Chapter 26 – Whispers in the Dark

(Ella’s POV)

The pack-house corridors felt narrower these days. Every time Ella walked through them, it was as if the walls leaned closer, the shadows deeper, the whispers sharper.

They thought she didn’t hear them, but she actually did.

“She’ll never be able to last.”

“Human blood can’t lead us.”

“Cole deserves better than to be bond to her, a mere human.”

The words clung to her skin like burrs, impossible to shake. She learned to keep her gaze low, to smile politely, to slip into corners where their eyes couldn’t cut so deep at her. But the whispers still followed, when she pressed over her pillow at night, the words still curled into her ears.

Still, each morning Ella rose. She forced herself to braid her hair, to wash her face, to take measured breaths and step into the day. Because to stop acting untouched by their words, would be she admitting defeat and in her lifetime, she has done enough surrendering in her life, now she refuse to do that again.

That morning, she joined Mia in the kitchen. She was already elbows-deep in dough, her sleeves rolled high, flour dusting her cheeks.

“Finally,” Mia said, flashing Ella a grin. “I was about to send Jasper to drag you out of bed.”

Ella managed a smile, she slip beside her to knead the second mound of dough. For a while, The warmth of the oven, the rhythm of the work, and Mia’s easy chatter were enough to loosen the knot in Ella’s chest.

But when they carried the bread to the hall, the relief unraveled.

Sasha was already there.

She leaned against a table, her entourage clustered close to her, their laughter sounded like chiming bells. The moment Ella entered, the sound faltered, and every eye turned towards her way.

Ella kept her steps even, setting the basket of bread down carefully. But Sasha’s voice rang out, loud enough for half the hall to hear.

“Careful with the human food, Ella. We wouldn’t want you to poison us all.”

Laughter erupted all around, they were sharp and cruel.

Ella’s cheeks flamed. She wanted to shrink, to vanish into the floor, but instead she straightened, meeting Sasha’s gaze. Her voice trembled, but she forced the words out.

“It’s just bread, Sasha. Not poison.”

The smirk that spread across Sasha’s face made Ella’s stomach twist. “Of course. Though with your kind one never knows.”

Ella opened her mouth, but Mia’s hand brushed hers, a silent warning. As if telling her ‘Let it go. Don’t give in to her taunts’.

So Ella just that. She lowered her gaze, she carried herself out of the hall with the dignity she could manage, but inside, the humiliation gnawed at her.

She escaped to the edge of the forest, where the trees swallowed the noise of the packhouse. There, she sank onto a moss-covered rock, pulling her sketchbook from her satchel.

The pages bloomed with drawings of wildflowers, tall trees, the river that curved like a silver snake through the territory. But today, her pencil hovered uselessly above the page.

She didn’t want to draw flowers.

Want she wanted to do was to scream.

She wanted to ask Marcus why he couldn’t see the hatred that bled into every glance she got, why he smiled and called her cub as though that word alone would be able to shield her. She wanted to ask Cole why he accepted for the bond to tie them together if he despised her so much. She wanted to ask the moon goddess herself why fate had chosen her, a mere human, to drown in a world that would never accept who she is.

Instead, she pressed the pencil to paper and drew Sasha’s eyes. They were Cold. Sharp. Unforgiving.

She hated that she had been able to memorize them.

The tears came then, hot and fast, smudging the page. She swiped them away, furious with herself. No. Don’t let her win. Don’t give her that.

Her chest rose and fell, each breath shaky but more determined.

Mia’s words echoed in her head: See? Not so hard.

Maybe it wasn’t about winning arguments. Maybe it was just about refusing to disappear.

So Ella closed her sketchbook, wiped her face, and stood.

She would walk back. She would eat at that table, whether they were whispers or not. She would endure it all for another day.

Because she just had to.

That night, as she lay in bed, the bond pulsed faintly at the edge of her mind. Cole’s emotions seeped through—frustration, guilt, anger, a storm with no center. It pressed against her ribs, sharp and suffocating.

She curled into herself, clutching her pillow, whispering into the dark:

“I didn’t choose any of this either.”

The words cracked as they left her lips, but they were true.

And for the first time, she let herself believe that maybe—just maybe—she wasn’t weak for surviving.

She was strong. Quietly. Stubbornly. But Strong.

And even if her knees shook beneath her, she would keep standing.