The image of her standing in my guest room won’t leave me alone, either. The way her fingers clutched that pathetic sack of belongings like it was all she had left in the world, all she clungto for a semblance of life. The way her shoulders curled forward, refusing to meet my eyes. And that scar—moonlight had caught it when she turned her face, running across her cheek like a brand carved into her skin.
I can’t stop thinking about it.
She didn’t have it before. I remember her face too well, too vividly. She used to flush pink when she laughed at some smart-ass remark of mine, or turned red when she chastised me for smoking. Back then, there’d been warmth in her—timid, yes, but alive. Tonight, all I saw was someone emptied by years of hell, carrying a wound I hadn’t been there to stop.
A wound I’d contributed to when I rejected her the night before I left for Alpha Camp.
My jaw locks as guilt settles deep in my chest. In Seward, I’d told myself it was a strategy. A transaction. Buying her freedom had been about numbers, about leverage, about saving a former member of the pack I rule as sub-alpha, in charge of hunting and training schedules alike. But here, back home and alone, stripped bare of all the cover-ups, I can’t lie to myself.
Saving Willow was personal. Too personal.
Her laugh echoes in my ears, bitter and broken, void of the joy that once spilled from her. “Safe with you?” she’d asked, like the idea was a cruel joke. And she was right. How could she ever believe that, when the last time she’d bared her heart to me, I’d torn it apart without mercy?
Dragging a hand over my face, forcing in a steady breath, deep down, I know what I should be doing, but I just can’t seem to think straight.
I should be thinking about Rissa’s vision, about the crystalline blue eyes I’d sworn to track across the continent.That was my duty, the reason I’d left Girdwood, the one thing that mattered. And yet, here I am, back in Girdwood when I promised I wouldn’t be back until I found the woman—the werewolf—who will emerge as a witch, my fated mate.
All I could see were Willow’s eyes tonight—blue, yes, but not the kind fate had promised me. Her eyes were wounded, brimming with hurt, not furious and fierce the way Rissa and Brooks described, but it makes my chest feel like it’s splitting open.
Lying back against the mattress, I stare up at the beams overhead, my fists curling at my sides as I internally console myself with reassurance that I did the right thing. What the hell happened to her in those missing years? And why did the sight of her broken face feel like a failure carved into my own skin?
It’s going to take a lot for Willow to truly believe that she’s safe again, here in Girdwood amongst her own people. If anyone tries to hurt her, they’ll have to go through me first.
It’s an oath to protect her that I made with the Moon Goddess. It doesn’t matter what fate has in store for me.
All that matters is keeping Willow safe and making up for the rather savage way I rejected her advances in the past.
I swore I would never live up to my last name, but I did that night, five years ago. The only reason I did what I did was that there was no way my grandfather would have allowed me to have a wolfless werewolf as a mate, not when I was on the brink of becoming this pack’s sub-alpha.
It was never about not sharing her feelings.
She had the courage to speak them out loud that night, and I was the coward.
***
The journey of life is full of obstacles, strange turns that lead us on different paths sometimes. But no matter what, I strongly believe that everything that happens is divinely orchestrated by our creator.
Staring out the kitchen window that overlooks my backyard, it's that very sentiment that is validated as I watch Willow in the garden. Though she remains a bony shell of her former self, there's a flicker of life in her eyes as she crouches by the rose bush and tentatively reaches out to touch a thorn with her fingertip.
I should be alarmed when she pricks her finger, but instead, I'm captivated, curious, and glad to see that she bleeds. She gasps and pulls her finger to her chapped lips, sucking on her finger gingerly as her brows knit for the first time since I found her.
Almost as if she's scowling at the thorn for drawing blood, or she's shocked at herself for reacting to being pricked, there's a spark of life in her eyes, in her body, and it gives me a sense of hope that bringing Willow back to Girdwood was the best decision I made. I found her wandering outside early this morning and left her to her own devices, to explore as she pleases without being disturbed, and stayed inside to prepare breakfast for us.
Just as I'm about to return to flipping the pancake over, I see Rissa in the distance, approaching my house from the back. I quickly set the spatula on the side and turn off the stove, preparing to join Willow outside. I knew that I’d have some explaining to do as to why I’m back so soon, without the woman from Rissa’s vision. Perhaps Rissa will remember Willow as aformer Snehvolk member, or at least befriend her now to help her ease into the pack setting.
Pushing open the back door, I’m about to greet Rissa when she locks eyes with Willow and instantly freezes. Her green eyes turn milk-white as she stares blankly at Willow for a few seconds before snapping out of what I suspect was another vision.
Rissa gasps and turns wide green eyes on me, a loose smile playing on her lips.
“Oh, my Goddess! You found her!” Rissa exclaims, and I frown.
“Er—Rissa, this is Willow Barker, a former member of the pack,” I begin as Rissa turns back to Willow, walking slowly toward her as if she’s mesmerized.
Rissa reaches out and takes Willow’s hand.
“It’s you,” Rissa gasps, but I shake my head.
“Rissa? What do you mean?” My frown deepens as I watch Rissa inspect Willow’s face, lifting a hand to the scar on her cheek and sucking in a breath when she touches the scar with her fingertip as if she can see what caused it. Willow flinches and reels back, staring at her with wild disbelief.
