Chapter 49 — Ella’s Quiet Storm

(Ella POV)

The mornings had begun to feel different. It wasn’t just brighter or exactly softer but in ways I couldn’t explain the day felt heavier. The scent of apples lingered in the cabin now, bowls of them placed on the kitchen counter, one was perched on the table in an awkward manner just as if Cole had dropped it there and forgotten about it.

I traced my fingers over the smooth skin of the nearest one, it looked so deep it looked like a bruise against the pale wood. I should have smiled at the gesture. I wanted to but with the distance he had been displaying, something coiled too tight beneath the surface. Each time he handed me one, his eyes would soften for a moment, then flicker away, shadowed.

More than I would love to admit, It unsettled me.

The cabin was quiet, save for the faint creak of the wood in the wind. My stomach fluttered—sometimes with queasiness, sometimes with nerves. I pressed a hand against it now, almost unconsciously. It was still too early for anything to show, but I could still feel the life growing within me.

The night before, Cole had asked about my day, his voice awkward, almost forced. “How are you feeling? Did you sleep? Eat?” The questions sounded like care, bit within them they still was guilt. I had answered with a smile, because it was easier than peeling back the layers.

But the truth was I couldn’t describe how I really felt.

I’d always dreamed of belonging somewhere or to someone, not just to be regarded as Marcus’s charity case or Sasha’s favorite target. Now, i was in a position where other could be jealous of me, I had a mate bond, a husband, a life entwined with the Alpha’s son. But the union wasn’t one that was filled with warmth and laughter.

I sat by my window later that morning, my sketchbook open on my knees. My pencil hovered, lines half-formed on the page. Again, I was drawing wildflowers though this time they looked wilted, their stems bent, petals half-fallen. I frowned at the page. I realize at that point that this might not be what I had the intentions of drawing but it felt more true than I would like to admit.

From outside I could hear the commanding voice of Cole. He was giving instructions to two young wolves. He carried authority now, though sometimes it cracked around the edges, like a man wearing shoes that didn’t fit.

When he stepped back inside, his eyes found me. For a heartbeat, something warm flickered there. His gaze dipped to the sketchbook, then to the apple I’d left untouched beside me.

“You need to eat,” he said. His tone was gruff, but not unkind.

I nodded, picking it up, biting into the flesh even though my stomach wasn’t hungry. Sweetness burst across my tongue, but it tasted hollow. He leaned against the wall, arms folded, watching me.

“What?” I asked softly, wiping juice from my lip.

He shook his head. “Nothing. I just want to make sure you are okay.”

I smiled faintly, though it didn’t reach my eyes. “I’m fine.”

It was a lie, but one he seemed relieved to hear. He pushed away from the wall, muttered something about patrol duties, and left again. The door shut behind him with a soft click that felt louder than it should.

The hours stretched. I cleaned up the cabin even though it was already neat. I folded blankets and refolded them. My mind just wouldn’t keep calm. Each creak of the floorboards reminded me of the weight of silence.

I thought about how quickly everything had shifted from my birthday, to the mating, to this fragile truce of apples and questions. And underneath it all, the gnawing suspicion: he want really hear with me, at least not in all entirety. At night, he might lay beside e but I could feel that his mind and heart was elsewhere.

Even as he drifted afar, the bond till tugged within me. It felt like a thread tightening in my chest, warning me. I tried to ignore it. Tried convincing myself that bonds were complicated, that time would smooth over every edges. But in the stillness of the cabin, with my hand pressed against the soft plane of my stomach, I wondered if love could grow in soil so shallow.

I so much wanted to believe it.

Cole returned by evening. He carried a small paper bag, its shape lumpy and uneven. Without saying a word, he set it on the table then busied himself with the fire.

I peeked inside the bag and I wasn’t surprised when I found apples in it. Their skins shone red in the firelight, like hearts waiting to be claimed.

“You’re beginning to spoil me,” I teased him gently, trying to bridge the space between us.

He glanced over, his mouth twitching into the shadow of a smile. “You need them.”

“Because I’m pregnant or because I’m human?” I asked, half-joking, half-serious.

His silence lingered too long. My chest ached.

I placed the bag aside and stepped closer to him. The firelight painted his profile in gold and shadow, highlighting the hard line of his jaw, the crease between his brows. He looked no older than nineteen, but burdened in ways I just couldn’t place.

“Cole,” I said softly. “You don’t have to…” My words faltered. “There is no need to pretend like you care. You don’t have to carry me like a responsibility you resent”.

At that point his gaze met mine and for just a heartbeat, I thought I saw something real, something similar to regret, longing, maybe even fear. But as quickly as that came, it slipped away shuttered behind by his walls.

“I’m not pretending, I actually do care,” he said, though I wasn’t sure he believed it.

That night while I lay in bed, I curled onto my side, my back to him. The distance between us felt heavy. My hand drifted once more to my stomach, where a fragile life has taken a root within me.