Alone with thoughts

Alone with thoughts
After Zara and Lena finally left — still bickering in their own teasing way — Erin lay back on her bed, staring at the ceiling. The room was quiet now, too quiet after all the laughter.

But the image of Zara’s fresh mark lingered in her mind, vivid and unshakable. She had seen the way Lena’s eyes softened every time they flicked toward Zara, even when she tried to hide it behind sarcasm. She had seen the way Zara, proud and independent, wore that mark with something that looked suspiciously like joy.

It stirred something deep inside her.

Her hand drifted absently to her neck, fingertips brushing the skin as if she could imagine the weight of Nick’s mark there.

Would it feel the same?
Would her heart race the way Zara’s clearly had when Lena touched her?
Would she feel safe and claimed, yet still free — bound to him not by chains, but by love?

She shut her eyes, and the thoughts spiraled.

She pictured Nick’s hands, rough but gentle, brushing her hair aside before leaning in close. His voice low, a growl just for her. His lips on her skin, his scent enveloping her until she could hardly breathe.

A shiver coursed through her, but then came the fear.

What if it wasn’t like that? What if it wasn’t love, but tragedy?

Her mind flashed back to Henry’s words, to that cursed scroll. His warning still dug its claws into her: If you mate with him, he will die.

Erin’s chest tightened painfully. She wanted Nick. She loved Nick — she was finally ready to admit it to herself — but what if choosing him meant losing him forever? Could she bear that?

Tears pricked at the corners of her eyes.

Zara and Lena had found something rare, something strong enough to cross realms and races. But could she and Nick ever have that? Or was fate waiting to rip it away the moment she reached for it?

Erin curled onto her side, hugging her pillow close. A storm built quietly in her chest, the wind stirring faintly around her even as exhaustion tugged her toward restless sleep.

Her last thought before drifting off was a whisper, fragile and uncertain:

Would Nick and I be happily in love… or would my love destroy him?


The packhouse was quiet, the night heavy with a strange kind of stillness. Nick sat in his study, the fire low in the hearth, a half-empty glass of whiskey untouched at his elbow. Papers lay scattered across his desk — patrol routes, supply inventories, Council reports — but none of them held his focus.

His mind was elsewhere. Always, inevitably, on her.

Erin.

He closed his eyes, leaning back in his chair, and for just a moment let himself imagine a world without the curse.

He saw her smile lighting up the room when she teased him. He imagined her laughter filling the halls of his mansion, softer than any melody he’d ever heard. He pictured mornings where she’d still be curled up in his bed, her scent mingling with his own, the world outside irrelevant.

He imagined a future where he could kiss her without fear. Where he could claim her openly, mark her as his mate, and know she’d live — thrive — instead of withering beneath a curse older than both of them.

Nick’s throat tightened. His wolf howled in the depths of his chest, restless and aching for what was his, what fate cruelly dangled before him but never allowed him to touch.

His hands curled into fists against the desk.

If not for the curse, he would already have asked her to be his. He would have shown her every corner of his world, given her every ounce of strength and love he carried. She would have been his partner, his equal, his Luna.

But instead… he was forced to keep his distance, to watch the pain in her eyes, to see her confusion and fear whenever his hand lingered too long. Instead of giving her comfort, his love was a blade hanging over her neck.

A sharp gust rattled the windowpanes — his wolf reacting to the bond, to her storm stirring in the distance. Nick opened his eyes, staring into the flames, and whispered hoarsely:

"If only, Erin… if only life had been different. I would have given you everything. I still would."

But the fire gave no answers, only the crackle of wood turning to ash.


The house was quieter now than Marcia liked. With Erin away, her laughter absent, the silence seemed heavier, the air itself missing its spark. Sitting alone in her favorite chair by the window, Marcia closed her eyes and let herself drift into memory.

Her thoughts carried her back to a night that felt both like yesterday and a lifetime ago—Erin’s eighteenth birthday.

The house had been alive with warmth that evening, lanterns strung along the garden, wolves and friends gathered around in celebration. Marcia remembered the scent of roasted meats and sweet cakes filling the air, the sound of music thrumming under the stars, and Erin in the center of it all — radiant, her dark hair catching the firelight, her eyes lit with youth and promise.

She could still see the moment she had pulled Erin aside after the feast, just the two of them leaning against the wooden railing of the porch, the night air cool and full of cricket song.

"Eighteen," Marcia had teased, nudging her daughter with a playful smile. "Old enough to start thinking about your mate, don’t you think? Maybe one of those brooding alphas will sweep you off your feet."

Erin had wrinkled her nose at the suggestion, her cheeks warm from the teasing. "Mother, please. I don’t need a mate. I have you. I’ll never leave you. Not ever."

The words had been firm, almost stubborn, but there had been such sincerity in them that Marcia had laughed softly and drawn Erin into a hug.

"Careful, little wolf," she’d whispered into her daughter’s hair. "Mates have a way of changing everything."

"Not for me," Erin had replied, fierce in her youthful certainty. "You’re all I need."

Now, sitting in the quiet present, Marcia’s heart ached at the memory. Erin’s words echoed against the silence, bittersweet in their innocence. How quickly life had shifted since then — secrets unraveling, powers awakening, curses hovering, war looming.

Marcia pressed her hand to her chest, closing her eyes against the sting of tears. Part of her longed to hold Erin to that promise, to keep her safe and close, untouched by the cruel games of fate and love.

But another part of her — the wiser, more fearful part — knew that her daughter’s path had already begun to diverge, pulling her toward Nick, toward destiny, toward storms greater than any mother could shield her from.

"You said you’d never leave me," Marcia whispered into the empty room. "But the world won’t let you keep that promise, will it, my little wolf?"

The only answer was the wind stirring faintly against the window, as if Erin herself was whispering back from afar.