Chapter 2 CHAPTER 2
Talia woke to sunlight shining directly on her face like it had a personal vendetta. She groaned, dragging the blanket over her head. She lay there for a long moment, staring at the underside of her blanket and trying to remember why she felt emotionally drained and almost hungover. Another perk of being a human. Then she remembered the diary, what she wrote, and the emotional excavation Ana insisted on. The way she’d poured out more than she meant to, only to slam the book shut as if it had betrayed her.
Right… That.
She shoved the blanket aside and sat up, hair a tangled white‑blonde halo around her head. It still startled her sometimes, the colour, the brightness, the way it now matched her pale eyes. She didn’t hate the way she looked, it was more that she just didn’t recognise it. It wasn’t her.
She dressed quickly, pulling on leggings and a loose jumper, and padded downstairs before she could talk herself out of it. Elara and Kaelan were already in the kitchen, sitting close together at the table, their hands brushing every time one of them reached for something. They looked up when she entered, identical expressions of concern flickering across their faces.
“Talia,” Elara said gently, “how are you feeling this morning?”
“Fine,” Talia replied immediately, too quickly, too brightly. They would see through it easily; she was never bright. So she quickly continued, before they could question her. “Great, actually. Slept like a rock. A very emotionally stable rock.”
Kaelan raised an eyebrow. “A rock?”
“A rock,” she repeated, grabbing a piece of toast. “Solid, unmoving, and emotionally impenetrable.”
Elara exchanged a look with Kaelan, the kind of look that said ‘she’s lying, but we’ll pretend we don’t know yet’, and Talia pretended not to notice. She took a bite of toast, chewed, swallowed, and tried not to think about the diary sitting upstairs like a loaded weapon waiting for her to return.
Ana arrived a few minutes later, breezing into the kitchen with her usual therapist‑meets‑drill‑sergeant energy. Her dark hair was pulled into a high ponytail, and she carried a notebook that Talia was ninety percent sure contained detailed plans for emotional torture.
“Morning,” Ana said cheerfully. “How did the writing exercise go?”
Talia froze mid‑bite. “Oh, you know. Words were written. Paper was traumatised. A real bonding experience.”
Ana smiled in that terrifyingly patient way therapists did when they knew you were lying but were willing to let you dig your own grave. “And how did it make you feel?”
“Like I wanted to set the diary on fire.”
“Talia.”
“Okay, fine. Like I wanted to set myself on fire. Better?”
Ana opened her mouth, probably to ask something probing and awful, but the universe, in a rare moment of mercy, intervened.
“Talia!” a voice called from the hallway. “You ready?”
Vael appeared in the doorway, tall and broad‑shouldered, his dark hair falling into his eyes. He looked like he’d stepped out of a training manual for supernatural warriors, which, to be fair, he kind of had. He gave her a grin that was equal parts warmth and mischief.
“Combat training,” he said. “You promised.”
Talia blinked. “I did?”
“You did,” he said firmly, as if daring her to argue. “Come on. Before Ana traps you in a feelings circle.”
Ana sighed. “It’s not a feelings circle.”
“It absolutely is,” Talia muttered, already moving toward Vael like he was a lifeline. “And I’m allergic.”
Vael laughed and slung an arm around her shoulders, steering her out of the kitchen before Ana could protest. Talia didn’t miss the way Elara mouthed thank you at him as they left. It was obvious that she had mind-linked him to come and save her. Elara had a way of knowing when she needed space; it was one of the many reasons Talia loved her so much.
Outside, the morning air was crisp, the forest alive, and there was the distant rustle of pack members on patrol. Vael led her toward the training clearing, a wide open space ringed by trees and worn smooth by years of sparring.
“You’re welcome, by the way,” he said once they were out of earshot.
“For what?” She asked, raising an eyebrow.
“Saving you from emotional disembowelment.”
She snorted. “Ana means well.”
“She does,” Vael agreed. “But she also terrifies you.”
“She terrifies everyone with her emotionally charged tactics.”
“True.”
They reached the clearing, and Vael tossed her a practice knife. She caught it easily, muscle memory drilled into her over the years of training. Even as a human, she moved well. Vael had made sure of that.
He stepped back, rolling his shoulders. “Alright. Show me what you’ve got.”
Talia twirled the knife once, letting the familiar weight settle into her palm. “Prepare to be dazzled.”
“Prepare to be humbled,” he countered.
They circled each other, the ground soft beneath their feet. Vael lunged first. He was fast, controlled, and testing. Talia dodged, pivoted, and struck back, her movements sharp and precise. She wasn’t as strong as a wolf, but she was quick, clever, and unpredictable. Vael had taught her to use her size, her speed, and, more importantly, her stubbornness.
He swung again, and she ducked under his arm, tapping the knife lightly against his ribs. “Point to me.”
“That was luck.”
“That was skill.” She countered.
He rolled his eyes. “That was cheating.”
She grinned. “You’re just embarrassed.”
Vael lunged again, and they fell into a rhythm of strike, dodge, counter, laugh, and repeat. For a little while, the heaviness in her chest eased. For a little while, she wasn’t the girl who survived the curse. She wasn’t the human in a pack of wolves. She wasn’t the broken thing everyone tiptoed around.
She was just Talia.
Vael eventually caught her wrist, twisting gently until she dropped the knife. He stepped back, smirking. “And that’s a point to me.”
“Rude.”
“Accurate.”
She bent to pick up the knife, brushing dirt from her leggings. “Thanks for the rescue.”
“Anytime,” he said softly. “You know that.”
She did. Vael had been there since the Matchmaker; he was the main reason she agreed to come to the Blackwood pack with him. And over the years, he has been protective in a way that never felt suffocating. He understood her in ways most people didn’t. Maybe because he’d lost things too, or because he saw the cracks she tried to hide.
He nudged her shoulder. “You okay?”
Talia hesitated, then shrugged. “Define okay.”
Vael gave her a look that said ‘I’m not buying it,’ but he didn’t push. He never pushed.
“Come on,” he said instead. “Let’s go again.”
She nodded, settling into her stance.
Training was easier than talking. Movement was easier than memory. And for now, that was what she needed.
