Chapter 31 The Price of Power
Jolie POV
I wake up to find Luna sitting beside the bed, reading a book. She looks up when I stir, and something in her expression—relief mixed with wariness—tells me this conversation won't be simple.
"There she is." She sets the book aside. "How do you feel?"
"Like I got hit by a truck." I try to sit up and immediately regret it. Every muscle protests, bone-deep exhaustion making even breathing feel like effort. My arms shake with the strain of supporting my weight. "How long was I out?"
"Twelve hours." She hands me a water bottle, watching carefully as I take it with trembling fingers. "Drink. Doc's orders."
I drain half the bottle before asking, "Phoen?"
"Up and walking around like nothing happened." Luna smiles, but there's something complicated in it. "The other injured wolves are stable too. You saved three lives yesterday, Jolie."
The weight of those words settles over me. Three lives. Because of something I did. Not because I was strong or fast or powerful in the ways that matter to wolves. Because of this strange, exhausting gift that leaves me hollowed out and useless afterward.
"Everyone wants to see you." Luna fidgets with her bracelet, a nervous tell I've learned to recognize. "Thank you. Say you're amazing. The whole pack is talking about it."
Dread pools in my stomach, cold and heavy. "I don't want"
"I know." She squeezes my hand, and her touch is warm. "But you can't hide from this. What you did? That changes things."
"Changes things how?" The question comes out sharper than I intend, fear making me defensive.
Luna hesitates, choosing her words carefully. "You're not invisible anymore. Not the quiet girl who helps with supply runs and stays out of the way. You're..." She trails off, searching for the right word. "You're important now. Essential. And that comes with its own complications."
A knock at the door interrupts whatever I might have said to that. Luna opens it to reveal Phoen, looking perfectly healthy except for the haunted expression in his eyes. He's clean now, the blood washed away, wearing fresh clothes. But something fundamental has changed in him. I can see it in the way he holds himself, the way he can't quite meet my gaze.
"Can I" His voice cracks. "Can I talk to her?"
Luna leaves us alone, squeezing my shoulder once before she goes. Phoen sits in the chair she vacated, staring at his hands like they hold answers he desperately needs.
The silence stretches between us in an uncomfortable way. I want to fill it with something—anything—but I don't know what to say. How do you talk to someone you dragged back from death?
"I was dying," he says finally, his voice barely above a whisper. "I felt it. Everything going cold and dark. Like falling into deep water and not being able to find the surface." He swallows hard. "And then you" He looks up, tears streaming down his face unchecked. "I felt you pull me back. Felt your power flowing through me. You brought me back from death."
"Phoenix"
"How?" The question breaks on a sob. "How do you do that?"
I don't have an answer. The truth is, I barely understand it myself. It's instinct, something that rises up from deep inside me when someone needs it. Like my wolf knows what to do even when I don't. "I don't know. I just... can."
He wipes his eyes roughly, angry at his own tears. "I owe you my life."
"You don't owe me anything." The words feel inadequate even as I say them. How do you tell someone they don't owe you for saving them? That it wasn't a transaction but simply the right thing to do? "We're a pack."
"You're more than pack." He stands abruptly and pulls something from his pocket—a small knife with a carved wooden handle. The blade is old but well-maintained, the handle worn smooth from years of use. "This was my father's. It's all I have left of my family. I want you to have it."
"I can't take that." I push it back toward him, horrified. "Phoen, this is yours. It's all you have"
"Please." He presses it into my palm, his hands covering mine, desperate and pleading. "Let me give you something. I need—I need to give you something. I need you to have a piece of my father, of my family. You gave me my life back. Let me give you this."
The desperation in his voice makes me close my fingers around the knife. The wood is warm from his pocket, the weight of it significant in a way that has nothing to do with its physical mass. "Okay. Thank you."
He leaves quickly, like he can't stand to be in the room anymore, like his emotions are too big for the space. The door clicks shut behind him, and I'm left staring at the knife in my hand, overwhelmed by the responsibility it represents.
Luna slips back in moments later, as if she'd been waiting just outside.
"He's not the only one," she says quietly, settling back into her chair. "Half the pack is waiting outside to thank you. The other half wants to ask questions about your power—where it comes from, what its limits are, whether you can teach it to others. Doc wants to run tests. Cass thinks you should be guarded at all times now that everyone knows what you can do."
The walls feel like they're closing in, the room suddenly too small. My chest tightens with rising panic. "I need air."
"I'll take you through the back." Luna helps me stand, supporting my weight when my legs threaten to give out. "But Jolie? You can't hide from this forever. What you can do—it's a gift."
A gift that leaves me barely able to stand. A gift that makes every cell in my body scream with exhaustion. A gift that might have limits I don't want to discover. A gift that could fail me when someone needs it most.
But I don't say any of that. Just let Luna lead me through the compound's back corridors to a quiet spot by the garage, away from the eyes and questions and crushing weight of gratitude.
I sit on the concrete, breathing in the familiar smell of oil and metal. Out here, I'm just Jolie. Not a healer. Not someone sacred. Just a girl who likes fixing broken things. Just a person, flawed and tired and uncertain.
The garage door opens. Knox appears, carrying a toolbox, and if he's surprised to find me here, he doesn't show it.
"Thought I'd find you here." He sets the box down and sits beside me without preamble. "Are you okay?"
"Everyone keeps asking me that."
"That's not an answer." He pulls out a wrench and starts working on a disassembled carburetor sitting on the workbench. "You don't have to be okay, you know. What you did yesterday—that's heavy stuff."
I watch his hands move, finding comfort in the simple mechanical work. "Does it ever stop? The pressure of everyone needing you to be something?"
"No." He doesn't sugarcoat it, and I appreciate that more than hollow reassurance. "But you learn to carry it better. And you figure out who you can trust to help carry the weight."
"What if I can't do it again?" The fear spills out before I can stop it. "What if next time, I fail?"
Knox pauses his work, setting down his wrench and turning to face me fully. "Then you fail. And we figure it out. That's what pack means."
"But they think I'm"
"A miracle worker. I know." He picks up the carburetor and examines it with the same careful attention he gives everything. "But you're also just Jolie. And that's enough. It has to be."
The simple acceptance in his voice makes something tight in my chest loosen, like a knot finally coming undone. "Thank you."
"Don't mention it." He tosses me a rag, the gesture casual and normal in a way that makes me want to cry with relief. "Now help me clean these parts. Doc says you need to take it easy, but nobody said you couldn't be useful."
We work in comfortable silence for a while, the familiar rhythm of cleaning and sorting grounding me. Out here, covered in grease and surrounded by the familiar comfort of engines, I almost feel normal again.
Almost.
But I can't shake the memory of Phoen face. The desperate gratitude. The crushing weight of being someone's savior.
And underneath it all, a darker fear I don't want to examine too closely. What happens if my power runs out?