Chapter 04  

Adeline’s POV

The moment I laid Myra on the bed, I knew something was wrong.

Her skin was cold enough to make me flinch, damp like she’d been abandoned in a storm.

Her breaths came shallow, catching in her chest like they couldn’t quite decide whether to stay or go. I leaned closer, straining to catch each fragile puff, and when I pressed my fingers to her wrist, her pulse fluttered faintly—weak, unsteady, like it might slip away if I blinked.

The silence between those beats stretched too long, each pause gnawing at me until fear scraped bone-deep. My lungs wouldn’t steady, dragging air too quickly, as though I could pull enough for both of us, as though sheer will might keep her tethered here.

“Elijah, Caleb, fetch warm water. Now,” I ordered, my voice sharper than I intended.

They didn’t hesitate. Their little feet scrambled across the floorboards as they darted for the kitchen. I turned my focus back to the child before me—Vincent’s daughter. No, I forced the thought away. Right now, she wasn’t his.

She was just a child who needed me, she was simply a child in my care. And she was dying.

I pressed my palm lightly to her chest, closing my eyes and allowing my energy to flow.

Immediately I felt it: an empty space where her wolf spirit should have been. It wasn’t just dormant—it was absent, hollow.

My breath hitched. I'd heard whispers of such cases, though they are rare and tragic.

Children born wolfless. Outcasts who were vulnerable. The kind of weakness that cruel packs never forgave.

My stomach twisted. I knew too well what packs did to children who didn’t fit their mold. I had seen pups cast aside, their laughter silenced because they could never shift. I had seen mothers weep as their children were treated as burdens instead of blessings. And now this little girl—Vincent’s little girl—lay before me with that same cruel fate written into her bones.

Eve stirred inside me, her growl a low rumble in the back of my mind.

“Help her”

“I’m trying,” I whispered.

I called forth my healing powers. The air in the room shifted, thickening as I pressed my hands against her frail frame. Green light pulsed faintly from my fingertips, seeping into her. Her heartbeat steadied, thin but no longer erratic. Her lips, once pale, began to regain the faintest blush of color.

Her lashes fluttered and she moved a little. When her hazel eyes blinked open, relief crashed over me so fiercely I almost collapsed.

“Easy,” I murmured, smoothing wet curls from her damp forehead. “You’re safe now.”

Her small hand trembled as it reached for mine. Without warning, she hugged my neck, holding on like she’d never let go. Her tiny body pressed into me with a shuddering sob, and I froze. For one piercing heartbeat, it wasn’t Myra in my arms. It was her. My lost daughter, the one Vincent’s cruelty took away from me.

Then instinct took over, crushing me with a need so fierce it hollowed me out. I buried my face in her damp curls, breathing her in. My chest clenched, aching with the name I’d carried for years—the one I used to whisper into the dark, the one I never had the chance to call out loud.

I still remembered the day I searched for her. The day I came back from the river, only to meet the smoke and silence of my tribe.

My arms tightened around her before I could stop myself.

“Mummy?”

Caleb’s voice broke through my daze. He held out a wooden bowl brimming with broth, steam curling up in delicate wisps. Elijah followed behind, clutching a plate of bread and fruit.

“She needs to eat,” Elijah said firmly, though his eyes flicked nervously to her as if afraid she might vanish.

I eased Myra back gently. “Sweetheart, can you try some soup for me?”

She nodded timidly, still clinging to my sleeve. I lifted her into my lap, holding the bowl steady while she sipped slowly. Each swallow seemed to give her a sliver of strength, her color returning bit by bit.

Caleb perched beside us, breaking bread into small pieces for her, while Elijah fetched another blanket and tucked it around her shoulders like a shield.

It was such a simple, domestic scene—one I’d once dreamed of having with all three of my children.

After a few moments, Myra glanced up at me. “You’re nice,” she whispered, her voice small and still a bit weak.

I smiled faintly. “Thank you, Myra. Who takes care of you in the palace?” I asked her because the simple gesture seemed to mean a lot to her.

Her little shoulders slumped. “No one,” she whispered.

My brows furrowed. “No one? What about your mum?”

Her head shook quickly, hair falling into her eyes. Her voice came out small, trembling. “I don’t… I don’t have a mum. Lady Delilah… She says I’m just an abandoned bastard. She’s only nice when Father’s there. When he’s not… she pushes me and whispers that I ruined everything. She says I should’ve died so Daddy wouldn’t be ashamed of me.”

Her words snapped off like they hurt to say.

Caleb’s little fists shook as though he wanted to fight an enemy twice his size. Elijah’s lips thinned, his eyes flashing the same fire I’d seen in his father once. My own chest burned. How dare she—how dare Delilah put such poison in a child’s mouth? No cruelty was too low for that woman, but this… this was unforgivable.

Elijah’s fists curled tight. “She said what?” he growled.

Caleb’s cheeks flushed hot. “That’s so mean!”

“No mother?? I thought out loud

My eyes locked on Myra as if I’d misheard. But her small, trembling voice left no space for doubt.

She wasn’t Delilah’s child.

My arms tightened around her, my heart hammering against my ribs. Lady Delilah…beautiful as an angel, venomous as a viper, Vincent’s fiancée. A wolf in sheep's clothing.

And then the words came back, jagged and merciless: “abandoned bastard”. They cut deeper than they should have, dragging me into the hollow ache I thought I’d buried.. The day I lost my daughter.

The air stank of blood—metallic, suffocating. My tribe lay scattered like broken dolls, eyes wide and empty. I stumbled through them, calling names that would never answer.

At the treeline, among torn rogues, I saw it—a scrap of cloth I knew too well. The wrap I once swaddled my newborn in. Now soaked in red.

I searched until my hands bled, clawing through rubble and ash. I screamed until my throat tore raw, begging for a cry, a sound, anything. But all I found was silence.

That night, I dreamed of her—tiny, pink-skinned, with curls as soft as swan feathers. In my dreams, she reached for me.

"Mama," she'd whisper, and I’d wake clawing at the empty space beside me, drenched in sweat and grief.

For six years, the dream haunted me.

Six winters I told stories meant for three.

Six springs I searched the flowers, half mad with hope.

Every summer night, under a too-bright moon, I prayed the Goddess had spared her.

But prayers never brought her back

Now here was this girl—fragile, trembling, with those same wide hazel eyes—clinging to me as if she belonged here. As if I were home.

Myra’s gaze lifted to mine, trusting and vulnerable. And suddenly, I couldn’t breathe.

What if…?

Myra. Six years old. Hazel-eyed. Frail. Born wolfless.

My heart pounded so violently it hurt before I could ask the question burning in my throat, The room spun, possibilities clawing at me. If fate had played such a twisted trick, if my child lived within this girl’s fragile body, then every breath she took was a miracle… and a curse. My lips parted, the question trembling there, but before I could set it free—a thunderous knock shattered the moment.

The cottage door rattled against its hinges, each blow violent and demanding.

Myra flinched, nearly dropping her spoon. Caleb yelped softly. Elijah darted toward me, his small frame tense like a shield.

“Hide,” I ordered sharply, my voice low and lethal. I ushered the boys toward the back room, tucking Myra in with them, my hands trembling as I barred the door.

The knock came again—louder this time, accompanied by a voice that chilled my blood.

“Open up!”

I straightened, inhaling sharply and then I walked to the door.

Before I could even touch the handle, a deafening crash erupted outside, and the door flew inward, splintering against the wall.