THE SILVER WOLF

POV: Elaris

Two weeks later, labour begins as dawn stretches its fingers toward the horizon.

The first tightening wakes me, slow and steady.

For a few seconds, I do nothing, deciding if it is real.

Then another begins.

Stronger.

More insistent.

I blink my eyes open.

“Averic.”

He stirs instantly.

“What happened?”

I take his hand and press it against my stomach.

“I think it’s time.”

He moves, rising to a sitting position, the sleepiness vanishing from his expression.

Within minutes, the private wing is abuzz with activity.

The healers arrive, their supplies ready in advance. Neryss opens the doors before anyone even knocks twice. Linens are brought in, water warmed, and quiet instructions murmured instead of panicked cries.

I press my back against the headboard as another contraction draws near.

It hurts.

There is no mistaking it.

But something is different.

There is no feeling of failure running through my veins.

No sudden weakness.

No all-consuming emptiness threatening to consume me.

My old wound does not resurface.

Averic remains at my side.

He does not move away, even when the healers tell him to step aside, to give them room.

“I can stay here.”

The senior healer gives him a look.

“Then stay useful.”

“I can do that.”

I almost laugh.

Another contraction is upon me.

The laugh slips away as I grip his hand.

The private wing has become its own world, with Neryss stationed near the door, ensuring no unwanted visitors appear. The healers move about their tasks in an almost practiced manner, the senior healer giving instructions as if she is used to this particular scenario.

“Water.”

“Ready.”

“More linen.”

“Here.”

No one is rushing.

No one raises their voices.

I remember another world, when these particular rooms had felt like a prison.

Now, they coddle me.

It is almost ironic.

Averic wipes away the dampness from my brow.

“You’re doing well.”

“I don’t want encouragement.”

His mouth twitches.

“What do you want?”

“Tell me something useful.”

He considers this.

“The healer says you’re progressing normally.”

“That is useful.”

“I have other information.”

“What?”

“The child is stubborn.”

I give him a strange look.

“You know that already?”

“I’ve met the mother.”

Despite everything, I laugh.

The next contraction is already here, and I find myself gripping his hand.

“Don’t make me laugh.”

“I will remember that.”

Neryss turns away, hiding a smile behind her back.

For a moment, almost the entire room feels ordinary.

Then another wave of pain engulfs me, and I focus on breathing.

On the warmth.

On the water.

On the next contraction.

Averic never leaves.

Sometimes, he talks, always careful and measured. Other times, he says nothing at all, just remaining at my side. I can feel his strength through the bond, not feeding off of it, not using it.

That is something else I have not felt in quite some time.

He is not sustaining me.

He is refusing to let me go.

I close my eyes as another contraction tightens.

The bond reassures me of his presence.

“You’re here,” I murmur.

His hand tightens around mine.

“I’m here.”

His reassurance, his words, are simple.

They are enough.

The healer checks my progress.

“Everything is moving as it should.”

I nod, letting him know it is enough.

The next wave of pain hits me harder, making my entire body stiffen.

Averic leans closer.

“Look at me.”

I do.

“Breathe.”

“I am breathing.”

“You’re arguing with me.”

“Because you’re annoying.”

His mouth twitches again.

“Good.”

“Why is that good?”

“Because if you’re still arguing, you’re still yourself.”

I almost answer, but the next contraction steals my words away.

I close my eyes, focusing on nothing but the pain.

Hours later, the room changes. The healer’s tones shift, becoming more serious.

“Elaris.”

I open my eyes.

“Yes?”

“It is almost time.”

Averic straightens up as the senior healer gives instructions to the others.

I grip the sheets tightly as another contraction grips me.

It is different this time.

There is pressure, a need, the feeling that everything will be happening soon.

“I can’t.”

The healer immediately replies.

“You can.”

Averic leans closer.

“You don’t have to think about anything beyond this moment.”

I look up at him.

“This moment is terrible.”

“I know.”

Another contraction takes me over.

I cry out, but not in pain.

The healer gives the next set of instructions.

“Again.”

I push, every muscle in my body straining, the room vanishing around me.

There is no council, no throne, no old wound, no Caedmon, no Virelle.

Nothing but the life inside me struggling to get here.

“One more,” the healer murmurs.

I gather the strength, the will, and push.

And suddenly,

there is nothing.

Just a sharp gasp and a cry ringing out through the room.

A high sound, strong, healthy, filled with life.

My body goes limp against the pillows, staring at the ceiling for several long seconds.

Averic’s hand is still gripping mine.

The healer looks down.

Smiles.

“He’s here.”

She lifts the child gently.

I hear another cry, this time louder, stronger.

I begin crying before I even see him.

