Chapter 145
(Siena’s POV)
I don’t sleep.
Raiden’s words replay in my mind over and over, as insistent as the spring rain drumming against the winders of my temporary quarters.
I love you, Siena.
Not as a political arrangement or a convenient alliance, but for exactly who you are.
For years, I longed to hear those words. I would’ve given anything to hear them spoken with sincerity, to look into his eyes and see the love I desperately sought.
But now, when they finally come, they feel less like a balm and more like a thorn pressed into an old wound.
Because now, I know what it feels like to stand on my own. Now, I know I don’t need his love to be whole.
Yet, despite everything, I can’t stop thinking about the way he said it–without pleading, without expectation, as if he knew his declaration wouldn’t change anything. He said it because he needed me to know, not because he needed something in return.
And somehow, that quiet dignity, that uncharacteristic humility, cuts deeper than any grand gesture ever could.
My wolf’s emotions are a chaotic swirl.
She doesn’t care about logic or independence.
She only knows that something of the bond we once shared still lingers, faint but unbroken.
I pace the room, the soft carpet muffling my steps. My thoughts churn, refusing to settle. How do I reconcile who I’ve become with the man Raiden claims to be now? Can I trust this change, or is it simply too late?
The first light of dawn creeps through the curtains before I finally stop pacing. I know I have to leave soon, but I can’t shake the heaviness pressing on my chest.
***
The air is misty and cool as I stand at Windhowl’s boundary stone, the traditional departure point for visiting Alphas. Rairity stands beside me, her quiet presence grounding as always.
“You seem troubled, Alpha,” she observes, her voice soft but steady.
I glance at her, then back at the horizon, where the mist swirls like a restless spirit. For a moment, I consider brushing her off, but the words slip out before I can stop them.
“Raiden said he loves me,” I admit, my voice barely above a whisper.
Rairity doesn’t react immediately. She simply tilts her head slightly, her expression thoughtful. “Does that change your plans?”
The question forces me to confront the thoughts I’ve been avoiding all night. I take a deep breath, the cool air
Chapter 145
+25 Bonus
filling my lungs. “I’ve built something meaningful without him,” I say slowly, as if speaking the words aloud will make them more real. “I’ve found purpose, independence, strength he never permitted me to discover during our marriage.
Rairity nods, her gaze steady. “And yet?”
Her gentle prompt hits a nerve, and I exhale sharply. “And yet forgiveness might be possible eventually,” I admit, the words tasting bittersweet. “Though reconciliation remains… uncertain.”
The distinction feels important, a line I need to draw for myself. Forgiveness is about letting go of the anger, releasing the hold the past has on me. But reconciliation? That’s a choice, a bridge I’m not sure I’ll ever be ready to rebuild.
Rairity doesn’t push me further. She simply nods, her understanding clear in the way she stands beside me, silent but supportive.
As I prepare to leave, the sound of footsteps approaching through the mist catches my attention.
My wolf perks up, and before I turn, I know who it is.
Raiden emerges from the fog, his broad frame moving with deliberate calm. He looks composed, but there’s something in his midnight eyes–something softer, more vulnerable–that makes my chest tighten.
“Siena,” he greets, his voice low and steady.
“Raiden,” I reply, my tone neutral but not unkind.
For a moment, neither of us speaks. The mist swirls around us, and the silence feels heavy, charged with all the things we haven’t said.
Then, he holds out a small wooden box, the polished surface gleaming faintly in the dim light.
“A traditional parting gift,” he says simply, his tone free of expectation. “Safe journey.”
I hesitate, my fingers hovering over the box before I take it from him. His hand brushes mine briefly, the warmth of his touch lingering even as he steps back.
“Thank you,” I say softly, the weight of the box unfamiliar in my hands.
He nods, his gaze steady but unreadable. “Open it,” he says.
I lift the lid carefully, revealing a delicately carved compass nestled inside. The craftsmanship is exquisite, the intricate designs etched into the wood depicting ancient werewolf symbols for guidance and finding one’s true path.
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Sara Lili is a daring romance writer who turns icy landscapes into scenes of fiery passion. She loves crafting hot love stories while embracing the chill of Iceland’s breathtaking cold.
