Chapter 146
Faith’s Pov
A week rolled by. Seven long, heavy days that felt like months rolled into one.
+25 Points
My mother, stood across from me in the clearing deep within the woods. She has been teaching me how to use the my powers and I was honestly amazed.
This power wasn’t just about shifting fast or healing cuts, or seeing things, it was about the air
moving when I willed it, about moving things miles away, about doing the impossible.
“Again, Faith. Push the energy out. Don’t hide it,” my mother commanded.
I focused and a sharp wind erupted around me forming a barrier around me and I watched,
fascinated, as a pale white glow settled on my hands, not hot, but intensely cold.
I am capable of this, I thought. I am strong.
But inside I wad crumbling.
It had also been a week of not truly talking to Astor. We played a silent, ugly game of avoidance in
the pack. I would walk into a room, and he would leave. If he was coming down the hallway, I would turn and go the other way. We passed each other like ghosts, the air between us thick with
all the words we weren’t saying.
The hardest part was the children.
Every evening, when I sat with Isabella and Marco, their questions were the same. “Mama, why is daddy eating dinner at the office again?” “Is daddy mad at you?” “Why isn’t he coming home to
sleep?”
I tried to lie, to make excuses about “important Alpha duties,” but kids aren’t stupid. They could feel the icy wall between their parents. Sure, Astor spent the afternoons with them, reading stories and playing ball and trying to hold onto some semblance of normal, but even that felt brittle. The children looked at me with worried eyes, absorbing the tension we were trying so hard to hide.
I hated that I was putting them through this, but the thought of facing Astor, of pretending everything was okay, made my stomach turn.
The sun was fading through the trees, signaling the end of our lesson. I collapsed onto a rock, breathing hard, feeling the familiar mix of exhaustion and exhilarating power.
My mother sat beside me, smoothing down her tunic. She didn’t look at me right away. She just stared at the ground.
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“Faith,” she finally started, her voice low. “I’m sorry.”
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My jaw clenched instantly. Here we go. I immediately assumed she was going to apologize for the
past yet again.
“Don’t,” I snapped, standing up abruptly. The white energy still tingled on my skin, making me feel sharp and dangerous. “Don’t apologize. I don’t want to talk about that past. It’s done.”
She looked up at me, surprise in her eyes, then deep sadness. “No, Faith, that’s not what I meant.”
She paused, taking a long, shaky breath. “Astor… Astor told us what happened. About the baby.”
“What?” I whispered, the rage making my voice tremble.
“He told us, Faith. The whole tragedy. He is beside himself. He asked us to give you space, but he felt everyone needed to know why you were hurting so much. I… I’m so sorry. I’m sorry you had to go through that kind of pain alone.”
Suddenly, everything made sense.
The pitying looks I had caught from pack members during the few times I had left the house. The way the older women kept trying to touch my arm gently. The forced kindness. They weren’t looking at me like their Luna, they were looking at me like a tragedy.
Frustration boiled over. It was a pure, ugly burn.
“He told them?” I asked, my voice dangerously even. “He told everyone? My pain, my private devastation, is now dinner table conversation for the whole pack?”
He had stripped me bare. He had taken the last, most sacred piece of my grief and made it public knowledge, all so he could look like the sympathetic Alpha whose mate was ‘going through
something.‘
I hated him. I hate him so much. This is my pain and I wanted to be the one to tell my story not him to try and get sympathy different people through my baby knowing quite well that he and his mother responsible for what happened.
“I don’t want to hear it,” I hissed, turning away. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
My mother stood up and hurried to put a hand on my shoulder. “Faith, listen to me. You can’t keep all this pain inside. This anger you are holding? It will destroy you. It will tear everything apart.”
I laughed, a harsh, dry sound devoid of any humor. I spun back around to face her, my eyes probably blazing.
“Everything has already been destroyed, Mother,” I spat the word “Mother” like a curse. “And you know what? That’s okay. Because the woman who was destroyed? The woman who lost her baby
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Chapter 146
before she could even see him or her? She is gone.”
I took a deliberate step closer, challenging her.
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“That woman was weak. She was the one who constantly forgave people–people who hurt her,
people who left her, people who betrayed her. She was always being hurt all over again because she kept giving chances.”
My chest heaved with the force of the realization, the certainty of my new, cold identity.
“This woman,” I said, tapping my chest hard with a glowing fingertip, “does not forgive. Ever. She is
not weak, and she will not be hurt again.”
My mother tried to reach for me again, tears welling up in her eyes. “Faith, please, don’t say that.
You have to let-”
“No,” I cut her off sharply. “You concentrate on teaching me how to use these powers. That is your
job now. Don’t try to be the mother of the century, because you were never a good mother then,
and you will never be my mother now.”
The words were stones that I threw straight at her heart.
“So don’t ever try to advise me on anything, especially not how to handle pain. If I managed to face
all the pain you caused me back then and still survive, you can certainly take the truthnow.”
I watched the hurt wash over her face–the shock, the genuine agony. The raw wound was visible
in her eyes.
And I didn’t care. Not even a little bit.
It was a terrifying, relieving feeling. She made me cry plenty back then. Now it was her turn.
I stormed out of the woods, leaving my mother standing alone in there.
I needed air, and I needed to do something productive.
I headed straight for the main pack house wing where we had set up temporary housing for the survivors of the Eternal Pack attack–the women who had lost their mates, their children, their
entire lives.
I tried to settle myself before going in, wiping any lingering fury from my expression. I needed to
offer comfort, not chaos.
When I entered the small common room, the quiet was heavy. A few women were sitting together, not speaking, just staring into the distance. Their injuries were mostly healed, but the emptiness in
their eyes was vast.
…
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I moved from person to person, trying to offer strength.
“How are you feeling today?” I asked Maria, whose mate had died shielding her.
She just shook her head, unable to speak.
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“We are here for you,” I told the group. “Any resources you need. We will help you rebuild. You are
safe now.”
I talked about support groups, about finding small moments of happiness, about the importance of holding onto hope. I tried to sound like a guiding light, but inside, I just felt like a fraud.
How could I tell them to hold onto hope when my own hope had been buried? How could I offer comfort when my new defining characteristic was cold, unforgiving hatred?
I stayed until it was completely dark, exhausted by the effort of pretending to be whole.
Finally, I dragged myself toward the house I shared, or used to share, with Astor and the kids. The
lights were on inside. I could hear the muffled sound of children’s laughter.
I pushed the front door open, ready to plaster on a tired, gentle smile for Isabella and Marco, ready to face the quiet ghost of Astor’s absence.
But when I stepped into the living room, I stopped dead. My breath hitched in my throat.
There were two people I hadn’t expected to see.
Mr and Mrs Gable.
Seeing them brought a wave of relief so sharp it was agonizing. It meant I didn’t have to be the strong Luna anymore. It meant I didn’t have to be the unforgiving wolf.
The anger I had cultivated for the last few days shattered instantly. The cold mask I wore dissolved.
“Oh, my God,” was all I could manage.
Ma looked up, her expression instantly shifting from gentle amusement with the kids to fierce concern. She stood up immediately.
Before either of them could say a word, I dropped my bag and ran. I ran straight into my Pa’s arms, and then Ma joined the hug, wrapping me in a tight, familiar embrace.
And I broke.
I didn’t just cry; I sobbed, the kind of deep, gut–wrenching sound that hurt my throat. A week of stored–up pain, betrayal, and exhaustion poured out of me like a flood.
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I held onto them, clinging to their familiar scent and warmth, the only safe harbor,I cried for the
baby I lost, the relationship that died, and the woman I was never going to be again.
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