15. Conrad

Chapter 15

Conrad

-Bad Guy- Billie Eilish-

-Two weeks later-

In the last few weeks, I’ve witnessed a stark transformation in Grace, and it’s been both mesmerizing and unsettling. Since Deacon’s birth, there’s been a subtle shift in her temperament, as if something profound has awakened within her. It’s like watching a dormant flower suddenly burst into bloom, revealing colors and depths I never knew existed.

Her connection with her inner wolf has grown stronger, almost palpable. It’s as though her instincts are guiding her, whispering ancient truths that only she can hear. And as she delves deeper into her newfound knowledge, I can see the lines of understanding etched into her expression.

The elders, wise and weathered, have entrusted us with ancient tomes that carry the knowledge of centuries. Each page holds secrets, written in faded ink and illuminated by the dim light of history. The smell of aged parchment fills the air, mingling with the earthy scent of the forest that surrounds our home. The leather bindings bear the marks of time, worn and weathered like the faces of those who once wielded them.

Grace sits on the porch, a serene figure amidst the chaos of life. Deacon slumbers peacefully in her arms, unaware of the world unfolding around him. She leans over him, lost in the words of ancient wisdom, her eyes alight with newfound understanding.

Our other daughters frolic on the lawn, their laughter like music in the breeze. They are oblivious to the weight of responsibility that rests upon their mother’s shoulders, content to bask in the warmth of her presence.

Nicolai and Lorcan hover nearby, their minds consumed with forging a path forward in the wake of unification. Their voices drift to us on the wind, mingling with the rustle of leaves and the distant call of a solitary bird.

In this moment, as the sun dips below the horizon and the world is bathed in the soft glow of twilight. I can’t help but feel a sense of awe and wonder.

I walk over towards Nicolai and Lorcan, the worn wooden floor of the porch creaking beneath my steps. As I approach, I see the maps spread out before them on the kitchen table, each one telling a story of our territory’s past and its uncertain future. The lamplight casts a warm glow over the room, illuminating the intricate lines and markings etched onto the paper.

There are two maps on the table, one depicting the original divisions of our land, and the other showcasing the new boundaries for the packs. My heart flutters with a mixture of anticipation and apprehension as I take in the sight.

“How’s everything going?” I ask gently, my voice laced with concern. I lean in to get a closer look at where they’ve placed pins to mark the tunnel exits.

“Slow as usual. No movements have been reported. We know they are planning something,” Nicolai replies, his expression tense, his bottom lip caught between his teeth as he stares intently at the maps.

“It’s to be expected,” I murmur, trying to infuse reassurance into my words, though uncertainty gnaws at the edges of my mind like a persistent shadow.

My gaze drifts away from the maps, drawn instead to the sight of our daughters playing outside, their laughter echoing faintly through the window. They move with a carefree grace, chasing each other across the lawn, their young pups tumbling in a joyful frenzy. A pang of pride and protectiveness washes over me as I watch them, a reminder of what we fight to preserve in the face of looming threats.

“What do you think we should do?” Lorcan says, his voice tinged with uncertainty, his hand sweeping across the table in search of his glass.

“I’m no planner,” I reply with a chuckle, feeling a lightness in my chest as I speak. Slowly, I lean back, my movements deliberate as I distance myself from the conversation. “Security and war is not my thing,” I add, a wistful smile playing on my lips, the image of peaceful moments flickering in my mind.

“Conrad?” Grace’s voice breaks through my thoughts, pulling me back to the present, and I hurry over to her, my heart racing with anticipation. I slip onto the circle swing beside her, feeling the warmth of her presence enveloping me.

“Yes, my love?” I murmur, pressing a tender kiss to her cheek before turning to Deacon and repeating the gesture, a sense of belonging washing over me with each touch.

I watch Grace, feeling a pang in my chest as she cradles Deacon, her eyes holding a glimmer of something primal, yet tender. She questions her own reflection in my eyes, uncertainty etched in the lines of her face. “Am I becoming a monster?”

I reach out to her, my fingers finding solace in the gentle sway of the swing. “No, you’re not a monster, Grace,” I reassure her, my voice a soft murmur amidst the rustle of leaves. “It’s a lot to adjust to.”

Nestling beside her, I offer what little comfort I can, the rhythmic motion of the swing soothing our troubled thoughts. Grace’s words paint vivid images in my mind. Her journey from human to something more, something wild and untamed.

“It is a lot,” she breathes, her voice carrying the weight of memories. “Human one day, laying dying staring up at the stars.” I feel her anguish, raw and unfiltered, mingling with the scent of earth and pine. “I remember the burn, the fire in my veins igniting every fiber of my being.”

As she switches sides with Deacon, her movements are fluid, practiced, a testament to her instincts. The others gather around, drawn by her tale, their presence a silent show of support.

“I felt like my entire body was dropped into liquid magma,” Grace continues, her hand drifting to her shoulder, where Ethan’s mark lies. “Then I heard her. My wolf.” Her voice softens, a whisper in the wind. “She spoke to me and told me to sleep. That it all would be better when I woke up.”

In that moment, as Grace kisses the crown of Deacon’s head, a sense of calm washes over us. We feel her, connected through the bond, at peace with the changes that have reshaped her existence.

“What else happened?” I press gently, my hand finding its place on her thigh, a silent gesture of comfort.

