Chapter 6: Slight Emotion Flicker

Knox's Point of View

I woke to the feeling of her body curled against mine, the familiar weight of her warmth grounding me, as our bare limbs remained tangled from the night before. How many mornings had I risen like this? Her legs slung over mine, or mine over hers. Her head resting over my chest, or mine tucked against the soft curve of her bosom.

So many nights, we’d collapsed into each other—our bodies speaking a language only we understood. We loved each other fiercely, surrendered to one another fully, and fell asleep sated in that sacred aftermath.

For four of the five years we’d been together, these mornings were my constant. My peace. My joy. I never tired of her touch, never stopped marveling at the quiet comfort of our connection.

But in these last two years... something else began to whisper into the silence between our heartbeats.

A guilt. Lingering. Uninvited.

There were rare moments, as I made love to Emerald, that November's face would flicker into my mind. A flash—quick and sharp—of silver eyes and quiet sorrow. It was never more than a flicker, but it was enough. Enough to crack something deep inside me. Enough to twist love into shame, and devotion into something heavier.

When I was alone, it was worse. In the quiet of my office, with only my own thoughts for company, guilt would bloom like a slow, burning fire. Emerald off with her family, or visiting old friends, and I—left in stillness—became haunted by the bond I never pursued. The mate I never chose.

November.

My secret ache.

The Moon Goddess had a cruel sense of humor, binding my soul to someone I could not keep. I had chosen Emerald. And I would choose her a thousand times again. But the bond—the invisible tether between November and me—was still there. A silent, unwelcome guest in the corners of my consciousness.

And yet, how could I be angry with November? She had grown into a force—radiant and sure. If not for Emerald, I would have been proud to claim her. She was everything a mate should be. Strong. Compassionate. Unshakably kind. But fate is rarely fair, and I had no room left in my heart for what could have been.

Still... I regretted the wound I’d left behind. The pain I etched across her soul when I turned away. She never asked for this—never demanded the impossible. She simply stepped back, without malice. I can only hope she finds a love of her own—someone who will choose her without hesitation, someone worthy of all she is. She deserves nothing less than joy.

I remember the first time Emerald entered my life, like light spilling through the canopy of a dark forest. I had just turned sixteen, and my father had begun grooming me for my role as future Alpha. Her family had arrived that year, seeking sanctuary after a rogue attack decimated her former pack—taking her destined mate along with many others.

She stepped out of the car like a dream—long, moonlit hair catching the sun, and eyes so blue they stole the breath from my chest. Even then, I was hers. Not because of fate, but by choice.

By love.

I became her protector long before I became her partner. And from that foundation, our love bloomed, unrushed and undeniable. I never questioned my love for her. Not for a single heartbeat.

She stirred beside me now, drawing me back from the storm of memory. I looked down and caught the soft upward tug of her lips, still half-asleep. She opened her eyes—those blue oceans—and smiled.

“Morning, love,” she said with a sleepy stretch, like a kitten full of contentment.

“Morning, my heart,” I murmured, brushing a kiss against her forehead. “Did you sleep well?”

“Very well,” she teased, lips curving slyly, “for the time you allowed me to sleep.”

Laughing, I wrapped her in my arms and rolled her gently beneath me, burying my face in the crook of her neck. Her scent filled me, soft and sweet.

“Knox, stop,” she giggled, squirming under me. “I need the bathroom.”

I released her, grinning. “Fine. But tonight, you’re mine again.”

“Always,” she said, eyes soft, voice steady. “And forever.”

She walked naked to the bathroom, her petite steps silent against the thick beige carpet. I heard the water turn on, imagined her there beneath the spray, and for a moment, considered joining her. But duty tugged harder than desire.

I dressed quickly—yesterday’s jeans, a fresh black v-neck. Then knocked softly on the door to let her know I was heading out.

“Okay,” she called. “Love you.”

“I love you too.”

As I descended the last stair from our wing of the packhouse, I saw her—November.

She was halfway down the staircase across from mine, leading from the west wing. Her eyes flicked up, met mine—grey, stormy—and immediately dropped.

She quickened her steps. Almost fled. Out the door before I could draw breath, let alone call her name.

She’d lost weight. A quiet change, easily missed if one wasn’t looking closely. But I noticed. I always noticed her. I used to worry for her, when we first learned of the bond. But she’d carried on. Smiled. Laughed. Lived.

I believed she was okay. Maybe I wanted to believe it. Needed to.

Only sometimes did I catch a flicker of pain behind her smile when she saw me with Emerald. But I told myself it was fleeting. That she was healing.

I entered my office, sinking into the leather chair behind my desk. Paperwork loomed—treaties, patrol reports, rogue incursions. The usual chaos.

But the rogues… they weren’t what they used to be. These new ones—feral, twisted—were something else. Diseased. Mangy. Their eyes empty, like all that made them once-Lycan had been scraped away.

Monsters. That’s all they were now.

I’d reached out to neighboring Alphas, hunting for answers. But every lead turned to ash. Every theory a dead end. The only truth that remained was this: war was coming. And we had to be ready.

I leaned back, scrubbing a hand over my face, exhausted by repetition. Hope. Disappointment. Repeat.

Through the window behind my desk, I watched the world I’d sworn to protect. Children laughing on their way to school. Warriors-in-training repeating the same drills I once knew by heart.

And then I saw her.

A lone figure, back turned to me, slipping into the tree line.

I knew it was her.

November.

She paused before vanishing into the forest, glancing back over her shoulder. Her eyes lifted straight to my window.

And in that moment, I saw her. Truly saw her.

Not the strong, composed woman she showed the world.

But the girl I’d left behind. The one who still carried my name in the quiet places of her heart.

Her eyes were hollow with sorrow. With the ache of something that never had the chance to become.

She turned and disappeared into the woods.

And I sat frozen in my chair, breath caught in my throat.

How could I have been so blind? So foolish to think she was fine. She never moved on.

Not really.

And maybe...

Maybe a part of me never did either.