The healer wipes him down, checking his limbs, his breathing, his heart.

“Healthy.”

The word does something to me.

“Give him to me.”

The healer hands him over.

Places the child against my chest.

He is so little, even smaller than I expected.

Warm.

Real.

His tiny fingers brush against me, seeking comfort, something he does not yet understand.

I stare at his face, his fingers curled, his mouth open in an indignant little cry.

I laugh through my tears.

“Hello.”

His cry softens.

I reach out, brushing one finger across his cheek.

The skin is impossibly soft.

Averic is beside the bed, silent for once.

I look up at him, my tears wiping against my cheeks as I whisper.

“Come here.”

His hesitation is brief.

A second, at most, before he is sliding onto the bed.

He reaches out, hovering over his son’s head. His fingers twitch.

“Touch him.”

Averic’s fingers finally find purchase against his child’s back.

The baby shifts, and his breath catches.

“He’s real.”

I smile.

“Yes.”

“He’s really here.”

“Yes.”

Averic looks down at our son.

Anything he was going to say vanishes as morning light begins seeping in through the curtains.

It touches the bed first, then my hands, then the child.

I notice something odd.

I lean closer.

His hair catches the light, revealing something that is not the usual paleness.

The silver sheen runs over his fine strands, catching the morning light.

I stare at him.

“Averic.”

He looks up at me.

I point at his head.

He looks at the child.

His expression changes.

The senior healer notices and steps closer.

“Let me see.”

She examines him, another healer approaching and gazing with interest as well.

“I’m certain of it.”

The second healer looks at his hair.

“There’s no mistaking it.”

The last healer examines the child’s wolf essence.

Her expression becomes stunned.

“It’s genuine.”

The senior healer looks over at us.

“Three examinations.”

There is a pause before we hear the healer murmur,

“All three confirm the same thing.”

I look down at my son and at the silver catching the morning light again.

A rare color.

A rare inheritance.

A rare beginning.

Averic reaches out.

We do not speak, but it is not needed.

Averic sits beside me for the first time I have ever known him.

There is nothing guarded about his expression, nothing calculating, nothing commanding. Just raw emotion as he looks down at his son, almost as if he is afraid to blink.

I smile.

“You can hold him.”

Averic looks up at me.

“Are you sure?”

“You are his father.”

The words do something to him, something deeper than I would ever have imagined.

The healer helps arrange the baby carefully in his arms.

Averic supports his son’s head with one hand, murmuring softly.

The baby makes a small sound in his arms, and Averic adjusts immediately.

“I’ve got you.”

His voice is barely above a whisper.

I watch him.

It has always been assumed that losing his wolf meant losing everything that made him who he was.

But now, he holds something that cannot be commanded.

Something that cannot be won.

Something that cannot be protected from the title, the power, or the blood.

His son.

Avery looks down at the tiny hand opening in his direction.

Averic offers a finger, and the little fist closes around it. He goes completely still.

I laugh softly.

“He has you already.”

Averic looks down at his son’s little hand, then up at me.

“I think he does.”

His thumb brushes his son’s tiny knuckles.

“I didn’t know it could feel like this.”

I lean my head back against the pillow.

“What?”

“Loving someone before they’ve even looked at you properly.”

My eyes sting.

I reach out, wanting to touch both Averic and my son.

Averic moves closer.

Our hands find each other around his son.

The news has traveled before the sun has fully climbed above the horizon.

The Alpha’s heir has been born.

The child is healthy.

The Luna is safe.

And the newborn carries a rare silver coloring.

The healers have confirmed that three times independently.

The message reaches the council chamber, then the guards, then the servants, and the outer territories.

By midmorning, people have already turned the palace corridors into a waiting room, hoping to catch a glimpse of the new heir.

Neryss returns to the room.

She stops when she sees the baby.

Even she looks speechless for once.

“Silver,” she whispers.

I nod.

She comes closer.

“He’s beautiful.”

“He is.”

She looks at Averic.

“Everyone is talking.”

Averic glances at the child.

“Let them.”

Neryss smirks.

“They’re saying it hasn’t been seen in living memory.”

The senior healer confirms it.

“Not in any recent generation.”

I look down at my son.

His little fingers move over the blanket.

“So he is rare.”

The healer smiles.

“He is.”

I touch his forehead.

“To me, he’s simply my son.”

Neryss’s expression softens.

“That may be the safest thing anyone can call him.”

By midday, the main courtyard is full of people.

The pack has gathered, and I stay inside the palace for as long as the healers allow before walking out into the world.

Slowly.

Carefully.

But on my own feet.

Averic carries our son.

The baby is wrapped in a soft blanket, exposing his silver hair.

