THE WOUNDS

KAIA POV

The light hits different in the morning.

I didn't notice it last night when I was too exhausted to think, too traumatized to do anything but exist. But now, with sunlight pouring through the cabin window, I can see everything. The blood on Damien's shoulder from where he'd been clawed during the rogue attack. The bruises spreading across his ribs like storm clouds. The arrow wound on his side that I'd healed with Moonfire—still partially sealed, still angry red at the edges.

He was beautiful and broken, and it was all my fault.

"Stop looking at me like that," he said from the bed.

"Like what?"

"Like you're calculating how much damage you've caused."

I didn't respond. Just found the medical supplies Sera had left for us and started cleaning his wounds properly. In daylight. Where I could see exactly how close I'd come to losing him.

The water was warm, and I was gentle, and he didn't flinch once. That somehow made it worse. Made me realize that pain didn't bother him anymore. Only the thought of me hurting bothered him.

"Kaia."

"Don't," I said. "Just let me—"

"Look at me."

I didn't. I kept my eyes on his shoulder, on the wound that was healing but would probably scar. Another mark that said *I was here and I survived*. How many more would he collect because of me?

"My father's dead," he said quietly. "Rafe's taken everything. And you're blaming yourself for that too."

"If I hadn't rejected him—"

"Then Lyra would still be alive and we'd both be pretending we weren't mates," Damien interrupted. "We'd be living a lie. And eventually, it would have broken us both."

"So this is better?" I asked bitterly. "Being fugitives? Hiding in a cabin while the man who murdered your father rules our pack?"

"Yes," he said, and he sounded absolutely certain. "Because at least we're alive. At least we're together. At least we chose this."

I finished cleaning his wounds in silence. When I was done, I sat back and realized my hands were shaking. Not from the work. From the weight of everything I was carrying.

The guilt settled on my shoulders like a stone.

---

By afternoon, I couldn't breathe.

I don't know what triggered it. One second I was sitting by the window watching the forest, and the next second I was gasping like I'd been underwater for too long. My heart was racing, and the room was spinning, and I couldn't remember how to pull air into my lungs.

Damien was there immediately, pulling me into his arms.

"Breathe," he said. "Just breathe."

"I can't." The words came out fractured. "I can't. There's too much. It's too much."

"Shh. I've got you."

"Lyra's dead because of me," I whispered. "Your father's dead because of me. The pack is suffering because I—"

"No." His hand came up and gripped the back of my neck. "You don't get to do that. You don't get to rewrite history and make yourself the villain."

"But if I hadn't—"

"If you hadn't what? Rejected Rafe? Been brave enough to say no? Had a power that terrified people?" His voice was sharp now. Cutting. "You think any of that gives him the right to murder? You think your existence is permission for him to destroy people?"

I couldn't answer. I just sat there gasping like I was drowning.

He pulled me against his chest and held me while I fell apart. And I mean actually fell apart. Not the controlled crying I'd done before. This was ugly and raw and desperate. This was the sound of someone who'd been holding themselves together by sheer willpower finally admitting that they couldn't do it anymore.

"I can see her face," I whispered into his chest. "I can see the moment she realized it was him. I can see her trying to understand why her friend's mistake had to cost her everything."

"Kaia—"

"She forgave him for being lonely. Did I tell you that? Before he killed her, she told me that she thought Rafe was just sad. That he needed someone to see him. And she was going to help." My voice broke completely. "She was going to help him, and he tore her throat open."

Damien's arms tightened around me, and I felt something shift in the bond between us. His pain was mixing with mine, his rage feeding into my guilt until I couldn't tell where one ended and the other began.

"I'm sorry," I said. "I'm sorry for all of this. I'm sorry for—"

"Don't apologize to me." He pulled back just enough to look at me. His eyes were completely gold now, feral with emotion. "Don't you dare apologize for being alive."

---

By evening, I still couldn't stop shaking.

