Chapter 06

Adeline’s POV

I had prepared myself for this day—prepared for the inevitability of facing him again. I told myself I would be composed, unshaken. And yet, seeing him now, standing in my doorway with Myra trembling in his arms, was like being caught in the undertow of a storm I’d barely survived once before.

Vincent.

The man who had once loved me so deeply I thought we were untouchable. His eyes used to burn for me; his voice used to be my anchor in the dark. And now, those same eyes glared at me like I was poison.

His presence filled the small cottage, suffocating, commanding—Alpha to his very core. His scent hit me—sharp and commanding, laced with cedar and cold night air. It wrapped around me, unsettling and familiar, stirring an ache I hated myself for feeling.

The smell was the same one that used to calm me when nightmares clawed me awake. Once, it meant safety, meant home. Now it scraped down my throat like smoke from a burning house, leaving nothing but ash. My body betrayed me by remembering, even when my heart begged to forget.

That was when it hit me like a punch to the gut—the night I thought I’d found forever in his arms.

Vincent had kissed me like he was drowning, his hands sliding over my skin with a desperation that made me feel needed in a way I’d never known before. I could still feel the roughness of his palms, the warmth of his mouth trailing fire along my collarbone, the way he whispered my name like it was the only word he knew.

"You're mine, Adeline," he'd breathed against my ear, his voice trembling like he meant it. "Forever. No one will ever take you from me."

And I’d believed him.

God, I’d been so stupidly in love. I gave him everything that night—my trust, my body, every fragile piece of me I’d guarded for so long. I clung to him as he moved inside me, tears stinging my eyes from how raw and overwhelming it felt. I’d kissed him back like I’d never need to breathe again, like his love was the air keeping me alive.

I had been so careful before him, hiding my softness behind walls no one could scale. But he tore through them like they were paper, made me believe surrender wasn’t weakness but love. And I let myself believe it. I let myself think forever meant something more than a word whispered in the dark.

We’d made love until the world outside ceased to exist. I’d fallen asleep tangled in his arms, certain I was safe, certain he was mine, and certain we were unbreakable.

And it had to be that night. The night I conceived my babies. My sons. My daughter.

Now, looking at him, holding that frail little girl, that night twisted like a knife in my chest.

How dare he?

How dare he make me feel so cherished, only to turn into the man who left me crawling through the ashes of our slaughtered tribe, with two newborn sons squalling against my chest, and my daughter gone.

I couldn’t find her. Not after searching the rogue-ravaged woods for her, my whole body hurting, screaming her name until my voice shredded. Not after clawing at empty cradles in my dreams.

Every time I looked at their faces, I saw pieces of him—his stubborn jaw, the tilt of his brow—and it was a punishment I never asked for. They were my salvation, but also my constant reminder of how easily love could turn to ruin.

But none of it mattered right now.

Because the little girl in his arms, who looked fragile, pale and limp—was slipping fast. Her lashes fluttered weakly, her lips barely parting for breath. I reached forward instinctively, healer first, mother always.

“Myra,” I called firmly, stepping toward them to catch her.

His hand shot out, strong and unyielding, his fingers closing around my wrist like a vice, burning hot against my skin.

I froze. His grip was brutal, near crushing, the heat of his palm branding against my skin.

“Stay away!” he growled, the sound raw, primal. His eyes were wild, feral gold bleeding into hazel.

“You’ve done enough.”

“Done enough”?

The words cut sharper than his claws ever could.

“I’m trying to help her,” I hissed, struggling against his grip.

He shoved me.

It wasn’t hard enough to throw me across the room, but the sheer force knocked me back into the doorframe with a sharp crack. Pain jolted through my spine, radiating in hot waves. My breath hitched, teeth grinding as I braced myself against the wood. The sting spread across my back, but it was nothing compared to the crack splitting through my chest. I hated that his touch—once the only thing that steadied me—now left bruises that would never fade. I hated that I still felt the ghost of tenderness in the same hands that had just shoved me.

This man—this stranger now—was the same Vincent I found half dead, brought him back to my pack, nurtured him back to life and he swore to me that he'd never let me suffer. The same man who’d once pressed his forehead to mine, his voice raw and certain, swearing I was his always—as if the universe itself would bow to his promise. And now he looked at me like I was nothing but a shadow he wished had stayed dead, as though I was his enemy.

Myra whimpered faintly, her tiny fingers clutching at his shirt, and I swallowed my anguish down hard, forcing myself upright.

“She’s weak and frightened—don’t move her,” I gritted out, my voice steady despite the tremor crawling up my throat. “She could collapse completely if you keep jostling her like that.”

He didn’t turn. His jaw flexed like stone.

“Vincent,” I pressed, softer now. “Listen to me. You know I’m right.”

For a moment, I thought he would ignore me. His stance was rigid, broad shoulders taut like a drawn bowstring. The air between us crackled with tension, thick enough to choke on.

Neither of us spoke. My wolf pressed hard against my skin, ready to tear through, to defend what was ours. His power radiated like a storm, daring me to push back. For a moment, it felt like the cottage itself might split from holding us both inside.

I moved closer despite the ache in my back, despite his warning glare.

“You’re going to hurt her,” I said, my voice a whisper edged with boldness. “She needs rest, Vincent. She needs stillness. Stop letting your pride risk her life.”

For the first time since he’d stormed in, he hesitated. And then it happened.

A faint sound broke through the tense air, barely audible but sharp enough to pierce everything else.

“Mom…”

It was soft, barely a breath, but it was there.

Myra’s voice. My heart stopped.

Vincent stiffened, his entire body freezing like stone. Slowly, he glanced down at her in his arms. Her lashes fluttered weakly, her lips trembling as that one word ghosted out again.

“Mom…”

The world spun.

The room felt too small, too silent, my lungs refusing to pull air.

Vincent’s head whipped toward me, his hazel-gold gaze searing, confusion warring with disbelief in their depths.

But I couldn’t move.

My feet were rooted to the floor, my hands trembling at my sides, my heart hammering so violently it hurt.

That word.

After six years of nightmares, after endless nights clawing through memory and ash—hearing it now was like being struck by lightning.

My throat worked soundlessly, my eyes locked on her pale, fragile face.

And then she whispered it again.

“Mom…”