I hadn't meant to cry. Not again. I'd spilled enough tears over the past few weeks to fill a river, carved salt-lined trenches down my cheeks until I thought I had nothing left. But once Lyra and Selvara settled in and the door shut tight against the screaming wind, something inside me snapped like ice breaking under a spring sun.
The tears came fast and hot, rolling down before I could hold them back.
I dropped onto the rough edge of the bed, gripping the blanket so hard my knuckles blanched. "I don't belong here," I whispered into the empty room. "He should've left me there in the woods to die."
Lyra set the basin down with a soft thud. "You're not the first to say that," she said, voice steady, not soft, but not cruel either. Like bedrock beneath shifting sand. Like she'd heard those exact words from too many broken souls wandering the Direwilds.
Selvara knelt beside me, wringing out a cloth. "You don't have to say anything. Just breathe. One breath at a time."
Her touch was cool when she dabbed my temple. I flinched, trying to pull away, but she held firm—stronger than she looked. "You're burning up," she frowned. "The wound's angry."
"It's fine," I snapped, more harsh than I meant. Walls rising.
Lyra raised a dark eyebrow. "Want to lose the arm next? Because that's where this is headed if we don't get it treated right."
That shut me up quick.
They worked together like a well-oiled machine, years of practice in every move. Lyra peeled off Ronan's ugly bandages while Selvara hunted down fresh supplies from their cabin shelves. They moved around each other like two halves of one thought, every action sure and practiced. I'd never seen care that wasn't tangled up with expectations or demands.
"Hold this," Lyra said, pressing a strip of cloth into my hand. I clutched it tight against my side as she poured something that burned like liquid fire into the torn flesh.
"Moon's mercy," I gasped, fresh tears springing.
"Better to curse me now than rot to death later," she said flatly.
Selvara shot her a look. "Try a little compassion next time, yeah?"
"I'll try it when it keeps people alive longer than medicine," Lyra shot back.
It should've scared me, that bluntness. Instead, I felt something I hadn't in weeks: safe. True safety.
They finished binding me up, Selvara tucking the ends neatly. She brushed her hands on her apron. "You need real food. And sleep. Not fights or protests."
Lyra didn't argue. She stirred the iron pot over the fire, scooped a thick, steaming bowl, and handed it to me. "Eat what you can."
The smell was strong, gamey, real food, the kind that keeps you alive, not just looks pretty on a plate. My hands trembled as I took it.
I hadn't eaten right in days. The first bite burned my tongue, but I didn't care. I ate like a starving animal, fast and desperate, as if it might disappear if I stopped.
Selvara's eyes softened, pity shining through. "Slow down. It's not going anywhere. We have plenty."
I forced myself to breathe, to match body to mind. "Why are you doing this?" My voice barely above a whisper.
Lyra glanced up from the fire. "Because someone has to."
"That's not an answer."
"It's the truth," she said simply. "You think you're the first wolf to crawl out of a pack with nothing but scars and broken promises? The Direwilds take in what the world spits out. Always have."
"I don't belong anywhere." The words tasted like ash.
Selvara knelt again, storm-dark eyes locking with mine. "Then start here. Build something from nothing. That's what we all did."
Something inside me broke then, but not jagged like before. Gentler. A piece of hope I'd been clutching, the girl who walked down the aisle dreaming of dignity, who believed surviving meant it could all mean something.
I set the bowl aside and buried my face in my hands. The sobs came raw and ugly, dragged up from a place I'd locked away for weeks.
Lyra said nothing. No empty words. Just waited, solid as stone, letting me break. Selvara rested her hand on my shoulder, grounding me when I felt like I might drift off into nothing.
When I stopped shaking, when tears dried sticky and salty, Lyra handed me a damp cloth. "Get it out," she said. "All of it. You can't heal holding poison inside."
I wiped my face, hands shaking. "He called me tainted. Said the child I carry wasn't his. Said I'd been with another man."
Selvara's jaw clenched. "Then he's a fool."
Lyra's voice sharpened like a blade. "He's a coward. There's a difference."
"He was my mate." My voice was small, broken. "The bond was supposed to mean something. Selene herself tied us."
Lyra sat across from me, dark eyes holding mine. "Mates break. Packs betray. Bonds fail. The connection means something only if both sides honor it. Otherwise, it's just another chain."
I blinked through tears. "Did yours? Honor it, I mean?"
A flicker crossed her face, something she didn't want to remember but couldn't forget. "Once," she said quietly. "But that's a story for a stronger night."
Silence stretched, broken only by wind clawing at the cabin like it wanted in.
Selvara stood, fussing with furs on the bed. "You should rest now. Your body needs time to heal, and you can't do that fighting to stay awake."
"I can't sleep." The thought terrified me. Closing my eyes meant seeing Jasper's face, hearing the pack's laughter, feeling the bond rip.
"You will," she said softly. "We'll make sure."
She guided me to the bed, tucking heavy furs around me like my mother used to, before she stopped trying, before poison turned our home cold. The scent of pine smoke and herbs wrapped me like a cocoon, pulling me down despite my protests.
Lyra adjusted the fire, sparks swirling. "Ronan won't be back till morning," she said without looking. "He's scouting north. If he says you stay, you stay. That's the rule."
"If?" I echoed, catching the condition.
Her gaze sharpened. "He doesn't bring people here lightly. There's always a reason."
My chest tightened. "Then why me? Why save someone he barely knows?"
Her voice dropped low. "Because he sees something in you you don't yet. He hasn't decided what to do about it."
The room blurred at the edges. Exhaustion weighed me down like iron chains. Selvara's hand brushed my hair back, careful and gentle, the kind of touch I'd forgotten.
"Sleep, Araya," she whispered. "You're safe. I promise."
The last thing I heard was the crackling fire and their soft voices, fading into the dark.
Then a growl sliced through the warmth like a knife.
It came from the doorway.
Ronan stood there, half in shadow, firelight catching his molten amber eyes. His huge frame filled the entrance, snow and violence clinging to him like a storm.
His gaze swept over the room, his sisters, the medical supplies, me buried under furs like something barely alive. His voice was low, rough, like stone scraping bone.
"She won't last here."