Chapter 11

Cora's Pov

The house is nothing like I imagined.

I don’t know what I expected—something cold, imposing, filled with reminders that I don’t belong. That’s what homes have always felt like to me. Places where I exist quietly on the edges, careful not to take up too much space.

But this place feels… lived in.

Warm.

Eric’s house sits deeper within Frostbite territory, surrounded by towering trees that seem older than time itself. The building is modern but grounded, built of dark wood and stone, wide windows letting the forest bleed into every room. It doesn’t loom. It doesn’t threaten.

It welcomes.

I hesitate at the threshold, suddenly aware of everything I am. A stranger. A rogue. A girl with no pack and too many scars—some visible, most not.

Hannah notices immediately.

“Hey,” she says gently, looping her arm through mine before I can step back. “You’re safe here. I promise.”

The word promise does something to me. It lodges itself in my chest and refuses to leave.

I nod, afraid that if I speak, my voice will break again.

Inside, the house smells like pine and something warm—coffee, maybe, and baked bread. My stomach twists painfully at the reminder that I haven’t eaten properly in days. Hannah seems to sense it, because she brightens instantly.

“You must be starving,” she says. “I’ll make something. You just—sit. Anywhere. This is your home now too.”

Home.

The word feels dangerous. Fragile.

Eric sets my bag down by the stairs, watching me with an intensity that makes me hyper-aware of every movement. He isn’t staring in a way that makes me uncomfortable. It’s more like he’s… assessing. Making sure I’m really here. That I won’t disappear if he blinks.

“You don’t have to stay downstairs,” he says. “There’s a guest room ready. Or—” He hesitates. “You can choose.”

Choose.

No one has ever given me that before.

“I’d like to see the room,” I say quietly.

He nods once and leads me upstairs. The hallway is wide, lined with photographs—pack gatherings, patrols, smiling faces. Hannah and Eric as kids.

Family.

The guest room is simple but beautiful. A large bed with dark blue covers, a window overlooking the trees, a dresser already stocked with folded clothes.

I freeze.

“These—” My fingers hover over the fabric. “These are for me?”

Hannah beams from the doorway. “Of course! I guessed your size. If I’m wrong, we’ll fix it.”

My chest tightens so hard it hurts.

“Thank you,” I whisper.

Eric clears his throat. “You should rest. Healers said your body healed, but that doesn’t mean you’re fully recovered.”

I nod. “I know.”

He lingers for a moment, like there’s something he wants to say but can’t find the words. Then he steps back.

“If you need anything,” he says, voice low, “I’m right here.”

After they leave, I sit on the bed and stare at my hands.

They don’t look any different.

And yet everything is.

I change slowly, pulling on the soft clothes Hannah left behind. They fit perfectly. I wash my face, watching my reflection in the mirror. The girl staring back at me looks… older. Stronger. Her eyes are sharper now, guarded but alive.

My wolf stirs beneath my skin, restless but calm.

Not screaming. Not afraid.

For the first time since the rejection, the bond pain in my chest feels distant. Still there—but quieter. Like it’s finally learning that it doesn’t control me anymore.

Downstairs, voices drift up. Laughter. Hannah’s, bright and effortless. Eric’s voice threads through it—measured, grounding.

I don’t remember the last time I was in a house filled with laughter that didn’t feel like it was happening without me.

When I come back down, Hannah hands me a bowl of soup before I can even speak.

“Eat,” she orders lightly. “No arguing.”

I obey.

The warmth spreads through me instantly, soothing something raw inside. I hadn’t realized how hungry I was—how starved. Not just for food, but for this. Care. Normalcy.

"You look better than you did this morning"

“Still terrifying though,” Hannah adds with a grin.

I laugh before I can stop myself.

The sound surprises all of us.

Eric’s eyes snap to me, something unreadable flickering across his face before it smooths away.

But I catch it.

Something like relief.

After dinner, Hannah chatters easily, telling me about the pack, about growing up under Eric’s watchful eye, about how protective he’s always been.

“He pretends he’s all cold and scary,” she says conspiratorially, “but he’s really not.”

Eric shoots her a warning look. “Hannah.”

She just laughs.

I watch them quietly, heart aching in a way that’s almost unbearable. Not with jealousy.

With longing.

Later, when Hannah finally drags herself upstairs, yawning and promising to show me around properly tomorrow, silence settles over the living room.

Eric and I are alone.

The fire crackles softly between us.

“I should thank you,” I say suddenly. “For… everything.”

He looks up. “You don’t owe me anything.”

“I know,” I say. “But I want to.”

He studies me for a long moment, then nods once. “You’re welcome.”

Another pause.

“You don’t have to tell us your story,” he adds. “Not until you’re ready. Or ever.”

Something in my chest loosens at that.

“I was rejected,” I admit quietly. “By my mate.”

His jaw tightens. Just barely.

“I’m sorry,” he says, and I know he means it.

“I left,” I continue. “Because staying hurt more.”

He nods slowly. “Sometimes leaving is the strongest thing you can do.”

I meet his gaze then, really look at him.

And for the first time, I don’t see just an alpha.

I see a man who understands loss.

Pain.

Regret.

My wolf stirs again, curious this time.

Not claiming.

Just… noticing.

I go upstairs to my room,closing the door behind me.Silence wraps around the room.

That’s when I feel it.

The bond.

Cain.

It presses against my chest like an old bruise, tender and aching, reminding me that even here—far from Lincoln Pack, far from rejection—he still exists inside me. The pull isn’t as sharp as it was before, but it’s persistent. Like it’s waiting.

I sit on the edge of the bed, fingers curling into the fabric.

All my life, I’ve been unwanted. Overlooked. Chosen last—if at all.

When I found out Cain was my mate, some foolish part of me thought maybe this was fate’s apology. That maybe I would finally be enough.

But he walked away.

And I ran.

And I almost died.

The bond tightens, reacting to my thoughts, to the ache in my chest.

My wolf stirs—not frantic, not hurting.

Just aware.

You don’t need him, she says softly.

I close my eyes.

For the first time, I stop fighting it. Stop hoping. Stop wishing he’d come for me.

“He made his choice,” I whisper into the quiet room. My voice shakes, but it doesn’t crumble. “And I accept it.”

The bond reacts instantly.

Pain explodes through my chest—sharp, sudden, stealing the air from my lungs. I gasp, clutching at myself as the ache peaks once, brutally, like a final test of strength.

Then—

It releases.

No scream.

No echo.

No lingering pull.

Just silence.

I freeze, waiting for the emptiness to swallow me whole.

It doesn’t.

Instead, warmth spreads through my chest, slow and steady. My wolf settles fully into me, complete and content, no longer reaching outward for something that was never meant to stay.

Tears slide down my face, but this time they aren’t from heartbreak.

They’re from relief.

Cain Lincoln no longer holds a piece of my soul.

I lie back on the bed, exhaustion washing over me—not the hollow kind, but the deep, earned kind that comes after surviving something that should’ve destroyed me.

Tomorrow, I’ll start over.

Tomorrow, I’ll train. I’ll grow stronger. I’ll learn who I really am.

But tonight, I sleep free.