Page 80 of To Carve A Wolf

I shifted back once the blood cooled and the rage dulled enough for my mind to return. My muscles ached, fur gave way to skin, claws to fingers. I staggered slightly, and the witch, still bruised and limping, tossed a bundle of clothes in my direction without a word.

They smelled faintly of old herbs and ash, but they fit well enough. I dressed quickly and helped her move through thewreckage of her shattered home. Together, we sifted through the mess, broken shelves, shattered jars, singed books.

“Careful with those,” she muttered, pointing to a scattered collection of dried leaves. “Silverroot. Rare. I’ll need it.”

I gathered what I could while she worked, then broke off to collect firewood from the forest’s edge. My hands moved quickly, stacking it in her old firepit the way I’d seen it done in her memories. I’d seen this place through her eyes before: the cracked stone hearth, the cluttered table, the wooden beam where she once rested her head after the first rune was carved.

It felt surreal, standing here now.

As I struck flint and coaxed the flames to life, I glanced up at the witch. She was slicing herbs with precise, practices movements.

“Did you ever feel sorry?” I asked. “For hurting her?”

The blade paused for a second.

“Yes,” she said quietly. “Always. But she was stubborn. Never listened.”

I smiled faintly as the fire caught and began to crackle. “Yeah.Stubborn. That’s Lexa, alright.”

The witch continued working, tossing the herbs into a cracked iron pot with dried root and old bone dust. She stirred slowly, then looked at me.

“You may not believe it, but I cared about her. More than most. Maybe more than I should have.” She hesitated, then added, “That’s why I told her about the boy.”

I turned sharply, my body going still. “Dain?”

She nodded. “You think she just wandered into that wreck of a house andfounda child? No. I told her he was there. I had a vision of him. She was already cracked in the heart, and I knew if anything could keep her tethered to the world, it’d be him.”

My jaw clenched as pieces began to shift, aligning in ways I hadn’t seen before.

“She never told me that,” I murmured.

“She wouldn’t,” the witch said. “She didn't want it to mean something. But it did. She didn’t just take him in out of pity. Even if she fought her wolf instincts,she felt the bond. That child was always meant to find her.”

I stared into the fire, that aching bond between Lexa and Dain glowing sharper in my memory. “I never understood it,” I muttered. “Why she bonded with a human child and didn’t claim him. Change him. Make him hers.”

The witch stirred the pot, her voice low. “Because he’s not hers to claim.”

I turned to her, brows furrowed. “Lexa said the same thing once.”

She smiled, a slow, knowing thing.

“That’s something her daughter will decide.”

The breath caught in my throat. I turned fully to face her, the fire casting flickering light between us.She looked me up and down, eyes dark, but gleaming with something new—certainty.

“Yourdaughter,” she said softly.

The words slammed into me. I stared at her, my voice suddenly trapped deep in my throat. I tried to speak, managed only a choked stutter.

“I—what did you just—”

She shook her head lightly, half-smiling, something almost gentle in her bruised expression. “Relax. It won’t happen yet. Not for another two years at least.” She returned her attention to the pot, stirring calmly as though she hadn’t just shattered my understanding of the world. “But tell me,Alpha,am I wrong to think you’ve felt the pull too?”

My heart pounded violently, memories flooding back unbidden: Dain’s tiny hand clutching mine, his dark eyes wide and trusting, that first night he’d cried quietly in the darkness, looking for Lexa. How quickly the boy had slipped past all mywalls, how easily he’d settled into the spaces I’d forgotten I had inside me.

How I’d guarded him, protected him—not simply out of duty or pity, but because something deep within me had demanded it. Something primal. Something stronger than instinct.

Not for him alone, but for something greater—for a future that had quietly nestled itself into my very bones without my even realizing it.

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