Chapter 34 – The Weight She Carries

(Ella’s POV)

The bond pressed against my chest before my eyes even opened, it was a restless ache that wasn’t truly mine. I lay still beneath the quilt, staring at the ceiling beams of Marcus’s cabin, waiting for the sensation to fade. It didn’t.

Cole’s emotions rippled faintly against mine, sharp and jagged like glass under skin. Anger. Shame. Something heavier that made my chest thrum as if I’d swallowed lead.

I turned my face into the pillow, willing it to go away. But the bond didn’t listen to wishes.

When I finally rose, the sky outside was pale with morning, mist draped low over the trees. I dressed quietly, fingers fumbling over the buttons of my blouse. The fabric felt heavy on my skin, though I couldn’t explain why.

At the breakfast table in the pack hall, the usual murmur of voices washed over me as I took my seat beside Mia and Jasper. The long tables groaned with food—eggs, venison, bread steaming in the cool air—but my stomach twisted at the sight.

Across the hall, Cole sat alone, his eyes were shadowed, his jaw tight as stone. He didn’t look at me. He hadn’t done that for days.

I didn’t need him to. The bond already carried enough of it.

The wolves closest to me didn’t bother hiding their whispers.

“She’s still human. Will she even be able to carry an Alpha’s heir?”

“For the fact that Marcus raised her, that doesn’t make her one of us.”

“She’s just the pack’s charity case.”

Mia’s fist slammed onto the table, rattling plates. “What you said, I dare you to say that again,” she snapped at them, eyes flashing gold. The group of young wolves behind us shrank back.

Jasper slipped a folded napkin onto my lap. Breathe, it read in his neat script. You owe them nothing.

Although my throat ached, I was still able to give him a smile, even though it was the smallest one I could manage at the time.

Cole pushed his food around his plate and left before I could even pretend I didn’t catch his eye.

Afterward, I slipped away to the quiet of my room. My sketchbook was waiting on the desk, the edges smudged from nights of restless drawing.

I opened to a fresh page and let the pencil move.

First the Wildflowers bloomed, they were delicate and reaching, their stems as slender as hope. But soon, I added thorns to it, it was long, jagged, curling over the flowers like claws. I shaded them darker and darker until the blooms were nearly hidden, their brightness choked by black.

I stared at it for a long time. The flowers represented me. The thorns represented everything else around me.

Later in the day, Marcus found me. I was out by the trees behind the cabin. He didn’t startle me; he never did. His presence always felt solid, grounding, like the earth itself.

“You’re quiet today,” he said, dropping onto the log beside me.

I offered him the sketchbook. He studied it for a while before closing it gently, handing it back.

“You’re way stronger than you think, cub.” His voice was low, not demanding answers. He never pressed where I wasn’t ready to speak. “Don’t let anyone, not even the Alpha’s son, convince you otherwise.”

The knot in my throat swelled. “But I don’t feel strong.”

Marcus’s gaze softened. “Strength doesn’t always have to feel like fire. Sometimes it’s just you refusing to break.”

He stood then, pressing a fatherly kiss to my hair before walking back toward the cabin. I watched him go, my chest aching with words of gratitude that I couldn’t utter.

Later than afternoon, Sasha caught me, her perfume was thick as she blocked the hall.

“Big day today at the training?” she asked, her smile all teeth. “I hear Cole’s performance was… lacking.”

I just ignored her jabs and kept walking.

She stepped in front of me again, eyes gleaming. “I’m sure you are aware of the reason, aren’t you? Because fate doesn’t change the truth. He never wanted nor desired you.”

The words pierced, sharp and cruel. But I refuse to give her the satisfaction of seeing me bleed.

I met her gaze, steady. “Funny. For someone who’s so certain of that, you spend an awful lot of time reminding me.”

Her smirk faltered, just a flicker, before she stepped aside.

I walked past her without another word, though my hands shook until I reached my room.

That night, I slipped out beneath the trees. The moon hung half-full above me, silver light spilling over the clearing. I tipped my head back, closing my eyes.

I once used to pray for his love or acceptance, but now I don’t do that anymore.

Instead, I prayed for strength. I prayed that even if the bond feels like chains, I should keep breathing in though. I prayed for courage to keep walking even when the whispers trailed behind me. I prayed for the will to be able to hold myself together when everything else seemed intent on pulling me apart.

My chest loosened as I whispered those words into the night air, sending it skyward like smoke.

And then, as if carried on the bond, I felt something shift.

Cole.

His emotions slammed into me—drowned, fractured, bitter. Whiskey blurred around the edges, but beneath it, there was something raw. It almost felt like regret.

I pressed my hand to my heart, breath catching.

He was beginning to break down. And because of the bond connecting us together, some part of me was breaking alongside him.

“No,” I whispered, my voice trembling but firm. “I won’t allow you to pull me down with you.”

The bond pulsed in my chest, steady and relentless. But this time, I refused to flinch from it.

“I won’t let this break me,” I said into the night.

Even if it did break him.

I returned to the cabin and curled into bed, my sketchbook pressed against my chest. The bond tugged and twisted, restless with Cole’s turmoil, but I focused on the quiet within myself.

Strength doesn’t always feel like fire.

Sometimes it’s just you refusing to break.

I closed my eyes and held onto that thought until sleep finally took me.