Chapter 11
The following months were the happiest of my life.
Lyra grew fast — too fast, Helga said with wide eyes. By three months, she was already shifting partial features, her tiny fingers sprouting silver claws during tantrums. By five months, she could project her aura intentionally, and the pack pups who played with her treated her like a beloved, terrifying little queen.
Caspian was devoted to her in a way that made my chest ache sweetly. He carried her everywhere, introduced her to the pack with ridiculous pride, and fell asleep more than once with her tiny body curled on his chest while I watched from the doorway.
He never formally asked to court me. He didn't need to. We had grown together like two trees sharing the same soil — naturally, inevitably, until our roots were too intertwined to separate.
The first time he kissed me was on a Tuesday, for no particular reason. I was laughing at something Helga had said, and he just... leaned in. Softly. Briefly. Like he'd been holding his breath for months and couldn't anymore.
"Sorry," he murmured, pulling back.
"Don't be," I said, and kissed him back.
After that, it was simple. Easy. The way love should have always been.
Meanwhile, the rumors from Shadowfang grew darker by the week.
Dorian had expelled Vivienne after her fake pregnancy was exposed, but rather than exiling her entirely, he'd stripped her of rank and confined her to the pack as an Omega — a crueler punishment, some said, than banishment.
The blood curse he'd reclaimed was destroying him from the inside. His wolf was deteriorating. He'd lost his ability to shift fully. His authority was crumbling as the Elders began positioning his younger cousin as a potential successor.
Part of me felt... nothing. And I think that's what surprised me most. I expected guilt, sadness, some residual ache from fifteen years of loving him. But when I searched inside myself, all I found was a smooth, scarred-over surface where Dorian used to live.
He was a stranger now. A cautionary tale I told myself on nights when old habits tried to resurface.
Caspian never asked about my feelings toward Dorian. He trusted me completely. And that trust — quiet, unwavering, absolute — healed something in me that years of begging for Dorian's attention never could.
On Lyra's first birthday, Caspian asked me to be his mate.
Not with a grand gesture or a public ceremony. Just the two of us, standing on the ridge overlooking the valley at sunset, Lyra babbling happily in my arms.
"I know you've been hurt before," he said, his voice low and serious. "And I know that mate bonds can feel like chains when they're given to the wrong person. So I'm not asking you to bond with me out of obligation or tradition."
He took my hand — callused, warm, steady as always.
"I'm asking because you are the best thing that has ever walked into my life, Elara Voss. You and Lyra. And I want to spend the rest of my life being worthy of you. Not because I saved you — but because you saved me from becoming another cold, empty Alpha with nothing real to fight for."
Lyra reached out and grabbed his nose, and he laughed — that full, bright laugh I loved — and I said yes while crying and laughing simultaneously.
Two weeks later, at a small ceremony under the northern lights with only the pack as witnesses, Caspian marked me.
And when his teeth sank gently into my neck, sealing our bond, I felt something I had never felt in all my years of loving Dorian.
I felt home.
Lyra grew fast — too fast, Helga said with wide eyes. By three months, she was already shifting partial features, her tiny fingers sprouting silver claws during tantrums. By five months, she could project her aura intentionally, and the pack pups who played with her treated her like a beloved, terrifying little queen.
Caspian was devoted to her in a way that made my chest ache sweetly. He carried her everywhere, introduced her to the pack with ridiculous pride, and fell asleep more than once with her tiny body curled on his chest while I watched from the doorway.
He never formally asked to court me. He didn't need to. We had grown together like two trees sharing the same soil — naturally, inevitably, until our roots were too intertwined to separate.
The first time he kissed me was on a Tuesday, for no particular reason. I was laughing at something Helga had said, and he just... leaned in. Softly. Briefly. Like he'd been holding his breath for months and couldn't anymore.
"Sorry," he murmured, pulling back.
"Don't be," I said, and kissed him back.
After that, it was simple. Easy. The way love should have always been.
Meanwhile, the rumors from Shadowfang grew darker by the week.
Dorian had expelled Vivienne after her fake pregnancy was exposed, but rather than exiling her entirely, he'd stripped her of rank and confined her to the pack as an Omega — a crueler punishment, some said, than banishment.
The blood curse he'd reclaimed was destroying him from the inside. His wolf was deteriorating. He'd lost his ability to shift fully. His authority was crumbling as the Elders began positioning his younger cousin as a potential successor.
Part of me felt... nothing. And I think that's what surprised me most. I expected guilt, sadness, some residual ache from fifteen years of loving him. But when I searched inside myself, all I found was a smooth, scarred-over surface where Dorian used to live.
He was a stranger now. A cautionary tale I told myself on nights when old habits tried to resurface.
Caspian never asked about my feelings toward Dorian. He trusted me completely. And that trust — quiet, unwavering, absolute — healed something in me that years of begging for Dorian's attention never could.
On Lyra's first birthday, Caspian asked me to be his mate.
Not with a grand gesture or a public ceremony. Just the two of us, standing on the ridge overlooking the valley at sunset, Lyra babbling happily in my arms.
"I know you've been hurt before," he said, his voice low and serious. "And I know that mate bonds can feel like chains when they're given to the wrong person. So I'm not asking you to bond with me out of obligation or tradition."
He took my hand — callused, warm, steady as always.
"I'm asking because you are the best thing that has ever walked into my life, Elara Voss. You and Lyra. And I want to spend the rest of my life being worthy of you. Not because I saved you — but because you saved me from becoming another cold, empty Alpha with nothing real to fight for."
Lyra reached out and grabbed his nose, and he laughed — that full, bright laugh I loved — and I said yes while crying and laughing simultaneously.
Two weeks later, at a small ceremony under the northern lights with only the pack as witnesses, Caspian marked me.
And when his teeth sank gently into my neck, sealing our bond, I felt something I had never felt in all my years of loving Dorian.
I felt home.