“She was a mistake,” he’d said. “If she had lived, I would’ve cast her out. Elara, you and your pups are my future. I won’t let her ghost threaten that.”
That was the moment I died.
Not from poison, but from the truth.
That was when Selene Stormfang ceased to exist.
Now, Elara stood in front of me again, swathed in ivory silk, her pregnant belly cradled like a trophy. She smiled, ever gentle. “Sister, you’ve traveled far. Come, let’s get you changed into something warm. The feast is still going.”
She reached for Ayla.
But Ayla flinched, darting behind my leg and clutching the worn hem of my tunic.
Damien crouched before her, a smile softening his face. “Little one... don’t you remember me?”
Ayla blinked up at him with wide, wary eyes. Her grip on my leg tightened, and her lower lip trembled.
“She was barely out of her swaddling cloth when you went away,” I said, voice cool. “And you never returned. So no—she doesn’t remember the wolf who abandoned her.”
Despite the dirt and hunger, Ayla had grown beautifully—her wolf emerging with quiet strength. In the firelight, her eyes shimmered like stormlit skies, just like mine. A cub forged from ruin.