Page 28

Andros

I left Lexa soaking in the bath, the steam filling the small room behind me as I stepped outside into the chill morning air.

The snow had finally settled into something manageable, softening the world instead of burying it.

Sunlight broke weakly through thin clouds, promising warmth that hadn’t quite reached us yet.

The outpost had come alive again after the storm.

Men moved between the wooden buildings, checking supplies, repairing fences.

This was the last outpost before the Citadel, our northernmost line of defense and observation.

It felt good to have something tangible, routine.

A quiet anchor after everything that had happened in that cave.

Garrick stood near the central hearth, barking orders and gesturing toward damaged crates. When he saw me, his face broke into a crooked grin.

“So,” he said, stepping close and shoving a goblet of wine into my hand, “the storm clears, and our fearless Alpha emerges at last. Good to see you alive. We were placing bets on whether the little omega had finally torn out your throat.”

I rolled my eyes, taking a long drink. It was rougher wine than the Citadel cellars held, but it warmed me all the same. Garrick stared at me, his gaze shifting with sudden, keen interest to the fresh bite mark on my neck. His grin sharpened.

“Well, fuck me sideways,” he chuckled. “She didn’t kill you, but she certainly left her mark.”

I growled softly, but there was no bite behind it. “Careful, Garrick.”

He raised an eyebrow, entirely unrepentant. “So, what exactly are your intentions with the stray now that she’s sunk her teeth into you? Planning to chain her to your throne?”

“Actually,” I said casually, swirling the wine in my goblet, “I was thinking of writing a new law. Anyone who calls Lexa a stray gets twenty lashes in the market square.”

Garrick barked out a laugh, shaking his head, amused. “Gods, the things that girl has done to you, Andros.”

He sobered after a moment, glancing toward the distant horizon. “Speaking of storms, got word earlier, a small avalanche hit Elm’s Ridge last night. They reported damage to some buildings, but no lives lost, luckily.”

I nodded thoughtfully. Elm’s Ridge was a small settlement, resilient but isolated enough that even minor disasters could turn serious quickly. “Send extra supplies and a few men,” I ordered. “Make sure they’re secure until repairs are finished.”

“Already done,” Garrick said smoothly. Then he cast me a sidelong look, expression turning serious. “So, this thing with Lexa, is it…settled?”

I took another slow sip, considering. Settled wasn’t the word. Nothing with Lexa was settled. It was wild, uncertain, dangerous. But it was also undeniably right. A bond that had grown into something deeper than instinct or obligation.

“As settled as things ever get around her,” I finally replied.

He smiled slightly, something knowing and warm in the way he looked at me. “You know, the men here were whispering about it already—the Alpha and his mysterious omega from the south. Some of them think you’re losing your mind. Others think you might finally have found it.”

“Maybe both,” I admitted quietly.

Garrick clapped a hand on my shoulder, the familiar heavy strength of a loyal friend. “Well, whatever it is, it suits you. Just do us a favor—warn us next time before you drag us all through hell searching for her again.”

“Deal,” I murmured, smiling faintly.

He chuckled, glancing back toward the outpost buildings. “You should probably get back. Before your omega decides to carve another hole in the wall and escape again.”

I rolled my eyes again, hiding my smile behind the goblet. “Not this time,” I said quietly. “This time, she stays.”

I returned to the room quietly, expecting to find Lexa awake and restless.

Instead, she was stretched out on her stomach, sleeping deeply, her breathing slow and steady.

Her damp hair spilled like ink across the pillows, the soft rise and fall of her back strangely peaceful.

The exhaustion of her heat cycle had finally caught up to her, leaving her utterly drained.

Careful not to disturb her, I changed quietly and slid into bed beside her. My body felt heavy, my thoughts slowing as soon as my head touched the pillow. Sleep came fast, dragging me down into darkness—

And that’s when the dream hit.

Not a dream, a memory. Hers. Cold and sharp and vivid, like claws dragged across my mind.

I stood in a room I didn't recognize, ornate and oppressive, with dark walls and stifling heat. Lexa was young, barely ten, thin and pale, with wide eyes that looked too big for her face. She stood stiffly, hands trembling at her sides. A woman loomed over her, expression twisted in cold disdain.

“Again,” the woman snapped harshly. “You curtsy. You keep your eyes lowered. You smile. An omega pleases, Lexa, she doesn’t glare.”

