Chapter 32 Hesitant

The morning light spilled gently into the Hale home, warmer than the nights I’d survived. I rose early, needing the quiet before the house stirred. The wooden floor was cool under my feet as I padded toward the kitchen.

Darius was already there, sleeves rolled up, kneading dough with steady hands. He looked up, his expression softening with surprise.

“You’re awake early,” he said.

“I couldn’t sleep much,” I admitted.

“Not many do, the first night back under this roof,” he replied, voice carrying a weight I didn’t ask about. Then, with a faint smile, “Sit. You’re family here, Elara.”

Family. The word lodged in my chest like a thorn.

The smell of fresh bread and herbs filled the air as Dorian entered, his hair still damp, shirt laced loosely at the collar. His gaze found mine immediately, lingering with something unspoken.

“Morning,” he said.

“Morning,” I whispered back, almost shy.

It should have been peaceful. But then—

“This place reeks of nostalgia,” Kael’s voice cut through the warmth, deep and sharp. He leaned against the doorframe, still pale from his wounds, but his eyes carried that arrogant gleam.

Dorian stiffened instantly. “You should be resting,” he said.

Kael smirked. “I’ve rested long enough.”

The tension slid into the room like a blade. Darius, to his credit, kept kneading the dough and simply muttered, “Eat first. Argue later.”

At breakfast, the four of us sat around the wooden table. Bowls of stew, warm bread, cheese. My stomach knotted—not from hunger, but from the silence.

Darius tried to ease it. “Moonvale’s fields have been kind this season. The earth hasn’t failed us yet.”

I smiled faintly. “It smells wonderful.”

Kael poked at the bread, unimpressed. “Weak land. Weak food.”

I shot him a glare. “Eat it. Or starve. Your choice.”

He raised a brow, golden eyes locking with mine. “You always command me like I’m yours.”

My cheeks heated. “Don’t twist my words.”

Dorian set his spoon down hard. “She doesn’t need to command you. She shouldn’t have to.”

“Then why does she?” Kael countered smoothly, almost amused.

The air turned taut. I quickly pushed bread toward Kael. “Both of you—stop.”

Kael’s lips curled in a half-smile, but he ate. Dorian didn’t. He just watched.

••

Later that morning, I tried to help some of the pack women peel vegetables in the courtyard. Their whispers brushed against me like nettles.

“Is that her? The survivor of Silverfangs?”

“And she’s with him? With Bloodmoon’s Alpha?”

I forced a polite smile, even as my chest ached.

Dorian came by, taking the knife from my hand with a grin. “You’ll cut yourself. Let me.”

I rolled my eyes. “I can peel carrots, Dorian.”

“Not as well as me,” he teased, close enough that his arm brushed mine. For a fleeting second, I almost laughed.

Then Kael’s shadow fell over us. “I didn’t know Moonvale taught warriors to cut vegetables,” he said dryly.

Dorian’s smile vanished. “And I didn’t know Bloodmoon Alphas leaned on walls because they couldn’t stand.”

“Stop it,” I muttered, standing quickly. But Kael swayed, his face pale. Without thinking, I grabbed his arm. “You shouldn’t be out here.”

His muscles tensed under my hand. “Only you can say that, Elara.”

The words froze me. And from the corner of my eye, I saw Dorian’s expression harden.

By midday, Kael let me clean his wound again in the small guest room. He hissed when I pressed the cloth against his side.

“You’re too gentle,” he said, voice low.

“You say that like it’s an insult.”

“It is, when it makes me feel… weak.” His eyes flicked to mine, sharper. “But I can only stand your hands on me. No one else.”

My breath caught. Before I could answer, the door opened.

“Elara.”

Dorian’s voice. Firm. Controlled. His gaze fell on us—the closeness, my hands against Kael’s skin.

“You’re letting him get used to you,” Dorian said quietly, almost accusing.

Kael smirked. “Jealous?”

“Protective,” Dorian snapped. “There’s a difference.”

I stood, frustration boiling over. “Both of you—enough! I won’t be pulled apart like some prize between wolves.”

Silence. Heavy.

Darius appeared in the hall, arms crossed, having heard too much. His eyes lingered on me.

“Hale blood is strong,” he said softly. “But a heart divided can ruin a home faster than any enemy.”

That afternoon, I escaped to the courtyard, letting the sun warm my face. The house buzzed faintly with pack voices, but here, for a moment, it was calm.

Then Kael appeared, leaning on the doorframe.

“Elara,” he said quietly, almost hesitant. His hand brushed my shoulder.

Before he could say more, Dorian stepped into the light from the opposite side, his shadow crossing Kael’s. His eyes were only on me.

My pulse pounded. Trapped between fire and stone.

The peace of Moonvale felt fragile—like glass ready to shatter.

"And I knew… sooner or later, I wouldn’t be able to keep them both this close. The glass would break. And when it did, it would cut us all."

••

The house of Hale was quieter than I expected. Morning light streamed through the wooden shutters, painting soft gold over the room where I sat, trying to still my thoughts. For the first time in days, I was not running. I should have felt peace. Instead, unease pressed into my chest like a second heartbeat.

A faint knock. Then the door creaked open.

Kael stepped inside, slower than usual but steadier than before. His wounds had begun to heal, though his skin still bore the angry lines of claw and blade. Even weakened, he filled the space with that Alpha presence—heat, fire, command.

“Elara.” His voice was rough, but no less certain.

I tensed. “You should rest.”

“I have.” He leaned against the doorframe a moment, as if gathering strength, before moving closer. “Stronger every hour, thanks to you.”

I looked away. My hands fidgeted with the hem of the blanket draped across my lap. “The healers helped you.”

He gave a low, humorless laugh. “The healers would have let me bleed. You didn’t.”

My breath caught when his golden eyes locked onto mine. “You could have let me die, Elara. And no one—no one—would have blamed you. Not after what I’ve done to you… to your pack.”

The words cut sharp, dragging old wounds to the surface. For a second, I couldn’t speak. My throat tightened around everything I wanted to scream. Hate, loss, grief.

But I said nothing.

Silence stretched between us, heavy as stone.

Kael stepped closer. He didn’t smile, didn’t soften. His expression was carved from shadows and fire. Then, with deliberate care, he reached back and pushed the door closed. The wooden latch clicked into place.

My heart pounded.

“You need to stop running from this,” he said low, fierce. “From me.”

I stood quickly, my chair scraping against the floor. “Don’t—”

“The bound between us was forged that night.” His voice deepened, the words like iron chains. “When blood spilled, when fire took your pack, when my fate and yours collided. You feel it. You know it.”

“Kael…” I whispered, torn between anger and something I didn’t dare name.

He moved closer, close enough that I could see the faint tremor in his hands—whether from pain or from the intensity burning in him, I couldn’t tell.

“I need you, Elara.” His voice broke, raw and unguarded. “Not as an Alpha. Not as a conqueror. As a man bound to you.”

The room spun. My breath shuddered in my lungs. Part of me wanted to scream, to strike him, to remind him of everything he had taken. But another part—the part bound in fire and blood—couldn’t move. Couldn’t speak.

Kael’s eyes held mine, golden and unyielding. He waited, daring me to answer, daring me to break.

And I stood frozen, torn between the weight of hatred and the pull of something far more dangerous.

The silence between us was alive, burning.