Chapter 110

Dominic’s POV

The days after the war were really quiet. It was like the word had shut down.

No more blood or smoke in the air, but every breath still reminded everyone.NightShade fortress looked like hell... walls split and scorched, everything reeking of burnt stone. Still, people started picking up the pieces. Awkward, halting, like we were all learning how to walk again after nearly drowning.

And me? Supposedly the Alpha, but honestly, just a tired soldier stuck watching from the courtyard while everyone else tried to make something out of what was left.

Elora’s voice cut through the training yard, crisp and stern. She was out there bossing around the healers, robe dragging through the mud, going from tent to tent. The wounded kept reaching for her, clinging to her like she would heal them. She’d give them this tiny smile, barely there but somehow, it worked.

Not far off, Dante was drilling the warriors, barking out orders like nothing could touch him. You could still spot the bandages under his armor, but he moved like the pain didn’t matter. Every time his blade hit the practice post, it was like he was hammering out a promise, strength, order, purpose.

Putting Elora with the healers and Dante with the fighters was the right thing to do. They kept everyone upright, like pillars holding up a roof that should’ve caved in.

But the one I wouldn't admit hurt me was watching them together. It stung in a way I didn’t see coming.

They just... clicked. They didn’t need words. She would look over, and he would already be there, finishing her sentence with a shrug or nod. If he stumbled, she’d steady him with a hand, like it was nothing.

I kept telling myself it was leadership, that unity was what we needed. But some part of me... the wolf part knew it was more.

It wasn’t the kind of jealousy that made you act crazy. It was dull, slow, the ache you get when you see something beautiful and know you’ll never touch it again.

With the council hall ruined, we dragged tables into the courtyard, surrounded by maps, ragged quills, and stale water. Not exactly inspiring, but it worked.

“Rebuilding will take months,” one of the elders grumbled, fingers lost in his beard. “Half the crops are gone, the livestock... the grain...”

“We’ll trade with the Northern packs,” Elora cut in, leaning over the map like she owned the place. “We’ve got herbs, we’ve got healing supplies. That’s our bargaining chip until we get another harvest in.”

She wasn’t asking. Even the crustiest elders who used to give her crap for being omega just shut up and listened.

Dante folded his arms, eyes on the southern sketches. “We’ll need more patrols on the ridge. Mira’s gone, but her loyalists aren’t.”

Just saying her name made everything colder. Silence fell hard.

I broke it. “Double the guards. If anyone’s got her mark, question first, execute if you have to.”

Dante gave me a sharp nod.

Elora hesitated. “And if they’re innocent?”

I met her eyes... gray, stormy, way too tired. No fear, though.

“They go free,” I said, voice rough. “But we protect the pack first.”

She nodded, but I saw the sadness flicker. That’s Elora, who always sees the person before the threat.

Sometimes I wonder if that’s her greatest strength, or probably the thing that would ruin her.

By the time we were done, it was nighttime already. There were stars in the sky as smoke threatened to cover them.

Hardly anyone is left out there. Just the blacksmith, his hammer ringing somewhere in the dark. I wandered through the broken gates, and leadership felt heavy on me. Like someone dropping an armor heavy, ill-fitting, and impossible to take off.

My body still hurt, bone-severing, wounds, all that, but I kept moving. I couldn’t stop. I needed to feel useful. Like maybe, if I just kept moving, I’d prove to everyone, myself included that we still deserved to be here.

Let’s be real, it was partly just an excuse to be near her.

Later, I ended up outside the healer’s tent. Don’t ask me why.

Elora was inside, hunched over a wounded soldier, whispering while she stitched him up. Steady hands, calm face. Dante stood by the entrance, sword at his side, keeping watch like some silent statue.

He spotted me first. Our eyes met for just a second. Respect, understanding, that tension of stuff neither of us would ever say. Then he turned away, back to his post.

I didn’t stay long, but watching her care for strangers the way she used to care for me hurt more than anything Mira ever did.

She was the light that shone for me in my darkest time and now, she was shining for someone else.

Maybe that’s just who she is. Healing what she touches, even if it’s never hers to keep.

Hours later, I dragged myself up to the crumbling tower, the only spot left in this place that wasn't filled with men doing stuff, and I was grateful for that. Up here, the valley just sprawled out in this silvery, washed-out moonlight. The river snaked through the trees, and for a second, I could almost pretend the place was peaceful.

I tipped my head back, letting the cold hit my face and it made me shiver.

“Mira,” I muttered. Her name felt weird in my mouth. “You’re gone, but I swear, your shadow’s still here, just lurking.”

Wind had nothing to say, just more silence.

“And Elora…” My jaw clenched up before I could stop it. “She deserves better. Way better than this. Better than me, even.”

The wolf in me, that old itch, let out this soft, miserable growl. It sounded like heartbreak.

“You still want her,” it said. That voice never lets up, all hunger and memory.

“Yeah. Of course,” I whispered back. “But wanting’s not the same as having, is it?”