Chapter 187

Lila

The village appeared just as the sun dipped low, lanterns flickering to life one by one like fireflies against the gathering dusk.

My feet ached from the journey, every step heavier than the last, but the sight of rooftops rising beyond the fields pulled me forward all the same.

Smoke curled from chimneys, carrying the faint smell of bread and stew. The smells of normal life. The kind of life that had once been mine in flashes, but now felt more foreign than ever.

Ronan walked at my side, steady as ever, his presence both shield and shadow. He carried the larger pack, his hand never straying far from the hilt at his hip.

To anyone watching, we probably looked like countless other travelers arriving with the turn of the season: worn, tired, and looking for a place to belong. A woman tending her doorway glanced up as we passed. Her eyes swept over me, then Ronan, then my rounded belly. A small smile softened her face.

“Seems like a long road for the two of you. There’s a cottage free down by the well, if you’re looking to settle.” She offered.

Her assumption dropped like a stone in my chest. Husband and wife, mates. That was what she saw. That was what they all would see.

I opened my mouth to correct her, but Ronan spoke first, his voice calm. “We are. Thank you.”

The words closed the matter before I could draw another breath. I glanced up at him, but his expression gave nothing away. No apology, no smirk, just certainty that this was the safest lie.

We followed the woman’s directions through the narrow streets.

Villagers nodded as we passed, their gazes warm but curious. Children played in the alleys, chasing one another with sticks, their laughter so bright it melted my heart.

My hand drifted to my stomach without thinking. For one fragile moment, I let myself imagine my child running among them, carefree and safe from being hunted.

The cottage was as promised; small, clad in weathered wood with a sloping roof and shutters that creaked when Ronan pushed them open.

Inside, it was sparse: a small hearth, a narrow kitchen and living space, sparsely furnished, and a single bed chamber with a single bed.

Dust lay thick on the shelves, but there was no blood, no rot, no Rogues prowling outside.

It was enough. More than enough.

I lowered myself onto one of the chairs, the relief of sitting almost undoing me. My legs trembled, my body weak, but for once it wasn’t from fear. It was from exhaustion I could name, and any pregnant female might feel after a long road.

Ronan set down the pack and began moving through the space, checking windows, testing the locks, his vigilance unbroken even in the heart of this quiet place. He moved like a male who could never put his weapon down, not even for a heartbeat.

“Do you think it’s safe?” I asked, though my voice betrayed the hope I didn’t want to show.

He glanced at me, eyes sharp, assessing. “Safe enough.”

The words should have comforted me. Instead, they twisted, because I knew what they meant. Safe enough for now. Not a forever home.

Still, when the fire caught in the hearth and warmth filled the room, my shoulders eased for the first time in weeks.

I leaned back, watching the flames flicker, and let the sound of village life drift in through the shutters. The voices, footsteps, the steady rhythm of a world that wasn’t on the defensive.

For the first time since the fire, since Damon, since running into these wilds, I felt the faint promise of peace brush against me.

I knew better than to trust it, but I couldn’t stop myself from holding onto it anyway.

Soon, days slipped into a rhythm I hadn’t known in months. We cleaned up the cottage and settled into a routine and blended in a best we could.

At dawn, the village stirred with the sound of roosters and buckets clattering at the well. I’d rise slowly, my body still heavy and sore, and wrap myself in one of the wool shawls the baker’s wife had pressed into my hands.

She hadn’t asked questions when she offered it, only smiled and said, “You’re too thin to keep warm on your own, girl.”

The simple kindness unsettled me as much as it soothed me. I wasn’t used to kindness without expectation.

Ronan blended into the village life more easily than I expected, though always on the fringes. He repaired a broken fence for a farmer one afternoon, carried sacks of grain for another, and with every task, suspicion of us softened into welcome.

Still, I never saw him without a weapon strapped to his side or within reach. Even when he sat at the table in our small cottage, his knife lay on the wood between us, glinting in the firelight.

I tried, for the sake of the child, to do what the females here did.

I fetched water from the well, fumbling with the bucket rope. I sewed clumsily at a tear in a shawl until an elder laughed and showed me how to stitch without pricking my fingers raw.

Their laughter didn’t sting the way I thought it would. It made me feel, just for a heartbeat, like I belonged.

The hardest moments were at night.

The nightmares still came, sometimes worse than before. I’d wake with the fire’s heat licking at my skin, Damon’s face seared into my dreams, and the old terror would return fresh.

But here, when I stumbled to the window, there was no empty wilderness staring back. There were lanterns glowing faintly down the lane, voices drifting through the night. Proof that we weren’t entirely alone.

Ronan never let me forget the truth, though.

Every evening, after the village quieted, he slipped from our door and walked the perimeter.

I’d catch the faint shape of him at the edge of the fields, moving like a sentry between the trees. When he returned, he always looked the same with his jaw tight, eyes scanning every corner before they finally landed on me.

Only then would his shoulders ease, as if I was the landmark that told him he’d found his way home.

I still wanted to resent it, his constant vigilance, the way his world seemed to orbit around keeping me safe. But when I lay awake in the bed listening to his steady breathing from the next room, I couldn’t.

Late one afternoon, as I sat outside our door with a basket of laundry, I watched children play tag near the well. Their laughter filled the air, light and unafraid.

I tensed as a shout carried from the far end of the village, but it was just someone calling for supper. The children scattered into doorways, their voices fading into warmth and safety.

I stayed where I was, staring into the darkening trees, where shadows gathered just beyond the reach of lantern light.

I drew the shawl tighter around me, feeling the fear in my veins slow, and whispered to myself, “Just a little longer. Just let this peace last a little longer.” The baby would be born soon, and I wanted to have her here.

Behind me, the door creaked open and Ronan’s shadow stretched across the step.

“Come inside, Lila, it’s getting dark. I made supper.”

I rose slowly, clutching the basket, and stepped back into the small cottage. The hearth glowed, the walls held firm, and for now, it was safe enough.