Chapter 83

DEREK

Elena hadn’t left my side since I’d nearly collapsed.

She kept glancing over at me, eyes flicking to my face, the line of my jaw, the color of my skin. She passed me water before I even thought to ask for it. Pressed the protein bar into my hand again when I let it sit too long.

Sat beside me in that stiff, plastic chair like she couldn’t bear to be further than arm’s reach.

And maybe she couldn’t. Maybe it was instinct. Or guilt.

But it didn’t feel like guilt.

It felt like… care.

It had been a long time since I’d felt this from her. Maybe I never really had. Not like this.

Her presence had always been powerful—electric—but right now it was steady. Grounded. Her voice was softer when she spoke to me. Her touch lingered when she passed me the drink.

She looked at me the way I had once only dreamed she would. Like I mattered.

And it gutted me. Because I knew it wouldn’t last.

When she finally settled into the chair beside me, her knees brushing mine, I turned to face her.

“I need to ask you something,” I said, my voice quiet.

She looked up, wary. Waiting.

“Why did you do it?” I asked. “Why did you keep my son from me?”

I braced for the explosion. The sharp retort. The ice in her voice.

But she didn’t flare. She didn’t cry.

She just… breathed. In. Out. And then she answered.

“The day I rejected our bond, there was an attempt to kidnap me.”

The words hit like a cold splash of water.

“I barely escaped. And when I did, I ended up in the path of a car. I was hit. Badly. I woke up in a hospital bed days later… with people I didn’t remember, but who claimed to be my family. Who treated me like I mattered. Who welcomed me like I’d never been welcomed anywhere else.”

My stomach twisted.

“When I was in Silverclaw,” she continued, her voice thin, “I didn’t feel like I belonged. Not to the pack. Not to you. You were so convinced I was a rogue. That I was beneath you.”

I finally forced myself to look at her.

“So I convinced myself that I didn’t deserve you,” she went on. “And that… that made me feel like I didn’t deserve anything. I stayed in Silverclaw because I didn’t have anywhere else to go.”

I opened my mouth, but no sound came out.

“But then, these people—my family—embraced me. It was like whiplash. I found out I was pregnant in the middle of all of that chaos.”

Her voice wasn’t loud, but it struck like lightning—sharp and electric. I didn’t breathe. Didn’t blink. My eyes stayed locked on her, waiting, dreading, needing more.

“I didn’t even know who I was yet—had barely begun to remember pieces of myself—and suddenly I was carrying a life inside me,” she said. “A new life. One I didn’t know how to protect… except to stay far, far away from the place that had nearly destroyed me.”

I flinched.

Because I knew exactly what place she meant.

Me.

Silverclaw.

Us.

“I wanted to tell you,” she said, and those four words cracked something deep inside my chest. “I swear I did. There were nights… after he kicked, after he settled against my ribs like he already belonged there—I’d lie awake and wonder.”

I was hanging on her every word.

“Wonder if he had your eyes. Your stubbornness. Your fire. I thought about what it would be like to let you know. To give you the chance to be his father.”

I wanted to speak. To say I would’ve dropped everything, would’ve come the second she called—but my throat locked around the truth.

She wouldn’t have believed me then. Not after everything I’d done.

“But then I’d remember the way you looked at me,” she continued, voice cracking now. “Like I was a problem you didn’t want to solve. Like I was a mistake you regretted making. You didn’t know who I was—but I did. In a way. I knew what we were. What we could have been.”

She shook her head, tears glinting in her eyes but refusing to fall.

“And I knew I couldn’t risk you rejecting him the way you rejected me. I couldn’t bear it, Derek.”

My name on her lips felt like a blade.

“So I stayed,” she said. “In Moonstone. With people who loved me. Who didn’t care what I remembered or didn’t. Who didn’t make me feel like something broken just because I didn’t fit where they wanted me to.”

She stood slowly. Braced her arms around herself like she was holding something in.

“I’m not saying I made the right decision,” she said. “But it was the only one I could live with.”

I stared at her, jaw clenched so tightly I thought it might shatter. My whole body felt heavy. Hollowed out.

Because there was no argument. No angry rebuttal. Only the truth, raw and bleeding in her hands—and the unbearable weight of what I had done to her.

What I had lost.

What I might never fully get back.

Not just a son.

But her.

Because of me.

And then she walked away, leaving me with nothing but the weight of her words and the cavern in my chest they hollowed out.

I slumped back in the chair.

I had spent years furious with her. Accusing her—without knowing the full truth. I had imagined she left because she didn’t care. Because she didn’t love me.

But I was the one who made her feel unloved. Unwanted.

In all the ways that counted, I had rejected my mate. I had pushed her away.

And I had lost years with my son because of it.

Whatever anger I’d felt with her… dissolved beneath the crush of guilt.

I buried my face in my hands. I had fucked everything up.

And there might not be a way to fix it.

ELENA

I walked.

Down the stark white hallway. Past rooms lined with machines and glass. The soles of the shoes Joe had brought me made soft, hollow sounds on the tile, like echoes in a cave. I kept walking until my mind cleared enough to breathe.

The pediatric doctor found me near the nurse’s station.

“Ms. Hart,” he said gently. “The transfusions are complete. Aiden’s vitals are holding strong. He’s stable, for now. If you’d like to go see him…”

I was already moving.

I pushed open the door to his room, heart climbing into my throat.

He looked so small in the hospital bed. Pale. Motionless.

His chest rose and fell in shallow, even breaths, machines ticking beside him like metronomes. One hand was wrapped in gauze. The bandage at his neck was still stained faintly red.

My legs buckled, but I caught myself on the side of the bed. I didn’t sit. I didn’t speak.

I just watched him.

Listened.

Prayed.

A nurse entered after a few minutes. “We need to change his dressings. You can step out if you’d like.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” I said, not taking my eyes off my son.

She didn’t argue. Just worked quickly. Removed the bandages. Cleaned the wound. Applied a fresh layer of wolfsbane salve that made my nose wrinkle.

Aiden didn’t stir.

When she was done, she placed a hand on my shoulder. “He’s strong. He’ll fight. Just keep being here.”

She left, and I sat.

My fingers brushed his.

And that’s when the rage came. Not panic. Not grief.

Rage.

Pierce might be dead—but the wolves that supported him were not. Not all of them.

I clenched my fists, the fury rising like a tide I couldn’t hold back.

I didn’t know who they all were.

But when I found out?

They’d regret ever stepping near my child.

They’d regret everything.

Because I wasn’t afraid of burning down everything to keep my son safe.