Chapter 73: The Price of Light

The morning after the eclipse was too still.

No wind whispered through the pines. No wolves howled in the distance. Even the packhouse—usually alive with sound—was silent. The world outside Mount Pleasant felt… emptied. As if the moon itself had held its breath and forgotten to let it go.

I sat on the edge of the bed, a blanket draped around my shoulders, staring at the man lying unconscious beside me.

Kevin.

His chest rose and fell with shallow, steady breaths, but his hand—the one I used to hold when sleep claimed us both—was cold. Not dead cold. Just distant. His skin no longer hummed with that familiar warmth that always told me we were connected.

Kelvin stood by the window, arms folded, his face pale in the morning light. He hadn’t spoken much since the night before. Since the explosion of silver light that had ripped through the packhouse. Since Kael’s words—the moon doesn’t give life without taking something in return—had stopped sounding like a riddle and started to feel like a prophecy.

When I finally spoke, my voice was small. “How long has it been?”

Kelvin’s eyes flicked toward me. “Six hours.”

Six hours since the eclipse. Six hours since the world had changed.

I looked back at Kevin. “He hasn’t moved.”

“He will,” Kelvin said quietly. “He has to.”

But there was doubt in his tone, the kind that lived in the cracks between hope and fear.

I brushed my fingers against Kevin’s cheek. “He gave everything to protect us.”

Kelvin turned away sharply, his voice rough. “So did you.”

I didn’t argue. The memory of that night replayed in flashes—light, darkness, the ground splitting beneath us, my power colliding with the Rogue King’s shadow. I remembered the heat of Kevin’s body shielding mine, the echo of his voice as the energy surged between us.

If one of us has to fall, let it be me.

I hadn’t understood then what he meant.

A soft groan broke the silence.

Kevin’s eyelids fluttered open, his gaze unfocused at first, then sharpening slowly. I leaned closer, heart pounding. “Kevin? Can you hear me?”

He blinked, staring at me for a long, unbearable moment.

Then he said, flatly, “Who are you?”

The world tilted.

Kelvin was across the room in seconds, his voice tight. “Kevin, it’s me. Kelvin.”

Kevin’s brow furrowed. “You look like me.”

Kelvin froze.

I tried to speak, but my throat had gone dry. “Kevin, it’s Molly,” I whispered. “Your mate. Don’t you remember?”

He looked at me again—long, searching—but there was no spark of recognition. Only confusion. And fear.

“I don’t… I don’t know you,” he said, his voice breaking on the last word.

Something inside me shattered. The bond that had always been there, that steady, pulsing warmth between us—I couldn’t feel it anymore. It was like someone had cut the thread clean through.

Kelvin’s fists clenched at his sides. “This is the moon’s price,” he said hoarsely. “It didn’t take his life. It took his memory.”

Kevin’s eyes darted between us, panic rising. “What’s happening? Where am I?”

“You’re safe,” I managed to say, though my voice trembled. “You’re home.”

He looked around the room—the carved wood walls, the soft light spilling through the curtains, the faint scent of pine and smoke. None of it registered.

Then his gaze fell on my stomach.

He froze. “You’re… pregnant?”

I nodded slowly. “With your children.”

His expression twisted—shock, disbelief, then pain. “No,” he whispered. “No, that can’t be right. I don’t even know you.”

Kelvin’s hand came down on my shoulder, steady but heavy. “He needs time,” he murmured.

I shook my head, tears blurring my vision. “Time won’t fix this.”

Kevin flinched, pressing a hand to his temple. “It’s like… there’s something missing. A hole I can’t fill.”

Kelvin met my eyes, his jaw tight. “He’s still connected to us. The bond might be buried, but it’s there. We’ll find a way to bring it back.”

I wanted to believe him. I really did.

But when Kevin turned his face away from me, refusing to meet my gaze, a cold certainty sank into my bones. The man who had once held my heart, who had sworn to love me through every storm—didn’t remember loving me at all.

By afternoon, the pack had learned what happened.

Whispers followed me everywhere I went. The Alpha’s forgotten her. The eclipse broke their bond. The Luna carries the moon’s cursed heirs.

I ignored them, keeping my head high as I walked through the halls of Mount Pleasant. The walls bore scars from the night before—cracks in the plaster, burned edges where silver and shadow had collided. The air smelled faintly of ash and magic.

Kelvin handled the pack meetings now. Kevin stayed upstairs most of the day, trying to piece together fragments of a life he couldn’t remember. Sometimes I heard him walking the corridors at night, restless, haunted. Other times, I caught him staring at me like he almost knew me—like something deep inside him was trying to remember.

Almost wasn’t enough.

That night, I stood on the balcony, the cool wind brushing against my skin. The moon had returned, full and bright, as if mocking me. My hands found my stomach again. The twins kicked softly, as if reminding me I wasn’t alone.

Kelvin joined me, silent as always.

“Does he remember anything?” I asked quietly.

Kelvin hesitated. “Flashes. Faces. The sound of your voice. But it’s like fog. The harder he tries to grasp it, the further it slips.”

My throat ached. “What if he never remembers?”

Kelvin turned toward me, his hand finding mine. “Then we make new memories.”

I looked at him, at the exhaustion etched in his eyes, the quiet strength in the way he stood beside me. He’d carried us both through the storm, and I could see how much it was costing him to stay strong.

“Kelvin,” I whispered, “you don’t have to hold it all together.”

His grip tightened. “Yes, I do. For you. For him. For them.”

The emotion in his voice cracked something open in me. I leaned against him, closing my eyes as he wrapped his arms around me. For a moment, I let myself breathe—just breathe—against the heartbeat that had never once faltered.

Below us, the forest stirred.

A chill crawled down my spine. “Did you feel that?”

Kelvin’s head snapped up. “Yes.”

The air shimmered near the tree line—just a ripple at first, then a pulse of dark energy spreading through the night. The scent hit us a second later—familiar, sharp, and unmistakable.

Rogues.

Kelvin’s wolf surged forward instantly, his body tense. “They’re testing the borders.”

I gripped his sleeve. “No, it’s more than that. I can feel them.”

He turned to me sharply. “Molly—”

“The twins,” I breathed. “They can feel them too.”

Before I could say more, a low rumble echoed across the valley—a warning growl, ancient and deep. The air shimmered again, and in the reflection of the moonlight, I saw something that made my blood run cold.

A shadow moving through the trees. Massive. Intelligent. Watching.

Kelvin stepped in front of me, every muscle tight. “Get inside.”

But I didn’t move. My eyes stayed locked on the darkness beyond the ridge, where the shadow lingered like smoke.

A voice drifted on the wind, cold and whispering.

The moon takes. The moon gives. The next eclipse will finish what began.

Kelvin’s hand found mine again, his pulse racing. “We’re not ready for this.”

“No,” I said softly, staring into the darkness. “But it’s coming anyway.”