Chapter 60

Chapter 60
Rowan’s POV

My throat burned. “How long…?”

“Two days,” she said quickly. “The poison... uhmm... it almost stopped your heart. The healers didn’t think..."

Her voice broke. She pressed a hand to her mouth, gathering herself. “But you made it.”

I tried to sit up, groaning. She was there in an instant, one hand on my arm, the other behind my back. The warmth of her skin against mine sent a pulse through me: small, sharp, electric. My heartbeat kicked once, hard.

She felt it too; I saw the flicker in her eyes before she looked away.

“Easy,” she murmured. “Don’t push yourself.”

I exhaled slowly, letting her guide me back. “You stayed?”

Her gaze dropped. “Of course.”

I wanted to thank her, to tell her the sight of her was the first thing that pulled me back but the words wouldn’t come. I just nodded, watching her fuss with the blanket like she needed something to do with her hands.

The silence between us was comfortable and strange at once. I could smell flour on her skin, faint and sweet, mixed with smoke and lavender. It grounded me in a way nothing else did.

Finally, she said quietly, “The elders have been here. Dalia too.”

I looked toward the window; sunlight filtered through heavy curtains. “She’s still here?”

“She left a while ago.” Lyla hesitated. “She seemed… worried.”

Worried. I almost laughed, but my lungs hurt too much for it. Dalia didn’t worry, she calculated.

A knock at the door stopped my thoughts.
When it opened, Dalia stepped inside, composed as always, a picture of elegance in a silver gown that shimmered like frost. Her expression was perfectly arranged, soft concern layered over the faintest trace of victory.

“Rowan,” she said smoothly. “Thank the Goddess.”

I forced a faint smile. “Dalia.”

She glided closer, her eyes flicking briefly toward Lyla before returning to me. “You frightened us all. The healers said the toxin was rare. No one knows how Kaiden managed it.”

I studied her carefully. “No one?”

Her lashes lowered. “What? You think someone helped him?”

Her tone was light, but there was steel beneath it.

“I think,” I said slowly, “it’s strange that a warrior of his rank had access to Shadowroot poison. That’s council-grade.”

For a heartbeat, she froze. Then her smile returned, a little too practiced. “You shouldn’t be thinking about politics when you can barely sit up.”

“I don’t have the luxury of not thinking,” I said.

Her eyes flashed quickly and then the mask slid back into place. “Rest,” she murmured, brushing her fingers against my arm. “Let me handle things.”

I didn’t miss how Lyla’s jaw tightened at the gesture. She rose quietly and stepped back, folding her arms, eyes fixed on the floor.

Dalia turned to her. “You may go. I’ll stay with him.”

Lyla hesitated. “He needs water. I’ll bring some first.”

“I can..." Dalia began, but I interrupted, voice rough.

“Let her.”

That made both women still. Dalia’s eyes narrowed just slightly before she inclined her head. “As you wish, Alpha.”

When Lyla slipped out, I exhaled, the air thick again. Dalia leaned closer, lowering her voice. “She’s grown bold.”

“She’s loyal,” I corrected.

“Loyal,” Dalia repeated, a hint of laughter in the word. “Careful, Rowan. Loyalty from that kind of woman always comes at a price.”

I met her gaze evenly. “I’ll pay it.”

The silence that followed was knife-thin. Finally, she smiled again, kissed my forehead lightly, and left, her perfume lingering like frost in the air.

Lyla returned a few minutes later with the water.
“Everything okay?” she asked carefully.

I nodded. “Just politics.”

She poured the water, her hands steady though her eyes were distant, guarded. Something in her had changed since before the duel, quieter, watchful, as if she were carrying a something she couldn’t set down.

When I drank, her fingers brushed mine again. The spark jolted through us a second time, stronger. I saw the moment she felt it too; her pupils widened, her breath caught.

I pretended not to notice. So did she.

But neither of us could ignore the pulse that hummed in the air between us, faint as a whisper yet impossible to silence.

That night, after she dozed off in the chair again, I stared at the ceiling, unable to rest. Every time I closed my eyes, I felt her heartbeat syncing to mine. It wasn’t imagination. It wasn’t coincidence. It was something else.

A bond. The kind of bond the elders spoke of in hushed tones, the kind that either saved you or destroyed you.



Morning came late.
The storm that had rolled through the night left the sky washed clean and pale, the air sharp with pine and rain. I’d barely slept. Every time the wind rattled the shutters, I half expected another attack. But mostly, it was her heartbeat that kept me awake, steady, impossible to ignore, echoing somewhere under my skin.

When the door creaked open, Lyla entered quietly, carrying a tray. The scent of bread and honey drifted ahead of her.

“You’re up early,” I murmured.

She smiled faintly. “Couldn’t sleep. Thought you might be hungry.”

My chest tightened. “You shouldn’t be taking care of me. You’ve done enough.”

“I wanted to,” she said simply.

I sat up slowly. Pain burned down my arm, but the warmth in her voice dulled it. She set the tray on my lap. Broth, bread, and tea steeped with moonleaf. Her fingers brushed my wrist again when she adjusted the cup, and there it was: the same jolt, the same hum that wasn’t quite physical.

I caught her eyes before she could look away.
“Do you feel that?” I asked.

She froze. “Feel what?”

I smiled faintly. “Exactly.”

Her cheeks flushed, and she looked down, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “You should eat before it gets cold.”

I let her change the subject, though the question burned in me.

By midday, I refused to stay in bed any longer. The healers protested; Lyla didn’t. She simply fetched my cloak and waited at the door. “You’ll fall,” she warned.

