Chapter 37 Dream Messages
That night, after Stella and her followers retreat—not in defeat but in a fragile truce—I can't sleep.
Rory is out cold, exhausted from the emotional and physical toll of the confrontation. She sleeps in her bed like any normal three-year-old, one arm wrapped around a stuffed wolf Marcus gave her.
As if today hadn't happened. As if she hadn't faced down fifteen hostile wolves and emerged victorious through sheer force of will and wisdom.
I sit by her window, watching the sanctuary grounds. Mason is still here, camped outside our cabin despite my protests. He says he's on guard duty. I think he just can't bear to leave.
Damon and Elder Sarah left hours ago, but not before Elder Sarah pulled me aside.
"That child," she said, her ancient eyes searching mine, "is going to reshape everything we know about pack hierarchy. About power. About what it means to be a wolf."
"I know."
"Do you? Do you really understand what you've brought into this world?"
"A daughter. I brought my daughter into this world."
She smiled then, sad and knowing. "Yes. But also so much more."
Now, sitting in the darkness, those words echo in my mind.
I finally crawl into bed around 2 AM, my body aching with exhaustion.
Sleep comes quickly.
And with it, the dreams.
\---
I'm in a forest. Not the sanctuary forest—somewhere darker, older, more primal.
"Sage."
Mason's voice, but different. Desperate. Broken.
I turn, searching for him in the shadows.
"Sage, please. I can't... I can't do this anymore."
There. Through the trees. A figure stumbling, falling, dragging himself forward.
I run toward him, but the forest seems to stretch, keeping us always the same distance apart.
"Mason!"
He looks up, and I gasp.
He's worse than in real life. Skeletal. His skin gray, eyes sunken so deep they look like holes in his skull. Blood drips from his nose, his ears.
"The bond," he rasps. "It's killing me. Every day without you, I die a little more. Please, Sage. Please."
"I'm here. I'm right here."
"No. You're there. Safe. Protected. Alive." He coughs, blood spattering the ground. "And I'm here. Dying. Paying for what I did to you."
"Mason—"
"I deserve this. I know I deserve this. But Rory—" His voice breaks. "She deserves a father. Even one as broken as me. Even one who failed her mother so completely."
I reach for him, but my hands pass through his body like he's made of smoke.
"This isn't real," I whisper. "You're not really here."
"The mate bond," he says, his form flickering. "It connects us even in sleep. Even when you hate me. Even when you should hate me."
"I don't—"
"Don't lie. Not here. Not in this place where only truth exists." He collapses onto his knees. "I'm searching for you, Sage. Have been for three years. Every forest, every city, every place you might have run to. But you were always one step ahead. Always too smart, too careful, too determined to survive."
"I had to be. For Rory."
"I know. And I'm grateful. So grateful she had you when I..." He can't finish the sentence.
The forest around us begins to fade, reality bleeding back in.
"Wait," I call out. "Mason, wait—"
"I'm at the sanctuary now. Right outside your cabin. This is my last chance, Sage. My last chance to prove I can be what you and Rory need." His eyes meet mine across the dissolving dream space. "Don't let me die without knowing my daughter. Please."
I wake with tears streaming down my face and Mason's name on my lips.
The clock reads 3:47 AM.
I pull on a robe and walk to the window.
Mason is there, exactly where he said he'd be. Sitting with his back against a tree, staring up at our cabin.
Even from this distance, I can see he looks worse than when he arrived this morning. The mate bond rejection is accelerating.
He has days, maybe. Not weeks.
My phone buzzes with a text from Damon.
'The pack healers give him three days at most. After that, his organs will start shutting down. I'm sorry, Sage. I know this isn't what you wanted to hear.'
Three days.
In three days, Mason will die unless the mate bond is renewed.
And I'm the only one who can save him.
\---
The next morning, Rory finds me on the porch, coffee growing cold in my hands.
"You dreamed about him," she says. Not a question—a statement.
"How did you—"
"I felt it. Through you. Whatever bond connects you to him, it ripples through me too." She climbs into my lap, an unexpected comfort. "What did he say?"
"That he's dying. That he wants to know you. That he's sorry."
"Do you believe him?"
"I don't know. I want to. But trust is hard after..."
"After he broke it so completely?" Rory finishes. She's quiet for a moment, then: "Do you want him to die?"
The question catches me off guard. "No. I don't want anyone to die."
"That's not what I asked. Do you want HIM to die? The man who rejected you. Who chose politics over love. Who let you run into the forest pregnant and alone."
I close my eyes, searching for honesty. "Part of me does. The part that's still angry, still hurt, still bleeding from wounds that never quite healed. That part wants him to suffer the way I suffered. To feel the abandonment, the fear, the desperate loneliness."
"And the other part?"
