INICIAR SESIÓNEmeraldA week into my stay at the packhouse, the silence was my only companion. I kept to my word, remaining in the far wing, as far from the Alpha’s quarters as the architecture would allow. I took my meals in my room and spent my hours staring at the winter sky, trying to reconcile the void in my heart with the hollow ache in my body.One morning, the restlessness became too much. I needed water, and I didn't want to wait for an Omega to bring it. I gripped the door handle and pulled it open just as the door directly across the narrow hallway clicked.Matthew stepped out.He froze when he saw me, his hand still on his doorknob, looking like a thief caught in the act.I looked at the door he had just exited, then back at him. My brow furrowed.My mind raced. I specifically remembered one of the omegas mentioning that his suite was in the East Wing... a sprawling, luxurious set of rooms on the complete opposite side of the packh
Emerald The door swung open with a heavy thud, the sound jarring against the fragile silence of the room. I expected a nurse or perhaps my parents, but it was Nicholas. The Alpha looked as though he had aged ten years in a single night. His jaw was set, and his eyes were hard as flint, burning with a cold, administrative fury that only comes when a leader has been betrayed from within.He didn't look at the monitors or the bandages. He looked straight at Matthew, then at me."It wasn't a random raid," Nicholas said, his voice dropping like a stone into a deep well. "We’ve finished the interrogations of the survivors. The rogues didn't just stumble upon the homestead."Matthew stood up, his hands trembling. "What are you saying, Nick?""I’m saying the border patrols were diverted by a forged order from the council office," Nicholas replied, stepping further into the room. He held up a blood-stained piece of parchment. "An order that came
Emerald The chaos deepened as my parents shifted, their fur gray and weathered but their eyes burning with the same desperate fire as mine. We were a pack of three, a small, fierce circle of silver and gray against the encroaching black. As I tore into the throat of a rogue, a sickening thought pierced through my battle haze. Why us? Why this quiet corner of the pack? Rogues were scavengers, not an army. This felt targeted. Distraction was my mistake. A massive, slate-gray wolf slammed into my side with the force of a falling boulder. I was thrown backward, my heavy frame colliding with the ancient oak tree where Matthew had stood his penance just days ago. The impact knocked the wind from my lungs, and before I could recover, the rogue pinned me against the rough bark. His teeth sank deep into my shoulder, a jagged, hot agony that made my vision swim. I clawed at his face, my back arching as I tried to throw him off, but he was heav
Emerald Matthew lay there on the rug, the heat of the fire mocking the ice that I knew still lived in his marrow. He looked at me with eyes full of a pathetic, shattering realization, but I couldn't find an ounce of pity for him. My hand drifted down, hovering over my stomach, not in a gesture of affection, but as if I were trying to shield my soul from the parasite growing within. "The Goddess does not have mercy for me," I whispered, the words trembling with a bitterness so deep it felt like poison. I looked at him, my eyes snapping with a jagged, broken light. "While you had choices back then to reject me, I didn't have that, Matthew. Now, I still don't. I looked for a way out. I wanted to rip this monster’s seed out of me. I wanted to abort the reminder of every scream I uttered in that den. I wanted to be free of the blood that was forced upon me." Matthew’s face went pale, his breath hitching. "Emerald..."
EmeraldThe four of them stayed the entire day, filling the cabin with a warmth that hadn't crossed the threshold in months. We sat by the fire, catching up on the trivialities of the medical center, and for a few hours, the world felt almost normal. We laughed at Jay’s stories about the stubborn elders in the infirmary, and Zen showed me new binding techniques for herbal poultices. It was the first time I felt like a healer again, rather than a patient.But the peace was fragile."I heard Natasha finally gave birth to a boy last night," Marga said, her voice casual as she reached for another biscuit. "The midwife said he looks nothing like—"Mathilda’s head snapped toward her, her eyes flashing a sharp, silent warning that cut Marga off mid-sentence. The air in the room instantly turned cold. Marga froze, her hand hovering in the air, her face flushing as she realized what she had let slip.I felt the familiar, bitter bile rise
Matthew The smell of burning cedar and the sharp tang of medicinal herbs were the first things to reach my senses, but they were quickly drowned out by a searing, pins and needles heat. I gasped, my lungs burning as if I were inhaling liquid fire. "Don't move," a voice commanded. It wasn't the gentle tone of my mother or the authoritative rumble of Nicholas. It was Emerald. Her voice was as cold as the ice that had nearly claimed me. I forced my eyes open. I was lying on a rough wool rug in front of the hearth. My boots were gone, and my feet were wrapped in steaming towels. Every joint in my body ached with a dull, throbbing pulse. I tried to push myself up, but my arms felt like lead. "I said, don't move," she repeated. She was sitting in a wooden chair a few feet away, far enough to avoid my touch but close enough to watch me struggle. She was stitching a piece of leather, her movements precise and rhythmic. She didn't look at me. She didn't offer a smile or a drop of water.







