CHAPTER 9: The Thread That Pulls

POV: Freya

Four months and the secret wasn't a secret anymore, no matter how loose the shirts Zevren gave me were. My belly was unmistakably rounded now, a heavy little curve that changed the way I walked and the way the pack looked at me.

The whispers in the corridors had shifted, getting louder, like they wanted me to hear them.

They all knew about Rhydian as they talked about the way he stood out in the treeline, those bright blue eyes watching the perimeter, that jagged scar cutting right through his eyebrow. I tried to shut it all out, but the gossip followed me around like a second shadow.

At least the training was paying off. I could hold my wolf form for an hour now without my bones feeling like they were melting. My senses were sharp, almost terrifyingly so. I could hear the servants murmuring two floors down, and could catch the sour tang of anxiety on a guard before he even opened his mouth to speak.

Zevren was teaching me how to read a room, how to spot a threat before it even picked up a blade and for the first time in my entire life, I didn't feel like a victim. I felt capable.

But the bill always came due.

Every time we finished a heavy session, a slow, hot drop of blood would leak from my nose, staining the grass or my sleeve. And the dreams were getting worse. The shadows with the glowing green eyes weren't just watching from the silver grass anymore, they were closing the distance and somehow had faces now.

Sometimes, I’d snap awake in the dark, my heart hammering against my ribs, because the shadow reaching for my throat had Kaelen's exact face. I’d sit up with my hands clenched into tight fists, furious and terrified all at once.

“Lean your head back a bit,” Veda muttered, her fingers cool against my jaw.

I sat on the edge of the table in the healing center, tilting my head back while she shone a small light into my eyes. She was quiet, way more methodical than Hester ever was.

“Is it just the training?” I asked, my voice echoing a little in the quiet room. “The nosebleeds. Zevren says I'm just pushing the boundaries of magic.”

Veda didn't answer right away. She set the light down, her expression completely flat. “How often does it happen?”

“Every time I try to push my senses past the garden wall. Or when I hold the shift too long.”

She wiped a rogue spot of red from my upper lip with a clean cloth, “Tell me about before you came here, Freya. Your childhood. Your health back in Shadowbrook.”

“Just answer the question,” she said, her voice dropping into a lower, more serious register. “Were you always this reactive to your own wolf?”

“I was weak,” I said, the old bitterness slipping out before I could stop it. “Always tired. If I tried to shift, I’d be bedridden for two days. The fatigue just never lifted, no matter what the pack doctors gave me. I couldn't keep up with the other wolves, not even the young ones.”

Veda froze. Her hands stayed hovering near the medical tray, her fingers perfectly still and something shifted behind her eyes—a sudden flash of recognition that turned into something else entirely.

Fear.

“Veda?” I leaned forward, my new senses immediately picking up the sudden spike in her pulse. “What is it? What aren't you telling me?”

She swallowed hard, her eyes darting toward the closed door before snapping back to my face. “The tonics they gave you at Shadowbrook. Did they tell you what was in them?”

“They said it was for the fatigue,” I said, my chest tightening as the pieces in my head started to spin out of control. “To help me manage.”

“Well, they lied to you,” Veda whispered, her voice barely a breath. She looked terrified to even say the words out loud. “Freya, those symptoms... that wasn't weakness, that was a suppression matrix. Someone wasn't trying to heal you. They were actively keeping your wolf starved.”

“Did you notice any specific patterns?” Veda asked after the long pause, “Think back, Freya. Did the weakness get worse after certain meals? Certain full moons? Certain visits from the pack elders?”

Ice formed right in the pit of my stomach.

I sat there, my mind racing backward, flipping through memories like pages. It did. God, it did. The worst periods always, always followed the big pack gatherings. The times when the elders would look at me with those pitying eyes, the times when Shadowbrook's healing center would hand me those special vials.

“To strengthen your omega constitution, Freya. For your own good.”

They had smiled ever so kindly and had promised me it wod, “How are you holding up? With the... layout of things.”

I knew what he was asking. “I'm fine. The baby is growing, despite everything.”

“And the father?” He asked, keeping his voice entirely level, giving me an out if I wanted it.

“Dead,” I said, my voice going completely flat, all the humor vanishing from my face. “He's dead to me. That's all that matters.”

Rhydian didn't push or demand names or details like Zevren would have. He just gave a nod, accepting the boundary.

