chapter 193 Eric's Journal (2)
chapter 193 Eric's Journal (2)
Eric's Journal
Age 17
People say I've changed. Become harder. More ruthless. They're wrong. I haven't become harder. I've become stronger. There's a difference.
Celeste's letters give me courage I never knew I possessed. When Father's demands become unbearable, I think of her words about breaking chains.
I've begun refusing some of Father's summons. The first time, he was so shocked that he simply stared at me. The second time, he tried to assert his authority the old way, but I stood my ground. The punishment afterward was severe, but I endured it knowing that each act of defiance brought me closer to freedom.
To her.
Age 20
It happened. On my twentieth birthday, when Father tried to continue the pattern that had defined my childhood, I pushed him away. Actually pushed him away.
He fell backward, stunned. For a moment, we stared at each other in mutual shock. Then his face twisted with rage, and he called for Mother to hold me down while he retrieved his belt.
Even with both of them restraining me, the beating that followed felt different. I was no longer the helpless child who could only endure. I fought back. Not enough to win, but enough to taste what victory might feel like.
I smiled through the pain. For the first time in fifteen years, I smiled through the pain.
Age 22
I can overpower them both now. The years of Celeste's encouragement, combined with my natural Alpha strength finally maturing, have made me physically stronger than my parents.
Father tried to drag me to the basement last week after I contradicted him in front of a visiting diplomat. I simply said no and walked away. He shouted threats at my back, but his voice sounded hollow.
I am free.
The realization fills me with such joy I can barely contain it. Free to love who I choose.
Age 24
I asked her to marry me today.
We were sitting by the small stream near her cottage, her head resting on my shoulder as I read aloud from a book of poetry. The words seemed to flow directly from my heart to hers.
"Celeste," I said, setting the book aside. "Will you be my wife?"
She turned toward me with tears streaming down her face. "Yes," she whispered. "Yes, Eric. Always yes."
That night, our wedding night, I told her everything. The basement. The scars. The years of living as two different people. I cried like a child as the words poured out of me, fifteen years of buried trauma spilling into the darkness between us.
She held me throughout my confession, her hands stroking my hair as I sobbed against her breast. When I finally finished, she lifted my face to hers.
"None of that was your fault," she said firmly. "You were a child. A victim. The pain you endured doesn't define who you are, Eric. It's what you do with your strength now that matters."
She spoke of ancient beliefs about suffering, how some souls chose difficult paths to learn deeper lessons, to develop compassion and wisdom that could only come through adversity.
"Your scars are proof of your survival," she whispered against my temple. "They're beautiful to me because they show how strong you truly are."
We spent three months together as husband and wife. Three months of perfect happiness. I learned what it meant to wake up beside someone who loved every part of me, even the parts I'd hidden from the world. I discovered that joy was real, that peace was possible, that love could heal wounds I'd thought would fester forever.
Age 24, later
Everything is ruined.
Father discovered our secret. The frequent trips to the border, the letters Kane had been carrying, the changes in my behavior. He confronted me with evidence of my "betrayal" of the pack, my "unnatural alliance" with the enemy.
I didn't deny it. I couldn't deny it. I loved her too much for shame.
"You will end this obscenity," he commanded. "You will reject the vampire whore and accept a proper mate arrangement."
I laughed in his face.
That was my mistake.
While I was organizing a formal challenge for Alpha succession, while I was planning to overthrow him legally and claim my rightful position, he was planning something far more sinister.
He took Celeste.
By the time I realized what had happened, it was too late. I found her dying in the dungeon beneath our estate, her body broken, her beautiful eyes closed forever.
I held her as she died. I begged her to stay with me. I promised I would find a way to save her.
She never opened her eyes again.
Age 24, continued
Madame Delacroix says there is a way. Ancient magic, older than the treaties between our peoples. Blood magic that can sustain the body while the soul lingers between life and death.
The spell worked. Celeste breathes, her heart beats, but she doesn't wake. She exists in a state between worlds, and Delacroix warns that maintaining this condition requires enormous energy.
I've become a creature of pure purpose.
The Shadow pack bloodline carries the purest healing abilities in our history. But their Alpha line was destroyed years ago, and the only remaining descendant is already bonded to the Silver Moon Alpha heir.
Lyra Nightfall. The key to everything.