Chapter Eighty-seven

Chapter Eighty-seven
Chapter 87

Edgar’s POV

The words haunted me long after Lia left.

I can’t love a ghost of you.

Her voice echoed through me, as sharp and cutting as any blade I had faced in battle. I sat at my desk long after she had gone, the candle burning low, the ink on my quill drying in the air because I hadn’t moved to write another word.

She deserved the truth.

Of course she did.

But every time I tried to speak it, something inside me stopped me cold, fear, guilt, shame, all twisted together like vines choking me. I told her not yet, but what I meant was I don’t know how.

How could I tell her that everything I had fought to protect her from was now creeping at our doorstep again? That even as she carried our child, I could not guarantee her safety? That my strength, the thing that once defined me, was slipping like sand between my fingers?

I pressed a hand to my chest, feeling the steady but weakened thrum of my heart. Brie had lifted the curse, yes, but the poison of it lingered. My body betrayed me at every turn. My sight blurred at times, my hands shook, and my stamina waned faster than it should. I was not the alpha I once was, and the wolves around me, some of them had begun to notice.

How could I let Lia carry that weight too?

She was already exhausted, though she hid it well. I could see the faint shadows under her eyes, the way she pressed her hand to her stomach sometimes as though steadying herself. She had been through too much, captivity, betrayal, war, and now the burden of my silence.

I told myself I kept quiet for her sake. But deep down, I wondered if it was cowardice.

The fire in the hearth crackled, the only sound in the room. I leaned back, closing my eyes, trying to breathe through the storm inside me. The bond tugged at me, pulling me toward her. I felt her pain even as she walked away.

But I couldn’t follow. Not yet.

The truth I carried wasn’t just about me, it was about Connor, about the elders, about the shifting loyalties in the pack. To speak too soon, without proof, without certainty, could undo everything.

And if there was one thing I had learned, it was that timing could mean the difference between survival and ruin.

Still, her eyes when she looked at me, hurt, pleading, furious, all of it cut deeper than any wound I had ever sustained.

Hours passed before I stirred from the desk. The candle had burned nearly to nothing. My body ached as I rose, a reminder of how much weaker I had become. I gritted my teeth against it, refusing to let the pain bend me, though in the quiet of night it was harder to hide.

I moved to the window. Outside, the moon hung heavy, silver and full, casting its glow across the courtyard. For a moment, I bowed my head, whispering words I hadn’t uttered in years.

Moon goddess, if you ever truly watched over me, over us, give me strength now. Give me the courage to face her, to tell her everything before it’s too late.

But the only answer was silence.

When dawn broke, I hadn’t slept. My body screamed for rest, but my mind refused. Every time I thought of lying beside Lia, of reaching for her warmth, I stopped myself. She deserved peace, not my restless tossing.

Instead, I forced myself into routine. Training, though lighter than before. Meetings with the elders, though strained. Smiles at the wolves who looked to me for leadership, though my heart wasn’t in it.

Everywhere I went, I wore the mask.

But it was Lia’s face I couldn’t forget.

At midday, I crossed paths with Elena. She looked at me the way only she could, straight through the mask, into the marrow of my bones.

“You told her nothing,” she said, not bothering with pleasantries.

I stiffened. “She doesn’t need to bear this yet.”

Her eyes narrowed. “And you think silence is easier for her? You think watching you fade, watching you lie, is protection?”

Her words struck, but I forced my jaw tight. “When the time is right, I’ll tell her.”

Elena’s cane tapped sharply against the stone as she stepped closer. “Time is a luxury you may not have, Edgar Nolan. And if you wait too long, you may find she doesn’t wait with you.”

I flinched, though I tried to hide it.

Brie sighed, softer this time. “You love her. That much is clear. But love cannot survive on shadows. Remember that.”

And with that, she left me standing there, her words burning as much as Lia’s had.

That evening, I found myself outside Lia’s door. My hand hovered over the handle, trembling, not from weakness this time, but from the war inside me.

I wanted to go in. To hold her. To tell her everything.

But what if the truth shattered her? What if it painted me as the failure I feared I was becoming?

The handle remained untouched. I turned away.

In the quiet of my own chamber, I sat again at the desk, quill in hand. If I couldn’t speak the truth, perhaps I could write it.

I began with her name. Just her name. Lia.

But the ink blurred as my hand shook, and I pressed it flat to the paper, my chest tight.

I wanted to tell her everything, that Connor was closer than she knew, that the elders were restless, that my body was betraying me faster than Brie admitted. That sometimes, in the dead of night, I wondered if I would even live long enough to see our child born.

But fear stayed my hand.

So I wrote nothing.

And when I finally lay down, alone, the silence pressed heavier than ever.

Still, as sleep dragged me under, one truth remained unshakable.

She deserved more than I was giving her.

And if I didn’t find the courage soon, I would lose her, not to enemies, not to curses, but to the walls I had built myself.