Chapter 50— Shadows Between Us

(Ella POV)

The mornings came slower now, like the sun hesitated to rise. I sat at the table, chin in my palm, watching the steam curl from the cup of tea Marcus had insisted I drink for my “nerves.” I wasn’t sure if it helped, but the warmth grounded me while the rest of me felt strangely adrift. I still haven’t told him about me being pregnant.

My stomach turned in weak waves again. It had been happening for days soft nausea in the morning, a weariness I couldn’t shake, all this I knew what associated with me being pregnant or so I read.

Cole’s boots scuffed against the porch, the sound dragging me away from my thoughts. He stepped inside, shaking off the cold air, his shirt clinging to him from training. His eyes flicked to me, then away again, like he couldn’t hold my gaze for more than a second.

“You’re up early,” I said, trying to sound casual, though my voice wavered.

He grunted, pulling an apple from the counter and tossing it to me with a faint smile that never reached his eyes. “Eat this, cause I’ve realized that this is the only thing that stays in your stomach.”

I caught it clumsily, the fruit cold in my palm. I wanted to ask him series of question about where he’d been, who he’d been with, why his eyes sometimes looked hollow when they landed on me. But the words stuck in my throat.

Instead, I bit into the apple, the sweetness coating my tongue, the sour edge making my stomach twist. He didn’t notice my wince. Lately he never seemed to notice.

Later that morning, I tried to sketch again, but this time my pencil trembled between my fingers. The page filled with half-formed shapes, jagged lines that didn’t resemble the flowers I wanted them to be. I slammed the book shut, frustration burning in my chest.

“Ella?”

I startled. Jasper leaned against the doorframe, his usual quiet smirk softening when he saw my expression. Even when he wasn’t supposed to be present, he will always find a way to appear when I least expect him.

“Are you doing okay?” he asked, tilting his head.

“I’m fine,” I lied automatically, hugging the sketchbook to my chest.

He gave me a look that said he didn’t believe me, but he didn’t press. “I just thought I should let you know that Sasha has been stirring stirring trouble outside again.”

I’m not surprised by this. I forced a smile, nodding. “Thanks, Jasper.”

For more than a second, his eyes lingered on me, it was filled with something like concern. It made warmth rise in my cheeks, and also made guilt arise. I wasn’t supposed to crave someone’s understanding more than my own mate’s.

That evening, Cole came home later than usual. His hair was damp, his shirt smelling faintly of smoke and something else I lay my fingers on. My chest tightened, and for just a heartbeat, I wanted to demand answers to my question about where he had been and who he had been with. I can feel it that I’m losing him even though he is right here.

But I didn’t ask him any of those.

Instead, I asked, “Have you eaten?”

His eyes darted to mine, surprised. He shook his head.

I set down the knife I’d been using to slice apples for a pie I wasn’t even sure I’d finish. “Sit. I’ll make you something to eat.”

He hesitated, then sat down, watching me move about the kitchen. His gaze felt heavy on my back, but not in the way it used to. There was distance in it, a gulf I couldn’t cross.

When I set a plate in front of him, he muttered, “Thank you.”

I sat opposite, hands folded tightly in my lap. “Cole… do you—” The words snagged in my throat.

He looked up, his eyes tired, guarded. “What?”

Do you want this? Do you want me?

I swallowed hard. “Never mind. Don’t bother.”

He nodded like he was relieved, and the silence stretched again.

That night, when he touched me, it was with a tenderness that felt foreign, it felt rehearsed. His hand lingered on my cheek, his lips brushing mine as though he was trying to remind himself of something he’d forgotten. I really wanted to believe it was real. I wanted to melt into it, to forget every doubt clawing at me.

But when it was over, and his breathing evened beside me, I lay awake staring at the ceiling, my hand over my stomach.

The whisper I felt in my chest grew louder.

The following morning, I walked into the forest, craving air that didn’t taste of silence. The trees greeted me with their usual hush, the scent of moss and damp earth grounding me. I pressed a hand to the bark of a cedar, closing my eyes.

“What’s happening to me?” I whispered to the air.

The bond tugged softly in my chest, reminding me I wasn’t alone. But this time the tug didn’t comfort me, it only ended up frightening me. Because I knew that the bond was the only thing that held us together and that Cole didn’t really want me. All he truly cares about is Sasha and maybe the child growing within me.

I sank to the ground, curling my knees to my chest. Tears pricked my eyes, hot and unwanted. I had spent years dreaming of my own family, of belonging, of love.

By the time I returned to the cabin, my resolve had hardened. I couldn’t keep floating between hope and dread. Something had to change.

When I got back, Cole was gone again and I wasn’t surprised. Not at all.

I sat at the table, pulling the sketchbook toward me. This time, my pencil didn’t hesitate. I drew a single flower—whole, unbent, blooming tall. It was stubborn, defiant, alive.

When I was done drawing, stared at it, my hand trembling.

Whatever this new life inside me meant—whether it was joy, or fear, or both—I knew one thing: I had to be stronger. For myself. For the child.