Chapter 6: The Chase Begins

Calla’s POV

The machines had stopped beeping.

A sigh escaped my lips, it was a sound that grated down on my nerves, but it had died down now.

For the first time in hours, Asher’s tiny chest rose and fell in a steady rhythm. Shallow, but even. A rhythm I’d prayed for with every beat of my own broken heart. The fever that had scorched his fragile body had finally broken—but not because of anything I did.

No.

It was Rowan’s blood. The Alpha's blood.

My breath hitched as I smoothed the damp curls from Asher’s forehead. His skin had cooled, his lips no longer tinged blue. But the healer’s expression hadn’t softened and that worried me. She hovered near the monitors with hands clasped too tightly, voice too careful, like she was speaking around a ticking clock. I didn’t like that.

“His vitals have stabilized for now,” she said softly, eyes avoiding mine. “But the balance is temporary. Whatever’s wrong with his blood… it keeps rejecting anything that isn’t of the same origin.”

That word—

Origin.

It hit like a bell tolling inside me. A slow, devastating drumbeat that echoed through my ribs.

Asher wasn’t just sick. He was incomplete.

And Rowan—my mate, my husband, the man who once traced promises on my bare skin beneath the stars—was the missing half.

The only one who could save our son.

But Rowan didn’t remember me. At least, that’s what I’d convinced myself. That was the cruelest part of all. The indifference in his eyes. The cold way he spoke to me, as if we were strangers. Or worse—enemies.

“I’ll fix this,” I whispered to Asher, my voice barely holding shape. “Even if it destroys me.”

Because it would destroy me.

Lying. Pretending. Watching the man I loved and equally hated pass me like a ghost, while our child clung to life.

But I had no choice.

I turned away, stepping into the small suite bathroom, my feet dragging as if the weight of every secret I carried had finally found my bones. I gripped the edge of the sink like a lifeline. The mirror above it reflected someone I barely recognized.

Silver hair damp with steam. Skin pale and bruised with sleepless nights. Eyes rimmed red, the spark in them long gone.

A ghost. That’s all I was now.

The world behind my reflection blurred. I remembered how I used to look when I smiled—when he made me smile. When the future was ours and we believed in impossible things.

Flashback – Almost Four Years Ago

The scent of rain clung to my skin, heavy and clean, as I stepped beneath the archway of wild vines. My dress was soaked, a simple white lace that clung to every curve. I’d sewn it by hand, every stitch a piece of hope, every thread woven with love.

Rowan’s silver eyes found mine through the curtain of mist. The look in them wasn’t Alpha command or warrior steel.

It was devotion.

"You don’t have to say yes," he whispered, brushing a wet strand of hair behind my ear. "Not to prove anything. Just... tell me this is real."

My laugh trembled like the wind around us. “You already know the answer.”

He smiled like a man who had finally outrun his demons, who finally found his safe haven and was ready to embrace it. “Then I, Rowan Blackthorne, vow to love you through the blood and the storm, past every moon and into the next life.”

The ring he slid onto my finger wasn’t gold. It was ironwood and wolf’s bane—nature’s defiance and magic, twined together. Like us. Like everything we promised to stand for.

I repeated the vow, barely able to get the words out past the knot in my throat. Our kiss was clumsy, desperate, soaked in rain and eternity. It was the most beautiful moment in my life.

That night, we made love beneath thunder and stars, claiming each other without name or title. Just soul to soul. Our bonds established so fast that the world felt like nothing close to what was brimming within us.

But the dream unraveled too fast.

A scream. A silver blade catching the moonlight. My hands slick with blood that wasn’t mine. Rowan, ripped from me before he ever knew I carried his child beneath my heart.

–Now–

The water scalded my skin, but it couldn’t cleanse the memory. Couldn’t dull the ache. It could not do anything to help with the pain. It hurts so much. I’ve remained strong for years, keeping away those memories until the situation got to this point.

I cried softly, the sound muffled by steam and tile. No sobs. No broken wails. Just grief leaking from every crack in me.

He didn’t remember. Or maybe… maybe he chose not to. Maybe the mate bond that tethered me to him had frayed completely on his end. Maybe I was the only one still bleeding. Still hurting and sobbing silently.

I shut off the water, blinking through the haze. My towel was warm from the radiator as I wrapped it tightly around me, shielding the vulnerability that clung to my bare skin like a second layer.

Then—

A sound.

Not a knock. No.

A presence.

Heavy. Burning. Filling the room like a rising storm.

My head snapped toward the door— but I was too late.

It was already pushed open with a force.

I froze. My grip on the towel tightened like the force in the room could unfold them from my body.

And there he was.

Rowan.

Dripping power and fury and something rawer than either. His silver eyes locked on me with a heat that seared.

“You—” I started, but my voice cracked.

He stepped inside.

“You can’t just walk into—”

He didn’t let me finish.

“You’re not walking away from me again,” he said, voice low, gravel-thick, every word pulsing with something ancient.

The air sparked.

Water still clung to my skin and my heart roared.

Because the way he looked at me now—

It wasn’t confusion.

It wasn’t suspicion.

It was — wait, was it recognition?