Page 87 of To Carve A Wolf

“I will end him. He will fall by my hand, and mine alone.”

And for the first time since Andros had stormed into my world—since he’d bound us, broken me open, rebuilt me from ashes—I didn’t snarl.

I didn’t protest. I didn’t fight him. I looked at him—the Alpha whose heart had bled through mine—and I finally saw him for what he was: raw power, savage grace, unwavering strength. I lowered my head in silent acceptance. This was his moment.

His kill.

CHAPTER 27

Andros

Noise. That’s what woke me.

Hammering, shouting—movement. Not the chaos of war, not the bloodthirsty roar of wolves clashing steel, but something… softer. Livelier.

Rebuilding.

I blinked, sunlight cutting across the sheets, warm and golden. For a few seconds, I didn’t know where the fuck I was. My limbs were too heavy, the mattress too soft, the room too quiet. Then I turned my head and saw the curve of the bedpost. The fur thrown carelessly across the foot of the mattress.

My bed. No—our bed.

And that’s when the ache in my muscles kicked in. Not the kind that came from battle. The other kind.

Gods. Last night.

Flashes hit me in short, hard bursts—Lexa, on her knees,lips parted, eyes locked on mine like a challenge. Then above me, moving like a storm, like something born from the wild—hair falling, hips rolling, green eyes gleaming like fire through forest shadows. She didn’t ride me, sheruledme. Every moan, every scratch down my back, a fucking claim.

I let out a low growl.

Great. I was hard again justthinkingabout it. But the bed was empty now.

Where the hell did she go?

I sat up, scrubbed a hand down my face, and forced myself out of bed. Pulled on black pants, a linen shirt, boots. Still sore. Still satisfied. Still not over the way her name sounded in my throat when she made me—Focus.

I walked to the window, pushing it open. The breeze hit me first—sharp and cold, but laced with the scent of freshly carved wood, damp stone, morning fire.

And beneath it all… peace. Not silence. Not stillness. But the weight of survival lifting. The scent of life returning.

The courtyard was full, my pack moving like a living tide. Hauling beams. Resetting stone. Repairing what Roran tried to ruin. Their voices rang out across the stone walls, laughter mixed with curses, sweat mixed with pride.

And in the middle of it—Her. Lexa.

She stood with Dain at her side, a woven basket looped over her arm, offering water and fresh-baked bread to the workers, her smile quick and sarcastic, her presence—undeniable. The boy was grinning, practically bouncing as he handed out cups.

Lexa wore a black dress stitched with silver thread, the fabric hugging her waist, corset drawn tight, her shoulders bare to the sun. Her hair was braided over one shoulder, a single wild strand curling loose against her cheek. The wind tugged at it like it belonged to no one but the air.

My eyes dropped lower, to the scar that still traced acrossher chest. The mark Roran left when he tried to kill her. Healed. Closed. But it would never fully fade.

Neither would the ones on her back. The old ones. The runes she'd carved into herself to silence the wolf. To erase the part of her that was always meant to live.

But now, here she was. Whole. Scarred. And so fucking alive. I rested my hands on the windowsill and just looked at her for a long moment.

Gods, she’d burned my world down. And I’d let her do it again.

“Well, well” her voice slid through the bond, rich with that familiar bite of sarcasm.“Look who finally decided to grace us with his mighty presence.”

I smirked, sitting on the edge of the bed as I pulled on my boots.“You’re lucky I got out of bed at all. You fucking wore me out last night.”

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