"The other part remembers why I loved him. Remembers the man he was before pack politics corrupted everything. Remembers his laugh, his kindness, the way he made me feel seen when everyone else looked through me." I open my eyes to find Rory watching me intently. "That part wants to save him. Wants to believe people can change. Wants you to have a father who's present and loving and everything mine never was."
"So save him."
"It's not that simple—"
"It is exactly that simple." She slides off my lap and stands facing me, hands on hips. "You renew the mate bond. He lives. We see if he's worthy of being my father. If he's not, you reject him again and we move on. If he is, we build something new. Something better than what came before."
"Rory, the mate bond isn't a game. Once renewed, it's almost impossible to break without killing both parties."
"Then make sure he's worth saving before you save him." She says it so matter-of-factly, like it's the most obvious solution in the world. "Test him, Mama. Give him challenges. Make him prove he's changed. And if he fails—if he chooses wrong even once—you'll know. And you can make your final decision then."
From the mouths of babes. Or in this case, impossibly wise three-year-olds.
"When did you get so smart?"
"I've always been this smart. You just weren't ready to listen." She grins, and for a moment, she's just a little girl. My little girl. "Can I meet him today? Officially, I mean. Not across a courtyard while he's dying."
"Are you sure you're ready?"
"Are YOU?"
Fair question.
"I'll think about it."
"Don't think too long. He only has three days, remember?" She skips back toward the cabin. "I'm going to breakfast. You should come. You need to eat."
I watch her go, marveling at this creature I created.
When did she stop needing me to guide her and start guiding me instead?
\---
That afternoon, I agree to a meeting.
Mason, me, and Rory. In the meditation grove. Neutral territory. With Marcus standing by as mediator.
"If things go wrong," I tell Marcus beforehand, "you get Rory out. No matter what I say, no matter what's happening—her safety comes first."
"Understood."
Mason arrives looking even worse than this morning. He's wearing clean clothes, but they hang off his frame. His hands shake when he greets Marcus.
"Thank you for this," he says. "For giving me a chance."
"Don't thank me. Thank Sage. And more importantly, don't screw it up."
We sit on the benches arranged around the spring. Rory between us, me on one side, Mason on the other.
For a long moment, no one speaks.
Then Rory breaks the silence. "You look terrible."
Mason huffs out a laugh that turns into a cough. "Thank you for your honesty."
"Mama says honesty is the most important thing. Especially with pack." She studies him with those amber eyes. "Are you going to die?"
"Probably. Unless..." He glances at me, then back to Rory. "Unless your mother decides to give me another chance."
"Why should she?"
"I don't know. I can't think of a single good reason except that I love her. Have always loved her. Will always love her, even if she lets me die for what I did."
"Love isn't enough," Rory says firmly. "Mama loved you and you still rejected her."
"You're right. Love alone isn't enough. It takes action. Commitment. Choosing right over easy every single day." Mason leans forward, his gaze intense despite his weakness. "I failed at that before. Failed spectacularly. But I'm asking for a chance to do better. To prove that I've learned. That I've changed."
"How?"
"I don't know yet. But I'll figure it out. However long it takes." He looks at me. "I'll spend the rest of my life—however long that is—proving I can be the mate Sage deserves. The father you deserve."
Rory considers this. "What if the rest of your life is only three days?"
"Then I'll make those three days count."
She nods slowly, then turns to me. "What do you think, Mama? Should we let him try?"
All eyes on me. The weight of Mason's life in my hands.
I could let him die. Watch him fade away over the next three days, taking with him all the pain and betrayal and hurt.
Or I could save him. Give him a chance to prove himself. Risk being hurt again for the possibility of something better.
"I think," I say slowly, "that everyone deserves a second chance. Even people who've hurt us. Even people who've failed us." I meet Mason's eyes. "But second chances come with conditions. Rules. Boundaries that can't be crossed."
"Name them."
"First: You stay at the sanctuary. Not in our cabin—in guest quarters. You prove yourself here, in neutral territory, before we even discuss anything involving your pack."
"Done."
"Second: You spend time with Rory. Real time. Teaching her, playing with her, being present. Not grand gestures or gifts—just consistent, daily presence."
"I can do that."
"Third: You attend therapy. Real therapy, with Dr. Chen or another qualified healer. You work through whatever led you to make such a catastrophic choice three years ago."
He hesitates. "Therapy?"
"You made decisions that nearly destroyed both of us. That killed our son. That left me alone and terrified in the forest. If you can't figure out why you did that and how to prevent it from happening again, we have no future." I cross my arms. "Therapy or death, Mason. Those are your options."
"Therapy," he says immediately. "I'll do therapy."
"And fourth..." I take a deep breath. "You have two weeks. Fourteen days to prove you've changed. To show Rory and me that you're capable of being what we need. At the end of those two weeks, we'll decide. Together. Whether to renew the mate bond or let it—and you—die."
The words are harsh. Cruel, even.
But they're fair.