I walk beside them as the mark on my neck is revealed, along with the Luna circlet in my hair.

The courtyard goes silent when the first look is given over the child.

For the barest of moments, I can see everyone in the courtyard before me.

Warriors, families, children, elders, servants.

Those who witnessed the worst parts of our story.

Who watched me leave.

Who watched Averic return.

Now they are all looking at the three of us.

Averic reaches out a hand, and I give it to him.

We walk forward together, unescorted, and without fear.

Averic stops at the middle of the courtyard.

He turns, so the front rows can see his son.

They lower their heads, one by one, and soon the entire pack is acknowledging our heir, a new Alpha’s son.

Averic carefully takes him from the healer’s arms, lifting our son carefully.

The blanket slips lower, allowing the silver strands in his thick hair to catch the sun’s rays.

A murmur rises from the crowd.

Not of fear, or even shock, but of recognition.

The warriors nearest the front are the first to acknowledge it, lowering their heads slightly.

The action has the rest of the pack following their lead, one by one, showing the child respect and acceptance.

A new heir had been born.

A child that carried the blood of the pack’s Alpha and Luna.

A child who was born after the pack had ripped itself apart over something that had very little to do with them.

Averic lowers our son again to the ground.

I walk beside him, looking up at his face.

His eyes are wet, and he does not hide the emotion.

Neither do I.

Our son sleeps peacefully through the noise.

Averic reaches out one hand.

The courtyard settles to murmurs and hushed conversation.

He looks over the pack.

His voice is clear.

“Our pack has its Alpha.”

The warriors all respond.

He looks down at the baby.

“It has its Luna.”

I feel his fingers tighten around mine.

“And today, it has its heir.”

The crowd goes silent.

Averic looks down at his son.

“This child carries both our blood.”

He pauses.

“And the silver of a line believed lost to time.”

There is a murmur that rises again, but not enough to be disorder.

Averic does not let it become that.

“But his first duty will not be to legend.”

He looks out over the gathered pack.

“His first duty will be to live.”

Something tightens in my chest.

“Our son will grow knowing this pack is his home. He will inherit its history, but he will not be chained to the mistakes that came before him.”

The courtyard remains silent.

Averic lowers his voice.

“We fought for peace.”

He looks down at me.

“Now we will protect it.”

There are no grand promises, no declarations of war, and no warnings to our enemies.

There are few enemies standing before us now.

Only our people.

Only the life we fought to reach.

The pack bows.

And this time, I bow with them only as much as I will.

Then I look at my family.

Alpha.

Luna.

Son.

Together.

That night, the private wing is hushed.

The palace has finally settled.

Our son sleeps in a small carved cradle beside the bed.

Every so often, he makes a tiny sound before settling down again.

I lie beside Averic with my head resting against his shoulder.

His arm is around me, one hand resting over the tiny mark at my neck.

The other reaches out, tapping lightly against the cradle.

The baby is close enough for us to see him without leaving the bed.

I watch his chest rise and fall, his little fingers curled against his cheek.

For a while, I say nothing.

There are too many memories to fit a thought into one idea.

The first child I lost.

The people I gave away part of myself to.

The day Caedmon rejected me.

The journey that landed me here.

The second pregnancy I was afraid to protect.

Maevra’s kind words.

The house at the edge of the territory.

The night Averic admitted he was wrong.

The sacrifice that took his wolf.

The wolf that returned.

The mark.

The challenge.

The moment the pack saw me for who I was.

And now this.

This moment, this miracle child breathing peacefully only a few feet away from me.

Averic’s fingers move over the mark at my neck.

“You’re thinking too loudly.”

I smile.

“I didn’t know you could hear thoughts.”

“I can’t.”

“Then how do you know?”

“Because you’ve been staring at the cradle for ten minutes.”

I turn my head toward him.

“I’m allowed.”

“You are.”

His lips brush my hair.

I look back at our son.

“He’s really here.”

Averic’s arm tightens around me.

“He is.”

I close my eyes, feeling the weight of something different pressing on my chest.

There is nothing waiting for me outside the door.

No accusations.

No council summons.

No threats.

No decisions that could rob us of tomorrow.

Just the quiet breathing of my child, the warmth of Averic beside me, the mark beneath his hand.

The pack bows.

And I bow with them only as much as I will.

Then I look at my family.

Alpha.

Luna.

Son — our miracle child.

Averic presses another kiss to my hair before speaking so only I can hear.

“We reached the end.”

His fingers curl gently around mine.

“And we are still here.”

I close my eyes.

The child sleeps.

The night holds.

And for the first time, tomorrow asks nothing of me but to arrive