CHAPTER 8

Elara’s Pov

"W-what?" I wheezed, the word barely clawing its way past the fluid in my lungs. "No. No, that’s impossible!"

I scrambled backward until my head hit the headboard, my hands catching at the silk sheets as if they were sinking sand. 

I couldn't breathe, and it wasn't just because of the water. 

My world was fracturing into a thousand jagged pieces.

"I was just rejected! The bond was severed! I’m a glitch… I can’t have two mates! You're lying! Why are you playing with me?"

I braced for the blow. 

I waited for him to growl that it was a joke, to laugh at the broken girl who actually thought a King could want her. But Varick didn't move. 

He sat on the edge of the bed, his presence so massive it seemed to pull the very oxygen from the room.

"Breathe, Elara," he commanded. 

His voice was a low, steady vibration that cut through my hysteria.

He reached out again with the damp cloth. 

I flinched, eyes squeezed shut, but he didn't strike.

Instead, he gently caught my chin. His touch was firm but surprisingly soft as he began to wipe the water and speckles of blood from my lips.

"I do not lie," he said, his blue eyes burning into mine with terrifying sincerity. "The boy who rejected you was a fool who didn't recognize the power hidden in his own bloodline. The Moon Goddess didn't give you to him; she merely used him to lead you to the cliff where I would find you."

"But the pain..." I whispered, my voice trembling. "When he rejected me, it felt like my soul was being ripped out. It's gone. I'm empty."

"Then let me fill it," Varick rumbled.

He leaned closer. 

His scent, ozone, cold stone, and something deeply masculine swirled around me like a sedative. 

"The first bond was a mistake of the earth. The second is a decree of the stars. You are mine, Elara. Not as a servant, not as an Omega, but as my mate."

I stared at him, my mind screaming that this was a trap, but my body was betraying me. 

Where his fingers touched my jaw, a golden, honey-like heat began to numb the jagged ache Ryker had left behind. 

It didn't make sense. 

I was the girl who slept in a cellar and ate scraps. 

And here was the most feared Alpha in the North, tending to me with the reverence of a devotee.

"I don't understand," I sobbed, tears finally spilling over. "I don't have anything to give you. I can't even shift. I'm broken."

Varick paused, his thumb tracing the curve of my bottom lip. 

His expression darkened, not with anger at me, but with a simmering fury for the world that had crushed me.

"You are not broken," he growled softly. "You are simply unawakened. And I will burn down every pack from here to the southern border to ensure no one ever makes you feel small again."

He tucked a wet strand of hair behind my ear. 

"Do you understand me, little wolf? You are in the Vanguard now. My word is law, and my law says you are precious."

I looked at the blood-stained cloth and then back at his face. 

For the first time in eighteen years, someone wasn't looking at me with disgust.

"Why me?" I whispered.

"Because," he said, leaning in until his forehead nearly brushed mine, "the North has been cold for a long time, Elara. And you... you are the fire I’ve been waiting for."

A heavy knock sounded at the door. 

A woman in charcoal-grey robes entered, her hands smelling of crushed herbs and mountain springs. 

She bowed low to Varick, a gesture of such profound respect it made my head spin before approaching me with a silver kit.

"This is Elara," Varick said, his voice dropping into a protective, territorial growl. "Heal her as if she were the heartbeat of this pack. If she feels a single unnecessary pang of pain, you will answer to me."

The healer, Sora, nodded quickly. 

As she began to peel back the bandages on my shoulder, I braced myself, shoulders hunching toward my ears. 

I expected the rough tugging I’d endured at Silver Ridge, the careless handling of a servant.

Instead, Sora’s touch was like a summer breeze. 

She hummed a melodic tune, and as she applied a shimmering green salve, the burning vanished, replaced by a cool, numbing tingle.

Varick didn't leave. He stood at the foot of the bed, arms crossed over his massive chest, his icy eyes never leaving mine. 

It was a silent promise: No one hurts you here.

As the tension bled out of my muscles, a wave of soul-deep exhaustion crashed over me. 

The blood loss, the rejection, the run through the woods, it was all too much.

"The mend is holding, Alpha," Sora whispered, packing her kit. "But her spirit is frayed. She needs the strength of the Vanguard’s heart."

Varick moved to the side of the bed. 

He reached down, smoothing the duvet over my chest with a domesticity that felt alien coming from a man who looked like he could kill a bear with his bare hands.

"Go back to sleep, Elara," he murmured. "The shadows won't find you here. When you wake, there will be a feast waiting, not scraps, but the finest the North has to offer."

I looked up at him, my vision blurring into a soft, hazy grey. 

A small, hesitant smile tugged at the corners of my mouth.

"I get to eat?" I whispered. "I get to... sleep in the light?"

"You get everything," Varick promised.

As I drifted off, a single, dazed thought circled my mind: Am I allowed to have this?