LOGINSelena's POV~
Morning arrives, dreary and chilly. The village slowly comes to life, with smoke drifting from the chimneys and children darting between the huts. Lucy stands by the garden gate, cradling a cup of tea, her gaze fixed on the mountains.
We packed in silence. Damian moved through the hut like a man who knows how to carry only what he needs. Maya rolled up blankets and tied supplies, not saying a word. I observed them, my chosen family, and pressed my han
Selena's POV~Morning arrives, dreary and chilly. The village slowly comes to life, with smoke drifting from the chimneys and children darting between the huts. Lucy stands by the garden gate, cradling a cup of tea, her gaze fixed on the mountains.We packed in silence. Damian moved through the hut like a man who knows how to carry only what he needs. Maya rolled up blankets and tied supplies, not saying a word. I observed them, my chosen family, and pressed my hand against my stomach, where another secret is growing.Lucy waits for us outside. She doesn't say anything, just looks at me, and a silent connection forms between us. Gratitude. Understanding. Farewell.I walk over to her and take her hands. "Thank you. For everything."She squeezes my fingers. "You have the gift now. Use it wisely.""I will."She glances past me, at Damian, then at Maya. Her gaze lingers on Damian. "Take care of her."He frowns. "I alw
Selena's POV~I wake to warmth.Damian's arms are wrapped around me, his chest pressed against my back, his breathing slow and steady. The fire has died down, and the hut feels cold, but he’s always warm.I snuggle closer, syncing my heartbeat with his. My hand rests on my stomach. Our child. Growing inside me. A secret I’m still not ready to reveal.He stirs a bit, tightening his grip. "You’re awake.""Just for a moment."He buries his face in my hair. "You’ve been restless. Dreams again?"I shake my head. "Just thinking."He shifts, turning me to face him. His eyes are half-closed, still heavy with sleep. "About what?"I study him—the scar through his eyebrow, the strong line of his jaw, the way his mouth softens when he looks at me. I want to tell him. I want to say the words, see his reaction, feel his joy.But then I think of my gift. The danger that lies in wait. I
Selena's POVI wake up on a cot next to the fire.The hut feels cozy, with its walls lined with dried herbs and the air filled with smoke and a floral scent. Damian is beside me, holding my hand, looking worried. Maya is by the window, keeping an eye on the village.The old woman is at the hearth, stirring something in a clay pot. She glances over when she sees I’m moving.“You’ve been asleep for a day.”I try to push myself up. My body feels heavy; my head is thick. “A day?”“The gift takes a lot from you when it first awakens.” She hands me a cup of tea that’s bitter and sharp. “You poured everything into your father’s grave. It’s a miracle you didn’t burn out.”Taking the tea, I let the warmth seep into my hands. My father’s grave. The stones, the flowers, and the warmth that eventually faded into darkness.“What’s your name?” I ask her.She settles across from me, hands folded. “Lucy. I was your grandmother’s apprentice before she passed away.”I look at her—her white hair, lined
Selena's POV~I wake up before the sun rises.Damian is still sleeping next to me, his arm resting across my waist, his breathing calm and steady. I don’t want to move. I don’t want to wake him. We’re heading to the mountains today, and I’m not sure when we’ll have another morning like this—quiet, safe, and together.I take a moment to watch his face in the dim light. The scar over his eyebrow, the strong line of his jaw, the way his lips part slightly as he breathes. He looks younger like this, less like the Savage Alpha I know and more like the man who held me all the time.I put my hand over my chest. I can feel the warmth there, steady and waiting. It’s my mother’s gift, my father’s blood—a truth that lies ahead in the mountains.I carefully slide out of bed, trying not to disturb him. He stirs a little, reaching for me. I gently kiss his forehead and whisper, “Sleep.”And he does.---Outside, the construction site is peaceful. The new pack house is rising against the sky, nearly
Selena's POV~I can’t sleep.The letter's tucked in my jacket, pressed against my heart. No need to read it again—I know every word by heart. You were the best thing I ever did. His blood runs in you. You are not alone.I sit by the window, watching the sky brighten, letting her voice sink in deep. She wrote it with the understanding that she wouldn’t be around much longer. I imagine her sitting at this same spot, pen in hand, saying goodbye—not to a daughter she’d see again, but to a girl she’d never have the chance to watch grow up.Be brave, my love.I press my hand to my chest, feeling the warmth there—her gift, her blood, her essence.“I’m trying,” I whisper. “I’m really trying to be brave.”---Marcus shows up at dawn.Two council wolves bring him out of a dark SUV. His hands are tied, and he looks gray and worn out. He seems smaller and older than I remember, this man who poisoned my mother, who spent three decades running away from his past, and finally turned himself in to of
Selena's POV~The gate creaks open, revealing a path to the front door overrun with weeds, the steps rotting, paint peeling away. I’ve been here before, just a few weeks back when Damian and I searched for my mother’s letter. That was a hunt for evidence. This time, I’m searching for her face.Damian squeezes my hand. “You don’t have to go in.”“I have to,” I reply, stepping onto the porch. The wood groans under my weight. Maya trails closely behind, her silence heavier than any words.The door is stuck. I push against it, and it springs open with a loud screech of rusted hinges. Inside, dust hangs thick in the air, almost tangible. The furniture still remains—the table where we used to eat, the chair where she read, and the couch where she comforted me when I was sick. It’s like a gallery of ghosts. Everywhere.Maya strides over to the window and moves the curtain aside. Dust swirls into the air. “It’s been empty for ages.”“Eleven years,” I mutter as I walk toward the back room, my







