

"You impossible man," I said, cupping his face in my clay-stained hands. "Do you really think I would have gone through with the bonding if I didn't want you?"

"The curse…"

"The curse required my free choice, remember? I could have let you die. There were probably several council members who would have thanked me for it." I brushed my thumb across his cheekbone, marveling at how familiar the gesture had become. 

"I chose you, Lysander. Not the duty, not the pack politics, not even the guilt. You."

The relief that flooded through our bond was almost overwhelming. It was followed immediately by something deeper, warmer, that made my toes curl in my boots.

"I love you," he said simply. "I loved you five years ago, and I love you now. Everything in between was just me being too afraid to trust something that good."

"I love you too," I replied, the words easier now than they'd been even a month ago. 

"Present tense, future tense, complicated past tense. All of it."

When he kissed me, slow and thorough and full of promise, I tasted six months of careful rebuilding, of learning each other again as the adults we'd become. 

The bond flared between us, amplifying every sensation until I was dizzy with want and affection and the simple rightness of being exactly where I belonged.

"So," I said when we broke apart, "what do we do with an ancient family grimoire?"

"Learn from it. Use it to help the pack. Maybe figure out if there are any other supernatural surprises lurking in your bloodline." His grin was pure mischief. "I'm particularly interested in that fertility blessing."

Heat flooded through me, carried by the bond until I wasn't sure if the desire was mine or his or simply ours. 

"One crisis at a time, Alpha. Let me finish revolutionising Luna duties before we start planning the next generation."

"Fair point." He stood, pulling me against him with easy familiarity. 

"But for the record, when you're ready, I think our children would be absolutely magnificent troublemakers."

"With your stubborn streak and my talent for defying expectations? They'd be impossible."

"Perfect, in other words."

I looked around my studio… our studio now, really, since Lysander had taken to spending his afternoons here, handling pack business while I worked. The space that had once represented my independence had become something better; a symbol of partnership, of building something beautiful together.

"Yes," I said, going up on my toes to kiss him again. "Absolutely perfect."

Outside, the Scottish hills rolled away toward the horizon, and somewhere in the distance, Ravenshollow stood ready to weather whatever challenges came next. 

We had a pack to lead, traditions to navigate, and an ancient grimoire full of supernatural secrets to explore.

But for now, we had clay-covered hands and sun-warmed skin and the unbreakable bond of two wolves who'd finally found their way home to each other.

Second chances, it turned out, were worth waiting for.