Chapter 40 – Confronting Shadows

Cole’s POV)

I woke to the pale wash of morning light filtering through the cabin window, my chest tight, restless. Sleep had offered no relief; instead, it had filled my mind with shadows, fleeting glimpses of her, of the bond, and of something I could no longer ignore. The haze of the whiskey still lingered, a dull ache that throbbed in rhythm with my pulse, but it was nothing compared to the unease that had settled over me.

Ella.

Like an unspoken warning, the name hummed through the bond. I could feel the pull of the bond, more acutely than before. A subtle warmth, a pull I had never allowed myself to experience, it stirred at the edges of my senses. I clenched my fists, trying to ground myself, but it was impossible. She had been transformed. Something had definitely shifted, delicate yet undeniable, and it left me feeling raw, unsettled, and also feeling worried.

I rose, my muscles stiff from restless sleep, and paced the length of the cabin. My mind refused to rest. The way she carried herself, the quiet strength she now exuded—it was different. Guarded. Purposeful. And beneath that, a pulse of life, faint but unmistakable, reached out to me, whispering a truth I could almost decipher.

Guilt washed over me in waves. I had been forced into this union. I had ignored her feelings, my pride and obsession with Sasha clouding every choice I had taken. And now… now she bore something I had never intended but could not deny. Something that tethered me to her in a way I had never anticipated.

I tried to reason with myself. Maybe I’m imagining it. Maybe the bond is only reacting to my own fears, my own guilt. Maybe she had just become stronger, more careful. But the subtle movements, the way her focus had shifted, the quiet determination I sensed even from a distance—it was just too much to dismiss.

I pushed through the cabin door, stepping into the crisp morning air. The forest was alive with soft rustling and distant birdcalls, but I barely noticed. My eyes sought her out, searching for some hint, some indication that I was not alone in my suspicions.

I found her sitting near the practice yard, her journal in hand, sketching with meticulous care. She moved deliberately, each motion careful, controlled, almost reverent. My chest tightened. She was definitely protecting something. Something I had no claim over—yet it belonged to me in ways I could not yet comprehend.

I approached slowly, trying my best not to startle her. Every step felt heavy, weighted with the burden of what I suspected, of what I couldn’t ignore, and of the consequences I had yet to face.

“Ella,” I called softly, keeping my voice low, measured, trying to mask the turmoil inside me.

She looked up, eyes meeting mine with a calm precision that unnerved me. Polite. Distant. Not frightened, but cautious. “Good morning, Cole,” she said evenly, returning to her sketching almost immediately, though the faint pulse of the bond made her awareness of me undeniable.

I frowned. Her composure was infuriating me. I wanted her to flinch, to react, to show me the fear or uncertainty I so much craved. But she was steadfast. Calm. Untouchable. And it stirred something protective within me that I couldn’t control.

I stepped closer, lowering my voice. “Ella… I need to ask you something. Something important.”

She didn’t look up. “If it’s about yesterday or—” she paused, selecting her words carefully, “—anything sensitive, now might not be the best time to ask me.”

“Sensitive?” I hissed under my breath, frustration prickling my skin. “Ella, I—look, something has definitely changed. I feel it. The bond… it’s different.”

She finally looked up, a small flicker of recognition passing over her features. Not surprise, not fear, but the quiet steadiness of someone in control. “It is different,” she said softly. “But I am not ready to explain to you the reason why.”

My heart thudded painfully against my ribs. “Not ready? Ella, whatever it is, I need to know. I need to understand what’s going on. For both our sakes.”

She slowly closed her journal, pressing her hands over it as if trying to shield something precious. “Cole… there are some things you aren’t yet prepared for. Things that don’t involve your opinion, your guilt, or your control. I am handling it. You… and you need to respect that. This life growing within me is too important for all of that”

The words struck me harder than any blow. I could feel the life pulsing faintly against the bond, subtle, delicate, undeniably hers. My stomach twisted with a mixture of dread, guilt, and a burgeoning, helpless protectiveness.

“Life?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper, yet trembling with disbelief. “You… you mean—”

She looked away, gaze steady on the trees, unwavering. “Yes. Life. That’s what I said”

The world seemed to tilt. My mind raced, spinning in chaotic loops I couldn’t control. I felt a sudden, terrifying awareness of responsibility, of the consequences of my arrogance, my selfishness, my failure to protect her. And somewhere in the chaos of my emotions, fear mingled with awe. There was life, a life growing within her because of me. And I had done nothing to safeguard it.

I pressed a hand to my chest, fighting for control. “Ella… I…” Words failed me. How could I articulate the storm raging inside me? Regret, fear, shame, guilt, and an overpowering sense of duty all collided violently within me, leaving me raw, exposed.

She rose then, her posture calm, unshakable, yet radiating a quiet authority that made me falter. “Cole,” she said, voice soft but firm, “you will have your time to process this. But what happens here now, you have no right to decide what’s going on. Not anymore. Not with me. Not with this life.”

I swallowed hard, my heart pounding. Every instinct screamed at me to step forward, to assert control, to demand answers—but I was too late. Too late to dictate the terms. Too late to undo the past. And as I looked at her, so composed, so resolute, I realized that the power dynamic I had clung to for so long had been irrevocably shifted.

The bond pulsed again, stronger this time, and I felt the faint stirrings of something undeniable. Responsibility. Connection. Protectiveness. Love—or something close to it, buried beneath layers of regret and guilt.

I took a step closer, careful, almost reverent. “Ella… I don’t know how to do this,” I admitted, voice low, raw. “I’ve… I’ve been blind, selfish, and… I’ve made mistakes , mistakes I can’t take back. But I promise you this, whatever this is, whatever life you’re carrying, I’ll—”

She shook her head gently, cutting me off. “Don’t make promises, Cole. Not yet. Actions speak louder. If you try protecting it. Protecting me. Then… maybe we’ll talk.”

I exhaled sharply, the weight of her words pressing down on me, grounding me in a way I hadn’t expected it to. The bond thrummed insistently against me, and for the first time, I understood the depth of its message: there was life, fragile and precious, and my selfishness had no place being here.

I nodded, wordless, my chest tight with emotion I could not name. Ella’s eyes met mine, steady, resolute, unyielding. And in that gaze, I recognized a truth I had long avoided: I was not in control. Not in her or this new life growing. Not of the bond that now tethered us in ways I could barely comprehend.

I stepped back, swallowing the lump in my throat, letting the distance settle between us. I would wait. I would watch. I would protect. And I would learn.

The morning sun rose higher, casting the practice yard in sharp light, but I barely noticed. My focus has shifted entirely on her, on the subtle stirrings beneath the bond, and on the realization that my life—and hers—had shifted irreversibly.

And somewhere, deep in the echo of the bond, I felt the fragile pulse of life, reminding me of responsibilities I had no choice but to accept, and of a future I would have to face with humility, vigilance, and the first flickers of something dangerously close to awe.