Chapter 22
Selene’s POV
The door was right in front of me.
Freedom.
Escape.
But behind me-
Ethan’s hand still covered mine.
The door wouldn’t open.
And he wouldn’t step back.
We stayed frozen like that, breathing the same tense air, until the silence crackled almost unbearably between us.
My heart pounded against my ribs, wild and frantic.
I felt as if fireworks were exploding in my skull, one after another, scattering my thoughts into nothing but heat and noise.
My wolf shifted, pausing in her growl.
She liked him.
Trusted him in ways I hadn’t even dared admit aloud yet.
“Strong mate,” she murmured.
“Good heart. Good mate, maybe.”
My face burned, but the knot in my chest loosened slightly.
How strange, that my soul recognized Ethan’s worth before I could fully admit it myself.
Behind me, Ethan remained still, except for the faint tremble of his fingertips against mine.
I could feel it-
the desperation, the fear that if he let me go now, he would lose something he could never get back.
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I closed my eyes briefly, trying to steady myself.
He swallowed hard, and when he finally spoke, his voice was raw.
“Selene… about last night,” he said.
“I know I crossed a line.”
His grip on my hand tightened almost imperceptibly, as if he feared I’d bolt before he could finish.
“I remember everything,” he said, voice rough.
“It was me who pulled you back. It was me who… said those words.”
“I wasn’t drunk when I said I liked you,” he continued, rushing now, desperate to get it all out.
“I said it because it’s the truth.
Because I’ve been wanting to tell you for a long time.”
He inhaled shakily.
“And now… sober, awake, and painfully aware, I’m asking you again—
Will you stay by my side?”
The words hung there, trembling between us.
I couldn’t breathe for a moment.
Then, gathering what little composure I had left, I whispered, “Could you… maybe back up a little
first?”
The space was too tight.
His presence too overwhelming.
I needed room to think. To breathe.
Immediately, Ethan dropped his hand, retreating a few clumsy steps.
When I turned to face him, he looked so crestfallen, like a wolf pup abandoned in a storm.
His shoulders slumped.
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His silver hair was a mess, sticking up in every direction, and his eyes-
Those golden eyes, usually so sharp and composed, were now filled with an almost painful vulnerability.
I couldn’t help it.
I laughed.
Soft and helpless.
He blinked at me, bewildered, like he wasn’t sure whether to feel hopeful or heartbroken.
“I never said no,” I teased lightly.
Relief flooded his face so fast it was almost funny.
But still-
he was cautious.
“You mean…?” he started, hope blooming visibly across his features.
I thought back over the past year.
All the late nights.
All the quiet reassurances.
All the times he had stood silently beside me, never asking for anything in return.
When I faltered, he believed.
When I fell, he was there.
I smiled, feeling the warmth of those memories fill me.
“I mean,” I said, my voice steady, “you’ll have to do better than a drunken confession to win me
over.”
“No flowers, no fancy promises, just… you, reeking of ale and sleep.”
He flushed bright red, a sheepish grin tugging at his mouth.
“Noted,” he said, laughing under his breath.
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“I’ll prepare a proper one. The best you’ve ever seen.”
“You’d better,” I muttered, crossing my arms even as I felt my cheeks warming.
His answering grin could have lit up the whole room.
Before either of us could say anything more, a shrill buzz interrupted the moment.
I fished my comm bracelet from my pocket, frowning at the unfamiliar number flashing across the
screen.
Yorian protocol flagged unknown calls automatically.
But this one was labeled with a familiar territory code.
Silverfang.
A chill slid down my spine.
I hesitated, then answered.
“Selene,” a woman’s voice cracked through the line-
hoarse, trembling.
I recognized it instantly.
Julian’s mother.
My stomach twisted.
“Miss Hartwell,” she said, struggling for composure,
“please… forgive me for disturbing you.”
I pressed my lips together.
We hadn’t spoken since the severance.
Not once.
I didn’t want to speak now.
But something in her broken tone made me stay silent, waiting.
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“I know my son wronged you,” she continued, each word heavy with regret.
“And I know you owe us nothing.”
She paused, as if gathering strength.
“But please… if you can spare the time… would you come see him?”
I stiffened.
“Why?” I asked quietly..
“Wolfsbane corruption,” she said, almost whispering the words.
“Variant strain. Highly aggressive. No cure.”
My breath hitched.
Wolfbane was a toxin ancient as the first Packs.
Normally, it weakened a wolf temporarily–nausea, fever, loss of control.
But the corruption variant?
It didn’t just weaken.
It devoured.
It stripped away strength, gnawed at the wolf soul itself, until the body and mind collapsed.
Once infected, survival was a miracle measured in months, if not weeks.
She continued, her voice splintering.
“He doesn’t have long. Maybe a few weeks. Maybe less.”
“And his last wish…He just wants to see you.”
Chapter 22
