Chapter 66
The scream tore from my throat as I jolted awake, my body drenched in cold sweat. The nightmare had returned with vicious clarity—the car spinning toward the cliff edge, flames crawling up the dashboard, and Raymond's face as he turned away, choosing Giana over me.
My bedroom door flew open as Kane rushed in, wearing only loose sleep pants. He'd taken to sleeping in the adjoining room precisely for this reason.
"Same dream?" he asked quietly, settling on the edge of my bed.
I nodded, unable to stop trembling. "I keep seeing Raymond's face as he turned away. The betrayal in that moment... it's like my mind won't let it go."
Kane studied me for a long moment, his usual guardedness softened by the darkness. "I know techniques that might help with the nightmares," he finally offered, seeming to wrestle with some internal decision.
His suggestion surprised me. "Medication?"
"Physical training," he clarified. "Rebuilding your confidence through strength. The mind often processes trauma better when the body feels capable of protecting itself."
I gestured skeptically to my still-healing leg. "I can barely walk without pain. How exactly am I supposed to train?"
"We'll adapt the exercises," he promised. "Start small and build gradually. I've worked with injured wolves before."
The idea seemed absurd, yet something in his quiet confidence made me agree to try. "Fine. But if it makes the leg worse..."
"It won't," he said with certainty. "Trust me on this, Aurora."
Morning found us in Silver Lake's private training room. The space was designed for werewolf rehabilitation, with equipment specifically created for our enhanced strength and accelerated healing. Floor-to-ceiling windows allowed natural light to flood the space, the mountain vista beyond a reminder of the beauty that still existed beyond my personal darkness.
Kane demonstrated modified movements with unexpected patience, adjusting each exercise to accommodate my injuries. "Focus on your breathing," he instructed. "Connect with your wolf's natural instincts."
"My wolf feels as broken as my body," I admitted, struggling with the simple movement pattern he'd shown me.
"She's not broken," Kane countered. "She's just retreated to protect herself. These exercises will help bring her forward again."
Frustration mounted as my damaged leg trembled under even the simplest movements. When I nearly fell attempting a basic defensive position, Kane caught me, his strong arms steadying my waist.
Our bodies pressed together momentarily, his chest warm against mine. Something electric passed between us, a current that had nothing to do with physical therapy. We both stepped apart quickly, the moment hanging awkwardly in the air.
"Again," Kane said, his voice noticeably rougher than before. "This time, trust your body to know what it can do."
The training sessions became a daily ritual, gradually extending in duration and intensity as my strength returned. I began noticing subtle changes—increased stability, better balance, and perhaps most importantly, fewer nightmares. The dream still came, but with less frequency and vividness.
One morning, Kane presented me with an elegant cane. "Silver-reinforced," he explained, handing me the beautifully crafted walking aid. "Decorative, but also an effective weapon."
I ran my fingers along the smooth surface, feeling slight variations in the metal that suggested hidden mechanisms. "Is this what you use your renowned fortune for? Designer weapons disguised as mobility aids?"
A hint of a smile played across his lips. "Among other things."
He demonstrated how it could be used defensively, his movements flowing with lethal grace. "An attacker will underestimate someone they perceive as injured. That mistake would give you the advantage."
I practiced with the cane daily, incorporating it into the training routines Kane designed. "You're not just teaching me to defend myself," I observed one afternoon. "These are offensive tactics."
Kane watched me complete a complex sequence. "The best defense is ensuring your enemies fear attacking in the first place."
After a week of training, I successfully executed a move that had previously seemed impossible—a pivot and strike combination that required perfect balance on my injured leg. Kane's face lit with genuine pride—an expression I'd never seen from him before.
"You're a natural at this," he said, the rare compliment bringing warmth to my cheeks.
"I had a good teacher," I replied before I could stop myself.
Our eyes locked for a moment too long, the air between us growing charged with unacknowledged tension. Something had been building between us since the crash—something that went beyond gratitude or our original arrangement.
Elena's voice broke the moment as she appeared in the doorway. "Marcus is asking for both of you."
We found the former Alpha looking marginally stronger, propped up in bed with ancient texts spread around him. The sight of such a powerful man reduced to this frailty sent a pang through my chest.
"I've been researching mate bonds," he explained, his voice weak but determined. "The truth about yours with Raymond."
He gestured to a particularly old manuscript, its pages yellowed with age. "These records describe 'political mate bonds'—marks given without true soul connection."
"I don't understand," I said, though a part of me already did.
"Such bonds always cause pain to the marked wolf when the marker is intimate with another," he continued, his finger tracing faded writing. "A genuine mate bond brings shared pleasure, not one-sided agony."
The description matched my experience perfectly—the excruciating pain I'd felt whenever Raymond was with Giana.
"These false bonds can be severed completely by deep betrayal," Marcus went on, his voice growing weaker with each word, "or by finding one's true mate."
His gaze moved deliberately between Kane and me. "Have you noticed any changes when you're together?"
I felt heat rise to my cheeks, avoiding Kane's eyes. "I don't understand what you mean."
"You will," Marcus said cryptically. "The ancient texts speak of bonds that form naturally, without marking or ceremony. The Moon Goddess sometimes intervenes directly when wolves have been wrongly bonded."
Later that day, I received a secure message from my mother, confirming she had reached safety. "I've suspected your father's involvement for some time," she wrote. "I've moved to a secure location he doesn't know about. Please don't worry for me now—focus on protecting yourself."
Relief flooded through me knowing she was beyond my father's manipulation. One burden lifted from my shoulders, though so many remained.
That evening, Kane suggested we continue training outside under the full moon. "Your wolf needs moonlight to heal completely," he explained. "The connection to nature will strengthen you both."
In the moonlit garden, our training took on an almost ceremonial quality. Silver light bathed the grounds of Silver Lake, turning ordinary foliage into a magical landscape. Kane demonstrated a defensive sequence that required close physical coordination, his movements slower and more deliberate than usual, allowing me to follow.
Our bodies moved in synchronization as if we'd trained together for years, an unspoken communication flowing between us. The exercise was as much dance as combat training, a fluid exchange of energy that left me feeling more connected to my wolf than I had in months.
When I successfully completed the complex sequence, Kane impulsively lifted me in celebration, spinning us in a circle. Our shared laughter echoed in the quiet night, a moment of pure, unexpected joy.
As he slowly lowered me, our faces came within inches of each other. His arms remained around my waist, our bodies close enough that I could feel his heartbeat. For a breathless moment, neither of us moved, the attraction between us undeniable and impossible to ignore.
His eyes searched mine, a question in their amber depths that I wasn't ready to answer.
"We should continue training," I finally said, breaking the tension though my voice betrayed me with its breathless quality. "I still have much to learn."
Kane stepped back, his expression carefully neutral once more. "Of course. Your recovery comes first."
But something had shifted between us—an acknowledgment of feelings that could no longer be dismissed as mere physical attraction or the convenient arrangement we'd once agreed to.
After Kane left, I remained in the moonlit garden, my fingers rising to touch the space on my neck where Raymond's mark had once burned so painfully. The skin was now smooth, the mark almost completely faded.
In its place, I felt something new growing—an awareness, a connection that didn't bring pain but rather a sense of possibility I hadn't allowed myself to feel in years.
For the first time since the crash, I felt genuinely hopeful about what tomorrow might bring.