Grace curls towards me, her head finding solace on my shoulder. “My wolf, I guess, hummed to me,” she murmurs softly, her brow knitting in brief contemplation. “Her contented sound helped me relax as she rebuilt my body. Every action she took, she explained the why of it all.” Her voice carries a serene tone, a small smile gracing her lips as she recounts her experience. “Before I awoke, she showed me how my body would shift, detailing the pain and the reasons behind it all.”

Listening to her, it feels as though time stretches out endlessly, each moment heavy with significance. Grace’s words bear no hint of regret or bitterness; instead, there’s a sense of acceptance and understanding. I reach up, my fingers gently threading through her hair, offering what comfort I can. Sometimes, being an alpha means being a source of comfort, love, and unwavering support.

Grace slowly opens her eyes, the sun’s warm hues filtering through her lashes. Her gaze sweeps over us, lingering on each face before settling on mine. There’s a silent acknowledgment in her nod, a shared understanding that doesn’t need words.

“I’m sorry I didn’t warn you that everyone was present,” I murmur, my voice barely more than a whisper, carrying the weight of regret. Her lips part, a softness in her expression as I respond, “But it’s easier for them to hear your words from your mouth.”

“Everyone has wondered about my experience. It’s taking a while to come to terms with everything,” Grace confesses, her voice carrying a mix of vulnerability and resolve. And then, as if seeking solace, she leans in and presses a tender kiss to Deacon’s forehead.

“We just wanted to be able to help you adjust,” Ethan interjects, his presence a comforting anchor in the doorway.

“I know. I thank all of you for what you have done,” Grace responds, her words soft but filled with genuine gratitude.

“There’s more that we can do to help you,” I offer, reaching out to gently squeeze her thigh, a silent reassurance of our support.

She tilts her head, her gaze shifting from one face to another, searching, pleading for understanding. “By being at my side, you always help me. I borrow your strength by leaning on you when I feel weak. Well, when I am emotionally or physically weak. Let’s face it, I am no warrior.”

“You are a warrior...” Griffin’s voice reverberates, his roar echoing through the air, and I notice the tension in his fists, the sinews straining against his skin. He strides forward, bridging the gap between himself and Grace, his gaze momentarily drawn to their son nestled against her.

Grace’s eyes flit from their child to Griffin, a determined glint shimmering within them. “I will defend our children, and those yet to come,” she declares, a fierce determination igniting her features. A primal grin dances on her lips, casting shadows that hint at the untamed spirit lurking beneath.

As I observe Grace’s transformation, a shiver courses down my spine, her visage sharpening like that of a predator poised to strike. “We understand, Gracie,” I murmur, attempting to quell the smoldering rage simmering beneath her surface.

Grace’s gaze shifts to Ethan, a silent exchange passing between them before she entrusts her son to Griffin’s arms and departs with Ethan. The air is heavy with unspoken questions as Lorcan, his milky eyes searching, seeks answers amidst the haze.

“Grace left with Ethan,” I explain, my voice laden with the weight of truth. “She’s... too feral to be around everyone.” It’s a bitter realization, watching them depart. Yet, in Ethan, there lies a rare solace, a singular presence capable of tempering the tempest within her. Sometimes, the truth is a harsh companion. “Sometimes he’s the only one that can calm and settle her.”

I gently rest my hand on Lorcan’s shoulder, feeling the tension beneath my touch. “It takes time to get used to it. If we ever get used to it,” I murmur, my voice carrying the weight of experience and empathy.

As I speak, I notice the subtle flicker of emotions crossing Lorcan’s face, his eyes reflecting a mix of confusion and curiosity. “It just simply is,” I add softly, my words hanging in the air like delicate wisps of smoke.

I watch as the realization dawns on Lorcan’s features, his brow furrowing in contemplation. “So she has part of him in her at all times?” he asks, his voice tinged with a hint of uncertainty, his head tilting inquisitively.

With a gentle nod, I affirm his question, the visual image of the bond between the wolf and its recipient playing out vividly in my mind. “His wolf cleaved part of itself off to give her a wolf, a second chance,” I explain, the words slipping from my lips with a poignant tenderness.

“Come on, let’s go inside,” I whisper, my voice tinged with anticipation as I slide off the swing, the cool metal leaving a faint imprint on my skin. I stride towards the door, the evening breeze tousling my hair gently as I reach out to open it for everyone.

They hesitate, their expressions betraying a mix of reluctance and curiosity, as if they’re uncertain of what awaits them beyond the threshold. It takes them several minutes before they finally turn, their footsteps echoing softly as they follow me inside.

As we step into the dimly lit kitchen, the air carries a faint scent of old memories and unresolved tensions. Griffin and Barrett are seated at the worn wooden table, their faces etched with a mixture of concern and understanding, their presence a testament to the intricate bonds that tie us together.

Lorcan and Nicolai stand a few paces away, their expressions guarded yet heavy with the weight of their shared history. The sire bond between Ethan and Grace hangs palpably in the air, like an invisible thread that binds them together, creator and created, a connection forged in blood long ago but now strained by the passage of time.

Despite the years that have passed, the tether between them remains, a silent reminder of the complexities of their relationship. And as I watch them, I can’t help but wonder what lies ahead for all of us, caught in the web of fate and destiny.