“Fair enough,” he said quietly. He looked out over the treeline for a second before speaking again. “Reminds me of that rogue woman I found on the border right before they shipped me here. She had a pup, a tiny thing, frozen half to death. The commander wanted to clear them out. No warnings. Just erase the problem.”

“But you stopped him,” I said, remembering what Zevren had mentioned about his reassignment.

“Yeah. Stepped right in front of the blades. Got a few bruises for it, but they got across the line.” He looked back at me, his eyes steady. “I'd do it again, too. Pack laws don't mean much when you're looking at a kid shivering in the dirt.”

I looked at him—really looked at him. In a world full of Alphas who only cared about power and borders and bloodlines, here was a guy who chose to bleed just because cruelty was too easy. It was rare. It was so damn rare it made my throat tight.

Watching him, I caught a glimpse of the girl I used to be before the betrayal, before the pass, before the hatred took root in my chest. I wasn't just a weapon or a collection piece to Rhydian, he just saw a person. And for the first time in four months, that felt like enough.

A shadow fell over the grass, and the warmth instantly drained right out of the air.

Zevren stood at the edge of the stone path, he didn't say a word, but the temperature in the garden dropped ten degrees the second his eyes landed on us. He gave Rhydian a single look, like a silent dismissal.

Rhydian didn't hesitate as he gave me a brief glance, then turned and walked back into the treeline.

Zevren walked over and sat down right where Rhydian had been standing, settling onto the bench next to me. He reached out, his long fingers wrapping around my hand. His palm was warm, but it felt different now. Less like a shield and more like a trap.

“You're pushing yourself too hard with the drills, Freya,” he said, his green eyes scanning my face with intense focus. “I spoke with Veda. The nosebleeds concern me.”

I tried to keep my pulse steady, remembering the fear in Veda's eyes. “It's just the magic. I can handle it.”

“I know you're strong,” he murmured, his thumb rubbing small circles over the back of my hand. “But you don't have to carry the weight alone. I've arranged for a special healer to visit the pack house next week, it's someone from the old territories. He understands ancient bloodlines, Freya. He can help you control the power before it completely overwhelms your system.”

He said it with so much care. His voice was this perfect, soothing balm, full of genuine concern for me and the baby. Looking at him, a massive wave of guilt hit me right in the chest. How could I sit here doubting him? Veda was just a pack doctor; she didn't know the whole story. Zevren had saved my life. He’d given me a room, clothes, a purpose.

I leaned toward him, letting him pull me against his side, letting his fingers stroke gently through my loose hair.

“Thank you,” I whispered, closing my eyes.

I forced the doubts down because Zevren was the only one who had ever chosen me without any reservations. Not because I was a perfect Alpha's mate, not because I fit into some neat little box. He just took me in when I was bleeding out in the dirt. I had to trust him. I had to.

But the peace didn't even last until sunrise.

By midnight, I woke up gasping. It wasn't the hot drop of blood from my nose this time. It was something much worse. A deep, twisting cramp flared up right in my abdomen, so sharp it made my vision blur. I curled onto my side, pulling my knees up toward my chest, my hands slamming flat against the curve of my belly.

“Breathe,” I choked out into the dark room. “Just breathe.”

I lay there in the pitch black, forcing the air into my lungs, pushing my awareness inward to check on the baby. I needed to feel that little pulse. I needed to know the pain hadn't stopped it.

I found the pulse. But as I held my breath, focusing through the fading ache, something shifted under my palms.

Two somethings.

My heart stopped. I froze, my fingers digging into the fabric of my shirt. There weren't just the two rhythms of me and the baby anymore. There were three. Two distinct, separate heartbeats where before there had only been one. Two tiny, small presences completely tangled together, fighting for every inch of space inside the hollow of my body.

I lay still in the dark, the sweat cooling on my forehead, listening to the twin rhythms thrumming against my skin. It made sense now. The massive drain on my strength. The way the wolf magic felt so compressed. My body had been trying to tell me the truth for months, and I’d been too blind to hear it.

I didn't move. I didn't call for Veda, and I definitely didn't open my mouth to tell Zevren.

I held the secret tight against my ribs, keeping it buried deep down where no one else could reach. I listened to them. One heartbeat was loud, heavy, and steady, sounding exactly like a war drum echoing through the dark. The other one was different. Faint and rapid.

They felt entirely different from one another. Two opposite forces growing right next to each other.

Zevren thought he knew exactly what kind of weapon or prize he was cultivating in his garden. They both thought they had the math figured out.

They had no idea. And I wasn't about to give them the answers.