Chapter 10 Chapter 10
Chapter 10
Nova’s POV
The next two days dragged by in a heavy, suffocating kind of tension. No major attacks came, but the waiting felt far worse than fighting ever could. Every horn blast from the ridge made my stomach twist. Every shadow shifting between the trees looked like it was creeping closer.
Alaric came and went on short patrols and tense council meetings. He always made it back before full dark, but each time he looked more worn down. Dark circles settled deeper under his eyes. His jaw stayed clenched tight. He tried to smile for me when he walked through the door, but the smile never reached his eyes.
I kept the cabin spotless just to have something to do. I scrubbed the table until my knuckles burned. I washed his shirts in the basin until the water ran cold. Anything to keep my hands busy so my mind wouldn’t spiral into the howls, the shadows, or the restless thing inside me that stayed quiet but never truly slept.
I didn’t go near the garden again. I was too afraid someone would notice. Too afraid I would lose control and take instead of give.
On the third night he returned late. The door opened slowly, like he was trying not to disturb the quiet of the settlement. He stepped inside and closed it quickly behind him. His shirt clung to his chest with sweat. Three ragged claw marks tore across his left forearm, bleeding steadily down his wrist. Another shallow gash ran along his thigh. He limped slightly as he headed for the basin.
I shot up from the chair so fast the legs scraped loudly against the floor. “You’re hurt.”
“Small scout fight,” he said, voice tired. “They got closer than we wanted before we pushed them back.” He poured water from the jug. Blood dripped into the basin in pink swirls. “They ran. No deaths on our side.”
I grabbed a clean cloth and the linen strips he kept for bandages. “Sit.”
He looked like he might argue, but then dropped heavily into the chair. I knelt in front of him and pushed his sleeve up. The forearm wound was deep. I pressed the cloth against it firmly. He hissed through his teeth but didn’t pull away.
“How bad is the leg?” I asked.
“Claw swipe. Not too deep. Hurts like hell when I walk.”
I glanced up at him. Sweat glistened on his forehead. Dirt streaked his cheek. “You need to rest.”
“I need to report to Kael first,” he replied. “They were asking questions. Not just looking. They asked if the girl with the stolen light was here. They know what happened to Drake.”
My hands froze on the cloth. “They said that out loud?”
“Yeah. Like they wanted us to hear it.”
I swallowed hard. The stolen piece inside me twisted, hot and suddenly interested, like it had heard its own name.
I kept pressure on the cut. Blood soaked through the cloth quickly. My fingers began to shake. I hated this. Hated watching him bleed because of me. Hated that I had the power to stop it and was too scared to use it.
Alaric watched my face carefully. “You’re thinking about it again.”
I didn’t lie. “Yeah.”
He placed his good hand over mine. Warm. Rough. Steady. “You don’t have to. I can wrap it and sleep. It’ll close by morning.”
I shook my head. “It’s bleeding too much. And your leg… you’re limping. If you go out again tomorrow like this…”
He let out a slow breath. “Nova. If you do this and it flips…”
“I know exactly what happened last time,” I said, my voice cracking. “I remember every second of it. But I can’t just sit here and watch you bleed when I can stop it.”
He studied me for a long moment, searching my eyes. Then he gave one short nod. “Okay. But slow. Stop the second it feels wrong. I mean it.”
I nodded. I released the cloth. Fresh blood welled up immediately. I placed both hands over the forearm wound, closed my eyes, and let the warmth rise carefully, like breathing gently on dying embers. No dramatic light. No glow. Just a quiet pull deep in my gut. I pictured the skin knitting together, the blood stopping, the edges pulling closed.
It worked. Slowly. The cut sealed from the inside out. Red turned to pink, then to a faint white line, and finally disappeared.
I opened my eyes. Alaric stared at his arm, flexing his fingers. No pain showed on his face.
“Holy shit,” he muttered.
I moved to the thigh. I pushed his pant leg up. The gash was ugly, four long claw marks. I placed my hands over it. The same careful pull. The same quiet warmth. The skin knit back together. The bleeding stopped. The wounds faded into thin white scars.
When I finished, I sat back on my heels. My hands were shaking hard now, not from the effort, but from the rush of relief and lingering fear.
Alaric touched the new scars on his leg, then looked at me. “You did that.”
“Yeah.”
He reached down and pulled me up into his lap, careful of the older wound on his side. His arms wrapped around me tightly. I buried my face in his neck, breathing in sweat, blood, and pine.
“Thank you,” he whispered against my hair, his voice rough with emotion.
I could only nod. Words wouldn’t come.
He held me like that for a long time. No kissing. No heat. Just the two of us breathing together. His heartbeat was strong and steady under my cheek. Alive.
After a while he spoke quietly. “We have to be careful. No one can know. Not yet.”
“I know.”
“If the pack finds out… some will call it a gift. Others will call it dangerous. And Silverfang already wants it back.”
I swallowed. “I won’t use it unless I have to.”
He kissed the top of my head. “You just saved me a night of pain. Maybe more. That’s enough for today.”
We stayed like that until the fire burned low. Outside, the wind picked up, carrying low, tense voices from the ridge. Warriors moving into position.
Alaric stood and helped me up. “I have to check the eastern line again. Scouts said they’re bringing wagons. Weapons. This isn’t just probing anymore.”
I grabbed his sleeve. “Take someone with you.”
“I will.” He kissed me slowly and carefully. He tasted like salt and pine. “Lock the door. Stay inside. I’ll be back before dawn.”
He left. The door clicked shut behind him.
I locked it and sat on the edge of the bed, staring at my hands. They looked completely normal. No scars. No glow. But I felt changed. Like I had stepped over a line I could never step back across.
Outside, a horn sounded. Low. Long. From the eastern ridge.
Another answered. Closer.
I stood at the window. Torchlight flickered in the distance. Too many torches.
A low growl rolled out from the trees. Not quite wolf. Not quite human. Something in between.
The bond pulled sharply in my chest. Alaric was out there, moving toward it.
My hands clenched at my sides. The stolen piece inside me flared hot and eager.
I whispered into the empty room.
“Come back.”
Outside, the torches kept moving.
Closer.
The fight wasn’t coming anymore.
It was already here.