Chapter 143

Emily

The sheets are warm. Logan changed them earlier and I can still smell the lavender detergent, soft and faint. The linen feels like a cocoon around me, protecting me from the outside world.

I’m tucked in deep, my head against the pillow, and the lights are low. The storm outside has passed, but the air in the room still feels heavy. The distant sounds of the crashing waves helps ground me in reality but I still feel uneasy.

Logan silently moves around the bedroom, finishing up his little nighttime routine. He pulls the curtains closed, locking the windows, dimming the lights. I can hear the soft rustle of his movements, the steady rhythm of him being near.

It should make me feel safe. I should feel safe knowing that my husband — the love of my life — is here to protect me from the dangers of the outside world.

But I can’t stop thinking about Wanda. Her words. Her voice. Her eyes.

You carry more than grief, child. You carry a secret.

I remember the way the air cracked open around me when I pulled the second card. The black card tinged with the abyss of my mind. The way my voice vanished in my throat. The way my wolf stirred — angry, frightened, desperate — beneath my skin for the first time in what felt like eternity.

I lie still, trying to settle my racing thoughts, but my heart is too loud. The beats ring in my ears. Silence is no longer a safe space for me to reside in.

Wanda said I needed a third card. This third card will supposedly show me the path forward. That it would only reveal itself after I knew the truth. I don’t need another reading to understand what the truth meant.

The truth lies with my father.

The worst thing about it is that I’ve known this to be true for a long time. Something deep within my mind, within my body, remain the secrets of my old life, the sins that my father has placed onto my body.

I close my eyes to get away from the darkness of the night but all I can see is my father’s face, the way his laugh echoes inside of my thoughts.

Logan’s footsteps are slow now, soft as he pads across the room. He thinks I’m asleep but I’m not. I am wide awake, unable to find any refuge in rest and sleep.

I feel the edge of the bed dip as he slides in beside me, his body warm and solid, and my whole being instinctively reaches for him. Even after everything, he still feels like the only thing keeping me from falling apart completely. He is the one person that is holding me together.

He lies still for a moment, then his quiet sigh fills in the silence between us.

“Emily?” I open my eyes and hum in response, not ready to fully talk just yet. His voice is low and careful. “What exactly did Wanda do to you in there?”

I pause. It’s not an accusation. It’s worry. His special brand of quiet, protective concern — the kind that makes me feel both safe and guilty all at once. It is just another part of our routine in our relationship that I will eventually give into.

“She didn’t hurt me,” I say, and turn to face him. “Nothing bad happened. I’m fine.”

He gives me a look. One of those small, subtle expressions that says he doesn’t believe me but won’t say it out loud. Fuck, I hate lying to him. Even half-truths feel like splinters under my skin.

So I sigh, pushing the blankets down from my chest as I sit up a little. Logan follows suit, his hands already supporting me and my back in the comfortable bed.

“Okay,” I say softly, “maybe I’m not fine but I’m not broken either.”

Logan props himself up on one elbow, watching me closely. The room is dim, but I can see the way his jaw flexes, how his eyes search mine for something I’m probably not showing on the surface. Oh, how I hate that he can see right through me as if it is the easiest thing in the world to do.

“My wolf,” I say, voice barely more than a whisper, “she’s not gone. She’s trapped.” Logan doesn’t move, but the air between us shifts. “She wants out,” I continue. “I can feel her now…more than I have in years. She’s clawing inside me, like she’s trying to wake up from something, but…”

I fall silent, unable to fully continue. Our eyes meet and I suck in a breath, swallowing the small lump that forms in my throat. He nods slowly, urging me to go on.

“Wanda said…” I pause, the words heavy on my tongue. “Well, you heard her. She said the key is with my father.”

His brows draw together. I see it — the flicker of confusion turning into something else. Worry. Anger.

“What kind of key do you think it is?” he asks.

I look down at my hands, at the way they’re shaking slightly in my lap. I hesitate to respond, trying to come up with some kind of response. Something that we can both hold onto.

“Something horrible,” I whisper.

Logan goes still. Not rigid and not cold, but still in a way that tells me he’s holding something back. His wolf is listening now too. I glance at him, searching his face.

“I don’t remember what it was. Not fully. Just that I was…scared,” I whisper.

His eyes never leave mine. He doesn’t ask questions. Doesn’t press. He reaches out and pulls me into his embrace. I melt into him, resting my head on his chest, the steady thud of his heart grounding me.

“I don’t want to make you talk about it,” he says quietly, brushing a hand through my hair. “But do you really think that we need to contact him?”

I close my eyes. Everything inside me says yes. Every instinct, every piece of the bond between me and the part of myself that’s been missing for so long. My wolf is trying to lead me somewhere and I can’t ignore it.

“It may be the only way I’ll wake my wolf. If I don’t... I don’t think I’ll ever get her back.”

There’s a long pause. Logan holds me tighter.

“I’m scared,” I admit.

“Of him?” Logan asks me. I push my lips to the side, my stomach twisting in knots. Our baby kicks inside of my belly, adding to my unease.

“Of the truth,” I quietly admit, unable to bring myself to fully believe in my own words.

“Then we face it together.” Logan presses a kiss to my forehead, his touch light and gentle. It soothes the ache in my head.

I feel his hand drift lower, resting gently on my stomach — where our baby is growing. The warmth of his touch makes my throat tighten.

“I need to do this for them too,” I say quietly, “I need to protect them.”

He breathes out through his nose, and I feel it, that same acceptance I’ve always seen in him. The way he never tries to fix me. Never rushes me. Just stays.

“If this is what you need,” he says, voice low, “then I’ll be with you. Every second of it. No matter how dark it gets.”

I bury my face into his chest.

We lie there like that for a long time, tangled up in fear and love and something rawer — something ancient. My wolf stirs again, soft this time, like she knows he’s here. Like she remembers him.

Maybe we both do.

Because even when everything else in me feels lost, broken, or buried... Logan is still the one thing that brings me home.