Chapter 482: The Weight of Waiting.

(Third Person's POV)

The house was too quiet after the decision was made. They had told Stella she couldn’t come.

They had told her calmly, logically, with all the careful words people used when they thought kindness could soften cruelty. They told her she was pregnant, that her life mattered, that the mission was too dangerous. They told her Marcus wouldn’t forgive them if she died. They told her they needed her alive to lead, to anchor the pack if everything went wrong.

She heard all of it but she rejected all of it. The argument had started in the war room just after sunset. Maps were spread across the table, candles burning low, shadows dancing across faces etched with exhaustion. Taylor stood at the head of the table, arms crossed, eyes fixed on the markings she had drawn earlier—circles around the underground cave Alec had discovered, arrows pointing toward it like fate had narrowed to a single direction.

“We must leave at dawn,” Taylor had said, her voice steady but hollowed by sleepless nights. “We take the powder. We find Marcus. We end this before the eclipse.”

Stella had been standing near the door, arms folded over her stomach, jaw set. She hadn’t spoken while they discussed routes, contingencies, and fallback plans. She hadn’t spoken when Killian outlined the risk of Marcus being strongest during the eclipse, or when Brian explained how the powder could either save Marcus or end him.

But when Taylor finally looked up and met Stella’s eyes, everything shifted. “You’re not coming,” Taylor said quietly.

The room froze. Stella’s eyes narrowed. “Say that again.”

Theresa, who had been leaning against the table with her arms crossed, straightened. “Stella, listen—”

“No,” Stella snapped. “You listen. I am not sitting this out.”

Killian exhaled slowly, as if bracing himself. “We’re not doing this to punish you. We’re doing this because you’re carrying a child.”

“So?” Stella shot back. “That doesn’t make me useless.”

“It makes you vulnerable,” Brian said, softer than usual.

Stella’s lips trembled, but her voice didn’t. “Marcus is vulnerable too. And you’re all walking straight into that cave to decide whether he lives or dies.”

Taylor’s fingers curled into her palms. “We’re trying to save him.”

“Trying,” Stella repeated, bitterly. “And if he loses the internal battle?”

No one answered. The silence said everything. Stella stepped forward, her eyes glistening. “You already decided. If the spirit wins, you kill him. That’s your plan.”

Taylor’s gaze dropped. Killian clenched his jaw. “We don’t have another option.”

“There’s always another option,” Stella whispered. “You just don’t want to look for it.”

Theresa moved toward her, reaching out. “Stella—”

“Don’t touch me,” Stella said, stepping back.

Her hands trembled, but she didn’t let them fall from her stomach. “You think keeping me here is mercy? You think I’ll forgive myself if you come back and tell me Marcus is gone, and I wasn’t even there to try?”

Taylor swallowed. “We’re not risking you.”

“You’re not risking him either,” Stella shot back. “You’re gambling.”

Brian’s voice was quiet. “We’re fighting a possessed Alpha who could wipe out entire packs. This isn’t about what we want. It’s about what we have to do.”

Stella laughed, but it sounded broken. “Funny. That’s what everyone says when they’re about to destroy something they love.”

The room fractured under her words. Killian stepped forward, his tone firm. “You’re staying.”

Her eyes flashed. “You don’t get to order me.”

“I do when it comes to this,” he replied. “I promised Taylor I’d protect you.”

“I didn’t ask you to,” she whispered.

Taylor finally met her gaze again, her eyes soft but resolute. “Stella, please. If something happens to you and the baby—”

“Don’t,” Stella said, shaking her head. “Don’t turn my child into a shield to keep me locked in a room while you all walk into hell.” Her breath hitched. “He’s my mate. He’s the father of this child. And you’re telling me I don’t get to stand beside him when it matters most?”

No one had an answer. But no one changed their minds either. In the end, the decision stayed. And Stella walked out of the room without another word.

That night, the mansion slept uneasily. Outside, the moon hung heavy in the sky, already beginning to dim at the edges—a warning of what was coming. The solar eclipse was three days away, but it already felt like a countdown carved into the heavens.

Stella sat alone in her room, the curtains drawn back, pale moonlight spilling across the floor. She held the locket in her hands, her thumb tracing the etched lines on its surface. Marcus had given it to her on a random night when everything had felt simple.

So you always remember who you are, he had said, fastening it around her neck with a shy smile. And who you belong to. She had laughed back then, calling him possessive, teasing him about fate and bonds and destiny. She had never imagined how fragile all of that could become. Now the locket felt heavier than it should.

She opened it. Inside, the tiny portrait shimmered faintly—Marcus, younger, laughing, his eyes bright with warmth. The man who had carried her when she twisted her ankle. The man who had stayed up all night helping her memorize old pack laws. The man who had whispered to her that she was his anchor.

Her fingers curled around the pendant.

“Fight,” she whispered. Her voice cracked, the word trembling as it left her lips. “Marcus, please. Fight him.” Her gaze dropped to her stomach, where her hand rested protectively. “He deserves to know you,” she murmured. “Our child deserves to see his father.”

Tears slid down her cheeks, but she didn’t wipe them away. She remembered the meeting. The maps. The powder in small glass bottles—fine, shimmering, dangerous. Fifty percent chance of salvation. Fifty percent chance of death.

“I can’t lose you,” she whispered to the empty room. “Not like this.” She pressed the locket to her lips, whispering his name again like a prayer.

Outside her door, footsteps paused. Theresa stood in the hallway, listening. She had followed Stella after the meeting, but she hadn’t knocked. She knew Stella needed space. But hearing her whisper Marcus’s name like that made something twist painfully in her chest. She rested her hand against the door, debating.

Inside, Stella curled on the edge of the bed, clutching the locket, her shoulders shaking.

“I’m so scared,” she whispered to the darkness. “I’m scared you’ll lose. I’m scared they’ll pull the trigger. I’m scared I’ll never hear your voice again.”

Her hand moved over her stomach.

“And I’m scared I’ll have to explain to our child why their father isn’t here.”

Her breath hitched.

“I don’t care about Alpha duties. I don’t care about wars. I just want you back.”