Damien built up the fire and pulled me close, and we sat in front of the flames while the sun died outside. He didn't try to talk me out of my guilt. He didn't offer false comfort or promises that everything would be okay. He just held me and let me be broken for a while.

"Lyra would hate seeing you like this," he said finally.

I looked up at him. "You didn't know her."

"I know she loved you." He tucked a strand of hair behind my ear. "And I know that if she could see you right now, drowning in guilt that isn't yours, she'd be furious with you."

"You don't know that."

"I do." His thumb traced my cheekbone. "Because I watch you. I watch the way you love people. I watch the way you'd burn the world down for anyone you cared about. Lyra knew that. She loved you for it. And the last thing she'd want is for you to destroy yourself trying to atone for her death."

"How do I stop?" I asked, and the question came out small. Lost.

"You don't," he said. "You just learn to carry it instead of letting it crush you. You honor her by living. By building something good. By becoming the person she always believed you could be."

I wanted to believe him. I wanted to believe that Lyra's death could mean something beyond just tragedy. But all I could feel was the weight of her absence.

"Tell me something about her," Damien said. "Something that made you smile. Something real."

I thought about it, and the panic loosened just slightly.

"She was terrible at cooking," I said. "Absolutely awful. She once tried to make bread and somehow managed to make it taste like metal. I don't even know how that's possible." I felt my lips curve. "And she was so proud of it. She brought it to training the next day and tried to convince everyone that it was actually delicious. No one would eat it."

Damien smiled, and I realized I'd never seen him smile before. Not really. Not like he was genuinely happy.

"What else?" he asked.

"She sang terribly. Off-key constantly. But she sang everywhere. In the training circle. During patrols. In the mess hall at three in the morning because she couldn't sleep." I looked at him. "You'd hear her coming from a mile away, and everyone would groan because it meant she was in a good mood and wanted to drag us into it."

"She sounds like she was good for the pack."

"She was good for me," I corrected. "I don't care about the pack right now. I just... I want her to have existed. I want people to remember that she was here and she mattered."

"They will," Damien said. "Because you'll make sure they do."

---

We stayed like that for hours, sitting in front of the fire while I talked about Lyra. About the stupid things she'd said. The times she'd made me laugh so hard I couldn't breathe. The way she'd always known exactly what I needed before I knew myself.

And slowly, the panic loosened its grip.

Not completely. It was still there, still lurking at the edges of my chest, ready to strangle me again if I let it. But for now, it was manageable. For now, I could breathe.

Damien's arm never left my waist. His hand never stopped touching me—my shoulder, my hair, my hand. Like he was afraid that if he let go, I'd disappear.

"Thank you," I whispered when the sun had fully set.

"For what?"

"For not trying to fix me. For just... being here."

He kissed the top of my head. "That's what mates do."

We moved to the bed as full darkness fell. He lay behind me with his arm around my waist, and I could feel his heartbeat against my back. Strong. Steady. Alive.

"Damien?" I said into the darkness.

"Yeah?"

"I don't know how to live with this. The guilt. The knowledge that she died because of my choices."

"One day at a time," he said. "And some days, you'll only survive one hour at a time. That's okay. That's enough."

I wanted to believe him. I wanted to believe that I could carry this weight without being crushed by it.

That's when I heard it—a sound that came from outside the cabin. Not an animal. Not a threat. A voice that seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere at once.

“You are my weapon,"it said. “And tomorrow, your training begins."

Damien felt me stiffen. "What was that?" he asked.

"I don't know," I whispered.

But I did know. In some deep part of me, I recognized that voice. The same voice from the dream. The Moon Goddess, calling me back to something I wasn't ready for.

Not yet.

Tomorrow, maybe. When the panic had fully loosened its hold. When I'd had time to process the fact that Lyra was gone and I was still here and that meant I had to make it count.

But tonight, I just held onto Damien and let myself break a little bit less.