“Then you can catch me,” I said, trying to sound like the Alpha I used to be.

Outside, the courtyard glistened with rain. Warriors moved in disciplined silence, repairing the broken fence from the duel’s chaos. They stopped and bowed when they saw me. I nodded back, hiding how my knees shook.

Lyla walked beside me, one hand lightly on my arm. Every brush of her fingers steadied me more than medicine ever could. The world smelled harsher, wet soil, steel, her scent. The pull inside me grew, quiet but constant.

We stopped by the training ring. The earth still bore the scars of the fight, deep grooves where Kaiden’s claws had struck. My blood stained the ground, dark and dried. The sight of it made my stomach twist.

Lyla followed my gaze. “He could’ve killed you.”

“He tried.”

She was silent for a moment, then said softly, “You shouldn’t have accepted the duel.”

“I had to.”

“You didn’t.”

Her tone surprised me; firm, almost angry. I turned to her, but she looked away quickly, pretending to study the fence posts. “If you hadn’t…” she whispered, “none of this would’ve happened.”

I wanted to tell her it wasn’t her fault, that Kaiden would have found another way. But the truth was heavier: I’d fought him because of her, because the thought of losing her by law or blood, had been unbearable.

“Lyla,” I said quietly, “I’d do it again.”

Her eyes met mine, wide and uncertain. The air between us stilled. Something unspoken passed through it. 

Then Damon’s voice broke it.

“Alpha.”

We both turned. He approached from the western gate, dressed in black training leathers, hair damp with sweat. His gaze flicked from me to Lyla, lingering just a second too long. “Good to see you walking.”

“Barely,” I said.

He smirked. “Still counts.”

He looked at Lyla again. “Mrs. Beans said she needs you at the bakery later. I’ll walk you.”

“She’s with me right now,” I said before I could stop myself.

Damon’s brows lifted slightly. “Of course. I didn’t mean...”

“I know,” I cut in. My voice came out harder than intended.

The tension that followed was subtle but sharp. Lyla shifted beside me, sensing it. Damon gave a short nod and stepped back. “If you need anything, Rowan, I’ll be on patrol.”

“Good.”

He turned and left. The muscles in my jaw refused to relax until he disappeared around the corner.

Lyla looked at me sideways. “You don’t trust him.”

“I don’t trust easily,” I said.

She studied me for a moment, then smiled faintly. “You sound like Ella.”

That almost made me laugh.

Later, as the sun set, I stood outside the infirmary, leaning against the railing, breathing in the chill air. Lyla was beside me again, silent. Below, the pack prepared for evening drills; torches flickered along the pathways.

Far beyond the walls, thunder rumbled, a reminder that Kaiden’s camp still lingered on the northern ridge. The tension of an unfinished war pressed against my ribs.

“Do you think he’ll come back?” she asked.

“Yes.”
“How soon?”
“Soon enough.”

She nodded, arms wrapped around herself. The wind lifted her hair, and moonlight caught in it like silver fire. For a heartbeat, the world narrowed to the space between us. My wolf stirred, restless, yearning.

She shivered. I reached out instinctively, draping my cloak over her shoulders. “You’ll catch cold.”

Her hand caught mine, holding it there for a second longer than necessary. The contact seared. I felt her heartbeat again, perfectly aligned with mine, as if some unseen thread had tied us together beneath the moon.

She looked up at me. “Why does it feel like this?”

“I don’t know,” I whispered. “But it’s not just me.”

Her eyes widened slightly, but she didn’t pull away. The night hummed around us. For one reckless moment, I almost leaned closer.

A crash from the watchtower shattered it.
We both turned sharply. Two warriors rushed from the gate, shouting orders. The scent of fear drifted on the wind.

“Rogues?” I asked, already moving.

A guard called back, “Scouts spotted movement near the northern woods, might be Darkmoon's men!”

I cursed under my breath. “Get everyone inside.”

Lyla reached for my arm. “You can’t fight, not yet.”

“I’m still the Alpha.”

Her fingers tightened. “Then let me come.”

“No.” I met her eyes. “Stay where it’s safe.”

She hesitated, then nodded, though her worry lingered. As I moved toward the barracks, I glanced back once. She stood under the moonlight, cloak wrapped around her, watching me with that same fierce, quiet strength that had haunted me since the day I met her.

The connection pulsed again, an invisible heartbeat between us.

I turned away before it could pull me back.

Later that night

The alarm proved false, scouts returned saying it was only deer but the damage was done. The pack’s nerves were frayed, whispers spreading faster than truth.

I returned to my room exhausted, my arm burning from the wound. The moonlight spilled across the floor like water. Lyla was waiting there, dozing against the chair, a blanket around her shoulders.

I almost told her to go rest. Instead, I just stood there, watching her breathe.

The hum between us hadn’t stopped all day. Every time she was near, my heartbeat steadied; when she left, the ache returned. It wasn’t love, not yet but it was something older, deeper, written in the bones of the world.

I moved closer, careful not to wake her, and brushed a stray curl from her face. Her lips parted slightly, a sigh escaping. The warmth of it touched my skin.

For an instant, I felt something flare inside me, a low, thrumming pull that wasn’t mine alone. It was hers too. I could feel it answering me, even in sleep.

The moonlight brightened, silvery-white.
And for a breath, I thought I saw a faint shimmer connecting our hands, a thread of light, thin as spider silk. Then it was gone.

My chest ached.

“Whatever this is,” I whispered, “it’s not over, is it?”

She stirred but didn’t wake. I turned toward the window, toward the forest where danger still