Chapter 8 The Morning After
She stood there for a long time, heart pounding. The birthmark beneath her nightgown still burned with warmth.
Eventually, she crawled back into bed. But sleep refused to come.
When it finally did, her dreams were filled with chains and howling wolves and eyes that glowed in the dark.
Morning came too fast.
Derek woke with a pounding head and the bitter taste of whiskey in his mouth.
He sat up slowly. Sunlight poured through the window, stabbing at his eyes.
He had drunk too much. He knew that. But drinking was easier than thinking. Easier than feeling.
Dragging himself into the shower, he let the hot water wash over him. It helped. A little.
As he dressed, pieces of last night came back.
Amanda in his doorway. Her soft voice asking to talk.
Her face going pale when he told her she was just a reminder of his failure.
Derek’s jaw tightened.
He should not have said it. It was cruel.
But it was true. Every time he saw her, he was reminded of what he had lost. The part of himself that was gone.
His wolf.
He pushed the thought away. He did not want to feel that emptiness again.
Leaving his room, he walked downstairs. The house was quiet. Most of the staff were already busy elsewhere.
He needed coffee. Strong coffee.
As he passed the library, he noticed the door was open. A soft light spilled into the hall.
Derek paused.
He heard the faint sound of pages turning.
Someone was inside.
He stepped to the doorway.
Amanda sat at a large table surrounded by old books, pack histories, ancient records. She wore a pale blue dress, her hair pulled back. Her eyes looked tired.
She didn’t see him at first. She was too deep in her reading.
Derek cleared his throat.
Amanda looked up. Her expression was guarded.
“Good morning,” she said quietly.
Derek didn’t reply. He stepped closer. “What are you doing?”
“Reading.”
“I can see that.” His eyes moved over the books. “Why?”
Amanda hesitated, then closed the one in front of her. “I had a dream last night. About your wolf.”
Derek froze.
The air in the room grew heavy.
“My wolf is dead,” he said flatly. “Don’t.”
“It’s not dead,” Amanda said. She met his eyes. “It’s trapped. I saw it. In chains. In the Sacred Grove.”
Derek’s hands clenched into fists. His voice turned sharp. “You saw nothing. You don’t know anything about me or my wolf. Stop pretending you can help.”
Amanda flinched, but didn’t look away.
“I’m not pretending,” she said. Her voice was soft but steady. “I have a gift. A Curse-Breaker’s mark. I can see things others can’t. I can help you if you’ll just let me…”
“I don’t believe in gifts,” Derek cut her off. Anger rose in his voice. “I believe in curses. Pain. Loss. Some things can’t be fixed. Now leave me alone.”
He turned and stormed out.
Amanda stayed still, her hands shaking.
She pressed them flat on the table and took a long breath.
She had expected his anger. But it still hurt.
Still, she was sure of one thing.
Derek’s wolf wasn’t dead. It was trapped. Suffering.
And she was meant to free it.
Amanda spent the rest of the morning in the library.
She read everything she could about wolves, bonds, and curses. About the Sacred Grove and the old ways of magic.
The information was scattered, but small patterns began to form.
She was so focused that she didn’t hear the door open.
“You look like you could use some tea, dear.”
Amanda looked up.
An elderly woman stood there with a tray. Her face was kind, her eyes gentle.
“I’m Beatrice,” she said as she set the tray down. “I help manage the household. Mrs. Hallowell mentioned you were here.”
“Thank you,” Amanda said. “That’s very kind.”
Beatrice poured two cups and sat across from her.
“You’re reading about pack history,” she said, glancing at the books.
“Yes. I’m trying to understand something.”
“About Derek's condition?”
Amanda’s eyes widened. “You know about it?”
“Everyone knows,” Beatrice said softly. “Though most are too afraid to speak of it.” She sipped her tea. “He wasn’t always like this, you know.”
“What do you mean?”
“ Derek. Before he lost his wolf, he was warm. Kind. He laughed.” Beatrice’s gaze grew sad. “Losing his wolf broke something in him. But it didn’t destroy him. Not completely.”
Before Amanda could ask more, Beatrice stood and left.
Amanda sat in silence, her tea untouched. Beatrice’s words echoed in her mind.
That night, Derek couldn’t sleep.
He lay staring at the ceiling, his thoughts tangled.
He kept seeing Amanda’s face. Hearing her voice.
He wanted to believe her. That his wolf was still alive.
But hope was dangerous. Hope always led to pain.
He knew that better than anyone.
Derek closed his eyes, forcing his body to relax.
At last, exhaustion pulled him under.
The dream came without warning.
He stood in complete darkness. No sound. No light.
Then a distant howl.
Faint. Weak. But familiar.
His heart jumped.
“Raze?” he called.
The howl came again. Closer.
And then Derek felt it.
A presence in his mind. Fragile. Barely there.
But real.
Raze. His wolf.
“You’re alive,” Derek whispered.
Pain flooded through the bond. Agony. Fear. A desperate cry for help.
And beneath it all, a scent.
Soft. Floral. Familiar.
Amanda’s scent.
Derek woke with a gasp.
He sat up, breath shaking, sweat on his skin.
For a moment, he could still feel it, the faint touch of his wolf.
Then it was gone.
The emptiness returned.
He pressed his hands to his face. “It was just a dream,” he muttered.
But when he lowered his hands, he smelled it.
Amanda’s scent.
Faint, but there.
His eyes swept the room. It was empty. The door was closed.
Still, her scent lingered.
Derek sat in the dark, heart racing.
What was happening to him?
And why, after three years of silence, was his wolf suddenly stirring?