Chapter 0441

Victor became obsessive about tracking my every movement after the incident. When we're together, his touches linger longer, his kisses grow deeper. We've always had passion, but now there's a frantic edge to it—like he's trying to brand his love into my skin before time runs out. The fear of losing me clings to him like shadows at dusk.

I know why.

I'm the linchpin. The living conduit that binds the Guardians' power. Seraphina and Isolde can draw from me, but without my mental tether, their reach ends there. What I haven't confessed is the terrifying scope of my connection—I don't just link to my sisters and their mates. Every wolf across all three packs flickers to life in my mind like constellations igniting.

One thousand five hundred voices.

One thousand five hundred heartbeats.

The weight of it leaves me hollowed out after training sessions.

Without me, they're formidable. With me? We're unstoppable. That's why Victor's paranoia about the hunters chafes. I know we'll annihilate them. The certainty doesn't stop my rage—these humans think they can steal our futures because our existence frightens them? Because we're stronger? Faster? Better?

The timing couldn't be crueler. Our pack is blooming with new life. Lillian and Leopold will welcome their son within weeks, likely conceived during Luna's Challenge like Seraphina's daughter. Theodora gleefully informed me she and Donovan are expecting too, joining the growing list—Elara and Theodore just announced, followed by Luna and Stella days later.

Our compound has become a nursery overnight. Rosalind's kitchen staff preps jars of pureed vegetables. Nathaniel's workshop overflows with bassinets. Isabella's sewing circle churns out tiny garments for three packs worth of impending arrivals.

Victor senses my grief. He wants this as desperately as I do. But biology is a merciless judge—while every female around me swells with life, my womb stays stubbornly empty. Theodora claims stress and Guardian training are likely culprits, urges patience.

Patience is ash in my mouth when Donovan casually mentions his mate's morning sickness.

Victor swears my worth isn't tied to motherhood. I believe him. Mostly.

Yet when darkness falls, so do my defenses. What if my strength, my title, my very soul aren't enough? What if one day he looks at me and sees only a broken thing?

So I smile at swollen bellies. I cuddle newborns and breathe in their milky sweetness until my ribs ache. I play my part flawlessly.

And when the moon rises, I lie awake counting the beats between Victor's breaths, terrified he'll stop wanting to share them.