Chapter 83

chapter 83


Amelia POV

The taste of him lingered, bitter-sweet like iron and smoke, grounding me even as my body trembled with the storm raging inside. Demian’s breath was ragged against my lips, his grip on me so fierce it hurt. But I didn’t mind. Pain was proof that I was here, that he was here, that the world hadn’t swallowed us whole yet.

His thumb brushed away the tears streaking my cheeks, though more kept spilling. I hated that. I hated letting him see me break like this. Klaus’s words still echoed, sharp and poisonous, gnawing at me even as Demian tried to drown them out with his love.

Mine. He’d said it like a vow. Like a prayer. Like a command.

But what if being his was the very thing that doomed him?

“I mean it,” he whispered, voice fraying at the edges. “You don’t walk away like that. Not from me. Not ever.”

I swallowed hard, my throat raw. “And what happens when I freeze again? When I falter, and it costs you more than just blood?”

His wolf rumbled low in his chest, vibrating against me like thunder. “Then I bleed. I’ll bleed until there’s nothing left if that’s what it takes to keep you alive.”

The words should have been comforting. Should have filled me with the kind of warmth that could thaw even this cursed cold. But instead, they cracked something in me.

“Do you hear yourself?” My voice broke sharp, desperate. “That’s not love, Demian. That’s sacrifice. That’s you cutting pieces off yourself just so I can keep stumbling forward.”

He shook his head, jaw clenched, eyes burning into mine. “You think I’m cutting pieces off myself? Amelia, you’re the only part of me that’s whole. You’re the reason I haven’t shattered completely.”

My chest ached. Gods, it ached so badly I thought my ribs would splinter.

“I want to believe you,” I whispered. “But every time he looks at me—” I broke off, shaking, because saying Klaus’s name out loud felt like giving him more power. “Every time he looks at me, I see it. Weakness. Pathetic. Anchor. And the worst part? I see it too.”

Demian’s grip tightened, his wolf snapping sharp under his skin. “Then you stop looking at him. Look at me. Only me. He doesn’t get to define you. He doesn’t get to decide what you are.”

I shook my head, a bitter laugh tearing from me. “And what if he’s right? What if the bond you think is saving you is the thing that kills you?”

He didn’t answer with words this time. His hand cupped the back of my neck, pulling me into another kiss, softer now, slower. His lips trembled against mine like he was terrified too but refusing to let it win.

When he pulled back, his eyes glistened in the weak light breaking through the trees. “If this bond kills me, Amelia… then I’ll die happy. Because at least I’ll die yours.”

My sob caught in his chest. His arms wrapped around me, and I let myself collapse into him. Because I didn’t know how else to survive.

We stayed like that too long. Long enough for the cold to creep into my bones again. Long enough for me to remember that the others waited, that Klaus waited. And the thought of walking back into his stare made my stomach twist.

But Demian wasn’t letting go. His chin rested against my hair, his breaths deep and uneven. For a moment, he was just a man clinging to the last fragile thing keeping him from drowning.

Finally, I pulled back. My voice was hoarse. “We should go.”

His eyes flickered, reluctant. But he nodded, threading his fingers through mine like if he held tight enough, I wouldn’t vanish again.

When we stepped back into the clearing, the camp was no longer quiet.

Corrin was pacing, muttering curses sharp enough to bite through the snow. Kira leaned against a tree, blades crossed over her chest, eyes narrowed like she’d been ready to come drag us out herself. Elian stood still, arms folded, gaze unreadable—but I saw the tension in the line of his shoulders.

And Klaus.

Of course, Klaus.

His stare locked on me the instant we broke through the trees. His eyes flicked to Demian’s hand gripping mine, then to my tear-stained face, then back again. And gods, the disgust in them—it could have frozen blood.

“You nearly got us killed,” he said flatly, loud enough for all of them to hear. No pause. No hesitation. Just venom laced as fact.

Demian growled, low and dangerous, stepping in front of me. “Enough.”

Klaus didn’t even flinch. “No. Not enough. You think protecting her is strength? It’s weakness. She breaks, and you bleed. Again and again. And one day, it won’t be your blood alone that stains the snow—it’ll be all of ours.”

“Watch your tongue,” Demian snarled.

Klaus’s gaze cut sharper, darker. “Or what? You’ll fight me? You’ll spill my blood for hers?” His lip curled. “You’d kill your own brother to protect the thing that’s breaking you?”

The silence that followed was deafening.

I couldn’t breathe.

Because the answer—Demian’s answer—was in his eyes before he even spoke.

“Yes.”

Kira’s eyes widened. Corrin stopped pacing. Even Elian’s mask cracked, his jaw tightening.

But Klaus… Klaus just laughed. A hollow, humorless sound that scraped like knives against bone.

“There it is,” he said, voice low and dangerous. “The truth. She’s already rotted you from the inside, and you don’t even see it.”

Demian lunged.

Elian was the only reason blood didn’t spill right then. He moved like shadow, intercepting Demian before he could reach Klaus, his hand slamming against his chest with the weight of iron.

“Not here,” Elian snapped. His voice wasn’t raised, but it cut sharper than any blade. “Not now. You want to tear each other apart, do it after we’re through this cursed mountain. Until then, you keep your swords pointed outward.”

Demian’s wolf clawed at his skin, his chest heaving against Elian’s hand. But slowly—too slowly—he backed down, pulling me tighter into his side like he was afraid Klaus would strike me just for breathing.

Klaus didn’t move. Didn’t blink. His hand lingered near his sword, but his gaze stayed on me, black and cold and endless.

And for the first time, I thought maybe he would. Maybe if given the chance, Klaus would kill me.

Not in a fit of rage. Not with snarls or roars.

Calm. Precise. Certain.

Because in his mind, my death was survival.

That night, I couldn’t sleep.

The others drifted off one by one, the fire crackling weakly against the wind. Demian held me in his lap again, his heartbeat steady under my cheek, his warmth wrapping me like armor. He whispered soft things when he thought I wasn’t awake—vows, promises, curses against Klaus.

But I stayed silent. Because I couldn’t stop hearing Klaus’s voice.

Pathetic. Weakness. Anchor.

The firelight painted shadows across his face as he stood apart again, watching. Always watching. His hand rested casually near his sword, his shoulders rigid. And I knew—if the night brought danger again, he’d fight. But if I stumbled, if I failed, he wouldn’t save me a second time.

He’d let me die.

And worse—he’d think he was saving Demian by doing it.

By morning, the tension was a noose none of us could shake. We packed in silence, snow crunching under boots, breath steaming in the cold. Corrin muttered once about how we’d all freeze before we reached the ridge, but no one answered.

Demian squeezed my hand as we started forward, his thumb brushing soft circles against my skin. A comfort. A vow. But my stomach twisted all the same.

Because Klaus was right behind us. His presence pressed heavy at my back, and I knew—gods, I knew—the storm inside this group was far from over.

It was only a matter of time.

And as the wind howled around us, carrying the scent of something darker than snow, I realized with bone-deep certainty—

When that storm broke, it wouldn’t just be the corrupted wolves we had to survive.

It would be each other.

And I didn’t know if Demian could save me from that.

Reply Forward

Add reaction