Chapter 8: Wounds That Don't Heal

The nightmares came often, usually when Elena least expected them — her parents' screams echoing through smoke-filled memory, the acrid smell of blood and burning wood, the crushing helplessness of hiding in the trees while her entire world burned to ash below her.

She woke gasping one night, drenched in sweat, her wolf clawing beneath her skin with desperate urgency to escape, to run, to do something other than relive that horrific night for the thousandth time. Unable to bear the confines of her room, she stumbled outside into the cool night air, needing space to breathe, to remember she was safe now, years removed from that trauma.

Kane found her there, sitting on the ground beneath the sprawling oak tree at the edge of the training grounds, shaking despite the relatively mild temperature. He approached slowly, giving her space to acknowledge his presence before crouching down beside her.

"Elena." His voice was gentle in a way she'd never heard from an Alpha, none of the commanding authority he usually carried, just quiet concern. "What happened? You're shaking."

For a moment, she considered lying, deflecting with some excuse about a bad dream that meant nothing. But something about the darkness, the vulnerability of the hour, made honesty feel possible in a way it rarely did during daylight.

"They killed them," she whispered, voice cracking. "My parents. A rival pack wanted our territory — small as it was, we still had claim to good hunting grounds near the river. My father wouldn't yield, wouldn't submit to their demands, so they slaughtered him for it. Tore him apart in front of me and my mother. Then they turned on her when she tried to fight back, tried to protect me."

Kane's expression darkened with barely contained fury, though his hands remained gentle as they came to rest on her shoulders. "How old were you?"

"Twelve. I hid in the trees while it happened. I watched everything — every single detail, every scream, every moment of violence, because I was too terrified to look away or run. Then when it was finally over, when they'd finished and moved on to claim our territory, I ran. I've been running ever since."

"You survived," Kane said firmly. "That's not weakness, Elena. That's strength most people couldn't summon."

"Doesn't feel like strength. Feels like cowardice, some nights. Like I should have done something, fought somehow, instead of hiding while they died."

"You were twelve years old facing grown wolves who'd already proven their willingness to kill. There was nothing you could have done except die alongside them, and that wouldn't have honored their memory — it would have wasted the sacrifice they made trying to protect you."

The logic of his words penetrated something in her chest, some guilt she'd carried for seven years without ever fully examining. Before she could stop herself, tears began falling, silent and overwhelming, years of suppressed grief finally breaking free.

Kane pulled her into his arms without hesitation, and for once, she didn't pull away, didn't retreat behind her carefully constructed walls. She let herself be held, let herself feel safe for the first time in longer than she could remember.

"You're safe here," he murmured into her hair, his voice steady with conviction. "I swear it, Elena. Whatever comes, I will protect you."

She wanted, desperately and dangerously, to believe him completely.