Chapter 88
"Do you remember when we built that fort in the old oak tree behind the pack house?" I asked Raymond during what I hoped would be a private moment three days after whatever spell Giana had cast. We were in his office, and for a brief second, I thought I saw something flicker in his eyes.
He looked at me with complete blankness. His familiar green eyes held no warmth, no recognition. The way he stared at me was like looking at a stranger who'd asked him about events from someone else's life.
"I don't know what you're talking about," he said dismissively. He didn't even bother to look up from the papers on his desk. His fingers continued moving across the documents as if I wasn't even there.
My heart shattered into a thousand pieces. That fort had been our secret hideaway for years during our childhood. We'd spent entire summers there, sharing dreams and fears and promises of forever. We'd carved our initials into the trunk with Raymond's first pocket knife. We'd sworn to be best friends until the stars fell from the sky.
"The summer you taught me to swim in Miller's Creek?" I tried again. Desperation crept into my voice as I searched his face for any sign of recognition. "You were so patient with me, even when I was terrified of the water. You held my hand and promised you wouldn't let me drown."
The memory was so vivid in my mind. I could still feel the cool water around my ankles, still remember his gentle encouragement. He'd stayed in the shallow water for hours until I felt safe. The proud smile on his face when I finally managed to swim the width of the creek had made me feel like I could conquer the world.
"Aurora, I think you're confusing me with someone else," Raymond said. His voice carried the kind of polite indifference reserved for strangers. "I don't have time for childhood fantasies. I have real responsibilities to attend to."
The casual cruelty of his dismissal cut deeper than any angry words could have. This wasn't the passionate rejection of a hurt lover. This was the complete erasure of everything we'd ever shared. Every moment of our childhood, every laugh we'd shared, every secret we'd whispered in the dark.
"What about our first kiss?" I whispered. My voice broke as I made one last desperate attempt to reach him. "Behind the moonflower bushes during the harvest festival. You said you'd been wanting to kiss me for months."
I could remember it perfectly. His nervous smile as he'd worked up the courage to approach me. The way his hands had trembled as he cupped my face. The sweet taste of honey wine on his lips. It had been magical, innocent, everything a first kiss should be. We'd been sixteen, and the whole world had felt full of possibility.
Raymond's expression didn't change. But there was something cold and calculating in his eyes now. Something that made my skin crawl with its unfamiliarity.
"I think you need to accept reality, Aurora," he said slowly. "Whatever fantasies you've created about our past, they're just that—fantasies. Perhaps you should speak with the pack healer about these delusions."
The suggestion that I was mentally unstable hit like a physical blow. This was worse than denial. This was Raymond weaponizing my memories against me, turning them into evidence of madness.
Kane witnessed the entire exchange from the doorway. He'd arrived to discuss council preparations but had stopped when he heard my voice. I saw him take in Raymond's cold dismissal. I saw the way his protective instincts flared as he watched me crumble under the weight of rejection.
But even now, even seeing my pain, Kane maintained his professional distance. His jaw clenched slightly, but he said nothing. He offered no comfort, no support, nothing that might breach his carefully constructed emotional walls.
"Raymond," I tried one more time. My voice was barely above a whisper. "Please. Just try to remember. The oak tree had three main branches, and we used old fence boards to make the floor. You carved a heart with our initials right above the entrance."
For just a moment, something flickered across his face. A shadow of confusion, perhaps even recognition. But then it was gone, replaced by irritation.
"Enough," he said sharply. "I don't know what game you're playing, but I won't be manipulated by fabricated memories. If you continue with this behavior, I'll have no choice but to restrict your activities until you receive proper medical evaluation."
The threat hung in the air between us. Raymond had just suggested that remembering our shared childhood was grounds for confinement. The boy I'd loved, the man I'd married, was threatening to have me declared mentally unstable for loving him.
Kane cleared his throat from the doorway. His voice was carefully neutral when he spoke. "Alpha, I have the council reports you requested."
Raymond's demeanor immediately shifted. He became professional, courteous even. "Excellent. Come in, Kane. Aurora was just leaving."
The dismissal was final. I walked past Kane without looking at him, though I could feel his eyes following me. In the hallway, I pressed my back against the wall and closed my eyes, fighting back tears.
The Raymond I'd loved, the boy I'd grown up with, was truly gone. In his place stood a stranger wearing his face. A stranger animated by artificial emotions and false memories created by dark magic.
Later, when Kane found me crying in the garden where Raymond and I used to play as children, his presence was the only thing that kept me from falling apart completely. He sat beside me on the stone bench without a word, his strong arms pulling me against his chest.
"He's gone, isn't he?" I asked through tears. Finally voicing the truth I'd been avoiding. "The Raymond I knew, the boy I grew up with—he's dead."
Kane's arms tightened around me. His voice was rough with shared pain when he spoke. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."
The grief was overwhelming. It was sharper in some ways than if Raymond had actually died. At least then I could have mourned him properly. I could have honored the good memories without having his face walking around wearing a stranger's soul.
"I spent so long loving a ghost," I whispered against Kane's chest. My tears soaked through his shirt. "Someone who stopped existing years ago, maybe even before Giana arrived. I just refused to see it."
Kane's hands stroked my hair gently. His touch offered comfort without trying to rush me through the pain. "Sometimes we have to grieve the living. Sometimes that's harder than mourning the dead."
We talked about loss and acceptance as the sun set around us. Kane shared how he'd grieved his parents and the life he'd thought he'd have. His understanding helped me process the complex emotions of losing someone who was still physically present.
"I think part of me always knew," I admitted as darkness fell. "Even before the magic, even before Giana. The Raymond I fell in love with as a child was disappearing piece by piece. I just kept hoping I could bring him back."
"You can't save someone who doesn't want to be saved," Kane said gently. "And you can't love someone back into existence."
When he made love to me that night in the moonlit garden, it felt like finally letting go of the past and embracing the present. In Kane's arms, I found a peace I'd never experienced with Raymond, even in our happiest moments.
His touch was reverent, worshipful. As if he understood the significance of this moment. Every kiss was a promise of new beginnings. Every caress was a celebration of what we could build together.
"I love you," I whispered in the quiet aftermath. The words came naturally, inevitably, like water finding its course.
For a moment, Kane's entire body went still beneath me. His breathing stopped as if my words had frozen him in place. Then he pulled away, his walls slamming back up with devastating force.
"We shouldn't have let this get so complicated," he said. His voice was cold and distant, nothing like the warm, gentle man who'd been holding me moments before.
The rejection cut deeper than any physical wound. Especially after the emotional vulnerability I'd just shared. Just when I thought I'd found my future, Kane had torn it away, leaving me more alone than ever.