“I don’t want to,” Lexa whispered. Her voice shook. “I don’t want—”

The blow came fast, sharp enough that my own head jerked back in shock. Lexa staggered but didn’t fall. Behind her, one of her sisters giggled cruelly.

“Stupid little thing,” the sister sneered softly. “You’d better learn, or they’ll just keep hitting you.”

The image tore away violently, replaced by another. Lexa again, barely older, curled in a dark corner of a cold room. Bruises darkened her arms, her cheek. She stared at her hands, whispering silent apologies—to herself, to no one, to everyone.

The scene shifted again.

A night filled with terror and snow—Lexa running barefoot through the woods, cloak torn, chest heaving. Tears streaked her face as branches tore at her skin. Panic pulsed like venom through the bond, raw and unfiltered.

Again, the image tore itself apart and reformed.

A port town filled with noise and chaos. Lexa, small and alone, holding tightly to a bag containing everything she had left. A sharp shove, laughter from thieves as they ran off with everything she’d saved. She collapsed to the ground, eyes hollow with shock and disbelief.

My heart twisted painfully. It was agony, the helpless rage burning deep inside me at watching her suffer and being unable to stop it.

The scenes came faster now, disjointed and jagged:

Lexa laboring at the docks, small hands cracked and raw from rope and salt. Her stomach empty. Her eyes hollowed by hunger and exhaustion, yet still determined to keep going.

Lexa standing on the deck of a ship, staring at the endless ocean, gripping her ticket with trembling fingers as land disappeared behind her.

Lexa arriving in a foreign land— my land —alone, frightened, hunted. Searching desperately for safety, hiding from the Crescent Moon pack’s reach.

And finally—

The witch’s hut, deep in the woods, smelling of blood and herbs and dark, bitter magic.

Lexa, her skin pale and shivering, lying face down on a rough wooden table as the witch raised a blade.

The first carving of the rune, her scream echoing loud and raw and filled with a pain too deep, too brutal for words.

It ripped through me, her pain, her fear, her loneliness. I felt every second, every heartbeat, every scar.

The visions tore through me harder now, deeper, pulling me back into their vortex of agony, the dark tide of Lexa’s past impossible to escape—

She was twenty-four, burning with fever, curled and shivering on a filthy straw mattress.

Her breaths came shallow, choking, rattling with each inhale.

Her body weak, frail—too frail—skin slick with sweat as the sickness gnawed at her from the inside out.

She couldn’t heal, not like wolves should.

Her wolf was bound and silenced, leaving her mortal, defenseless.

She stared blankly at the stained ceiling above, whispering quiet prayers to gods she no longer believed in, fully prepared to meet her death alone and forgotten.

Another shift, wrenching and brutal—

She was a child again, her small hands trembling as she held them out, palms open, red and raw. A thin stick cracked down viciously, cutting across the tender skin. She bit her lip hard enough to draw blood, eyes filling with tears she refused to let fall.

The voice above her hissed, cold and merciless. “Omegas don’t climb trees, Lexa. They don’t run wild. Learn your place.” She whimpered, choking on her shame and pain, her tiny shoulders shaking violently.

The world spun again, faster, darker—

She stood before the witch, thin and pale, desperation etched into her face. “I need more runes,” Lexa whispered, voice cracked and hoarse, holding out her trembling hands. The witch raised a brow, impassive, her expression calculating.

“More coin, then. The runes aren’t charity.”

Lexa’s lip quivered, her voice broke into a soft sob.

“Please. It’s all I have.” The woman stared coldly, eyes blank with indifference, shrugging as if Lexa’s pleas meant nothing.

Lexa sank to her knees on the cold floor of the hut, tears streaming silently down her cheeks, shoulders shaking in defeat.

Another twist, sickening and painful—

Lexa stood frozen, soaked by the cold rain that poured relentlessly, her gaze hollow, empty, fixed on a small muddy hut.

She stepped slowly inside, trembling, heart breaking with every step.

The air was thick with sickness and decay.

And there, lying pale and lifeless on a filthy mattress, was a woman.

Beside her, a small child, shaking, terrified, wide-eyed, clutching his mother’s stiff hand.

Lexa’s voice cracked as she whispered softly,

“It’s okay, little one. I’ve got you now.

” But inside, her heart splintered apart, grief and terror gripping her as she lifted the child gently into her arms, feeling his tiny, cold fingers cling desperately to her, trusting her despite everything.

Then came the image of days later, when the rain stopped and she returned to the hut to give Dains mother a decent grave.