Chapter 64: The Voice Beneath My Skin

Snow creaked beneath my boots.

Every step was harder now—heavier. The cold seeped past the wool of my leggings, through the cracked leather soles of Kael’s old boots. My thighs burned. My hips ached. I hadn’t bled since the birth, but I could feel the soreness returning—tired, persistent, dangerous.

But Talon was warm against my chest.

And I was still standing.

That had to be enough.

The trees whispered overhead, spindly and white with frost. The sky above was the pale blue of brittle ice, like even the sun had retreated, too afraid to burn where I walked. I hadn’t seen another soul since leaving the ridge—no travelers, no scouts. Only empty paths, snow-packed hollows, and the occasional burst of pawprints from a rabbit that had long since fled.

It should’ve felt peaceful.

But it didn’t.

Because I wasn’t alone anymore.

Not really.

Left. The trees thin.

I blinked.

The thought hadn’t been mine.

Not in the usual way.

I turned left anyway, crunching through the powder, the satchel slapping against my hip with each step. My wolf had been quiet for most of the journey—present, but distant. Watching. Waiting. Content to let me lead with human instinct, human caution.

But not anymore.

She had woken last night when the fire died. When the cold began to gnaw at my bones. When the sound of Talon’s breath became the only tether between life and silence.

And she hadn’t gone quiet again.

You’re too slow. Her voice was low, female, but edged with something that felt older. You’re walking like prey.

I frowned. “I’m carrying an infant.”

Then move like a mother. Not a corpse.

My breath caught.

She wasn’t wrong.

But she wasn’t kind, either.

I adjusted the strap over my shoulder and kept moving. “There’s no path. Just brush. Rocks. Ice.”

You were trained to navigate this terrain blindfolded.

“That was before my body tore in half to give birth in a stone den without help.”

That was before you were left to die. Now you survive. Or don’t.

A branch cracked underfoot. I stopped. Listened.

Nothing but wind.

And Talon’s soft, sleeping breath.

“You sound like you don’t care if we make it.”

I care more than you do, she growled. You pity yourself. I protect the pup. You mourn. I remember.

I shut my eyes. “That’s not fair.”

Neither was Kael dying.

Her words gutted me.

Not because she was cruel.

But because she was right.

I stumbled forward, half-blind with exhaustion, half-driven by fury. My boots caught on a hidden root and I went down hard, landing on my knees. Talon didn’t wake, but the jolt sent fire through my lower spine.

I grit my teeth. Bit back a sob.

Then pushed myself up.

“You think I want to be like this?” I hissed.

I think you’re still pretending someone will come for us.

“No one’s coming.”

Then stop walking like someone will.

Silence stretched between us. My breath came fast now, fogging in bursts. The cold curled beneath my cloak and clawed up my spine.

But it wasn’t just the cold.

It was me.

I was splitting.

Not in body. Not in mind.

But in soul.

My wolf wasn’t just a voice in the dark anymore. She was louder. Stronger. Almost… separate. Like we were two halves no longer blending, but pushing against one another.

“I’m not ready,” I whispered. “For whatever’s next. For what we’ve become.”

Then die.

I froze.

The words came like ice water. Direct. Brutal. Real.

Because that’s the only other option, she said. You survive. Or you die. You don’t get to wait for a rescue that’s never coming. You don’t get to ache. Not now. Not when that pup needs you whole.

“I’m not whole,” I whispered.

Then become something else.

I crumpled at the base of a tree, knees buckling beneath me. Talon stirred, then settled again. I wrapped my arms tighter around him, cradling him into the warmth of my chest.

“Kael would’ve known what to do.”

Kael is dead.

Tears burned down my cheeks. Not soft. Not pretty. They froze before they reached my jaw.

“I don’t want to be like this,” I said again. “Bitter. Broken.”

You think I want this? she growled. I watched our mate die. Felt it. Heard his last breath through you. I howled until I tore my own soul open. I want nothing but blood and vengeance. And yet I wait—for you. Because the pup needs us. Together. Whole. Or nothing.

I stared at the snow.

She went silent.

Talon made a small, hiccuping sigh. I kissed his brow and closed my eyes.

Then, slowly—quietly—I whispered, “I’m scared.”

And she answered softer this time.

So am I.

The woods grew darker by late afternoon.

I hadn’t eaten since dawn the day before. I rationed the last biscuit into crumbles and soaked them in water until they were soft enough to share between Talon’s mouth and my own.

He sucked on the mush with a half-grimace. I laughed—just once. A broken little sound that died in the snow.

“You’re going to be picky, huh?” I murmured.

Talon blinked at me, then yawned.

I swaddled him tighter. Stood. My knees cracked.

“Just a little farther,” I promised.

Promise him nothing, my wolf warned. Only what you can give.

“What can I give?”

Fangs. Fury. Survival.

I exhaled slowly.

A clearing opened ahead—narrow, but dry. A dip in the land. Just enough cover to shield us from the wind. I tucked Talon beneath a stack of folded cloaks and draped my satchel across the outer edge. Built a fire from twigs and kindling. Rubbed my arms to keep blood flowing.

Then I knelt beside him.

I didn’t speak.

I just listened.

To the trees.

To my wolf.

To the part of me that had cracked wide open the moment Kael fell.

I hadn’t mourned properly. Not truly. Grief had turned into motion. And motion into escape. And now… now the silence was back.

Not the kind from Nightfall.

This was internal.

The kind that came before something changed.

Your spine is soft, she said again. But your soul is not.

“What does that mean?”

It means you’ll make it. But you won’t be the same.

I brushed my fingers over Talon’s brow.

“Then let me change,” I whispered. “Just… not yet. Not until he’s stronger.”

My wolf made no reply.

But something inside me burned warmer.

And for the first time since the exile, I felt the shadow of something like strength returning.

Not clean. Not gentle.

But sharp.

Like a blade reforged in grief.

Later, I dreamed.

Or maybe I didn’t.

I was in a field again.

Kael stood on the ridge, blood at his mouth, a smile on his face.

“You have to let go,” he said.

“I can’t,” I whispered. “You’re all I had.”

He reached for me.

And behind him—Fur. Huge. Black as stormlight.

Talon.

Not the baby. The wolf.

Shadow and fire and eyes like suns.

I screamed.

And woke with my claws half-shifted.

My breath heaved. My back arched. Talon still slept.

I looked at my hands.

Gold veins traced beneath the skin.

Just for a second.

Then gone.

I didn’t sleep again.

I watched the horizon.

Waited for light.

And when the first glimmer of dawn rose over the trees—I rose with it.

Still cold.

Still fractured.

But not broken.

Never again.