Chapter 48
The ride back to my father’s pack was silent. Not because there was nothing to say—there was too much to say. But the words felt stuck in my throat, unable to escape the weight pressing down on my chest.
I had won the battle. We had destroyed the banshees, protected the pack, saved countless lives. But why did it feel like I had lost everything?
Jeremiah’s last words replayed in my head like a cruel echo.
"It’s best you leave with your family… because I will never be able to forget what they have done."
I clenched my fists against my thighs, willing the sting of tears away. I refused to cry. Not now. Not when my father rode beside me, his sharp eyes flickering toward me every few minutes as if he expected me to fall apart.
But I wouldn’t.
I had spent my whole life being told I was fragile, that I needed to be protected, that I was meant for a gilded cage built by my father or my mate. But the war against the banshees had changed me. I had felt powerful, like I finally had control over my own fate.
And now, in the aftermath, I realized just how much that scared everyone around me.
I inhaled sharply, my gaze drifting to the moonlit trees as we approached my father’s pack lands. It was strange to be back here after everything that had happened. It no longer felt like home.
Nothing did.
The gates opened, and the guards bowed as we passed. The moment we dismounted, my mother rushed toward me, her swollen belly barely slowing her down.
“Astrid!” she cried, wrapping her arms around me before I could react. She was warm, soft, safe. The scent of lavender and home clung to her, and for a brief moment, I let myself sink into it.
Then she pulled back, cupping my face. “Are you hurt?” she asked, searching me for wounds.
I shook my head. “No, Mother. I’m fine.”
She exhaled a shaky breath, nodding, but her eyes were filled with worry. Not just for me. For him.
“I know,” I whispered. “He let me go.”
Her lips pressed together, and she glanced at my father, who was speaking quietly with some of his warriors. She wanted to say something, I could feel it, but she held back. Instead, she squeezed my hand.
“Come inside,” she said. “You must be exhausted.”
Exhausted didn’t even begin to describe it.
The days blurred together. I threw myself into training, into strategy meetings, into anything that kept my mind busy.
I couldn’t sleep. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw him. The way his jaw clenched as he turned away from me. The tear that had slipped down his cheek. The pain in his voice when he told me he could never forget.
Helena noticed, of course. She was the only one brave enough to bring it up.She always made it a point to visit me.
“You’re pushing yourself too hard,” she said one afternoon as we sparred. Her sword clashed against mine, the sound ringing through the training grounds.
I gritted my teeth. “I’m training.”
“You’re running,” she countered, shoving me back. “And if you keep this up, you’re going to burn yourself out.”
I wiped the sweat from my forehead. “Good.”
Helena sighed. “Astrid—”
“I don’t want to talk about him.”
She studied me for a long moment before nodding. “Fine. Then let’s talk about you.”
I frowned. “What about me?”
She sheathed her sword and folded her arms. “Your powers.”
My stomach twisted.
“I know you’re avoiding it,” she continued. “I know you’re pretending that what happened in that cave was just… something random. But it wasn’t. That power is a part of you, Astrid. And until you figure out why you have it, you’ll never truly understand who you are.”
I swallowed hard. “And if I don’t want to know?”
Helena tilted her head. “Then you’re a coward.”
My eyes snapped to hers, fury flaring in my chest.
“I fought those creatures. I risked my life. I saved everyone—”
“And now what?” she interrupted. “You just forget about it? You pretend like nothing happened? You think you can just go back to being a normal girl in your father’s pack?”
I took a step back.
She sighed. “Look, I get it. You’re scared. But ignoring it won’t make it go away.”
I swallowed. “I don’t know what to do.”
Helena smiled slightly. “That’s the first honest thing you’ve said all day.”
That night, I woke up in a cold sweat. My body trembled, my skin burning like fire. I stumbled out of bed, gripping the edge of my dresser as the world tilted around me.
And then I heard it.
A whisper.
Faint. Hollow. A voice that sent shivers down my spine.
"Astrid…"
I spun around, heart pounding, but the room was empty.
No. No, it had to be in my head. Maybe I was just overtired.
But then I looked in the mirror.
And I froze.
Because my reflection wasn’t my own.
My eyes—they were violet.
The same color they turned when I screamed in the cave. The same color that made the banshees bleed.
Panic clawed at my chest.
What was happening to me?
I didn’t tell anyone. Not yet.
Instead, I focused harder on training, trying to bury the fear, to pretend that nothing was wrong.
But it was getting harder.
Especially when my father pulled me aside one evening.
“You’re different,” he said, watching me carefully.
I forced a small smile. “War changes people.”
His gaze didn’t waver. “This isn’t just war.”
I inhaled sharply. “What do you mean?”
He studied me for a long moment before sighing. “Your mother told me about your eyes.”
My stomach dropped.
“She said she saw them change,” he continued. “She’s worried.”
I looked away. “It was just a trick of the light.”
“Astrid.”
His voice was gentle, but firm. And I hated how much it made me want to crack.
“Tell me the truth.”
I clenched my fists. “I don’t know what’s happening to me.”
He exhaled. “Then we’ll figure it out.”
I hesitated. “What if I don’t want to know?”
My father was silent for a moment before he said, “Then you’ll never truly be free.”
I looked at him then, and I saw something in his eyes that I hadn’t seen before—fear. Not of me, but for me.
And that terrified me more than anything else.
Because if he was scared… then maybe I should be, too.
That night, I sat by my window, staring at the stars. My fingers traced the edge of the letter I had written hours ago, sealed and ready to be delivered.
I knew he might not answer.
I knew he might never forgive me.
But I had to try.
I pressed the letter against my chest, whispering his name into the night.
“Jeremiah…”
And I sent it away.
Hoping.
Waiting.
Even though I knew…
He might never write back.
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