Chapter 13 Whispers by the Fire

The forest was quiet again. Too quiet.

Dorian leaned heavily against a tree, his breath ragged but steady. I stayed close, still half-shaking, my wolf form fading back into skin. The earth beneath me was cold, but nothing compared to the frost in my chest.

Kael’s shadow still lingered in my mind, his words echoing like chains I couldn’t break. “I can’t hurt you. And I never will.”

Why?

Why couldn’t he?

I wanted to scream, to rip the answer out of him, but he was already gone, swallowed by the night like the phantom he was. For the second time, he had left me with more questions than answers.

I pressed my hand to my chest, where my heart thundered in pain and rage. Silverfang… Father… The images of fire and blood burned clearer than ever. And now, after everything, Kael dared to act as if I meant something more than just a survivor to him.

Dorian’s hand brushed my shoulder gently. “He won’t get you. Not while I’m here.”

His words should have comforted me. But deep down, I knew Kael’s war wasn’t over. He would come again. Not as an enemy to kill me, but as something else entirely. Something I wasn’t ready to face.

The forest shivered with the howl of a lone wolf in the distance, low and haunting. My blood ran cold.

Because it wasn’t just any howl.

It was a Bloodmoon call.

A warning. A promise.

That he would return.

Dorian coughed, his body shuddering with the effort. I caught him before he could stumble, slipping my arm around his waist to steady him. His weight pressed heavily against me, but I didn’t care. After what had just happened, after watching him stand and fall again and again for my sake, I couldn’t just leave him broken on the forest floor.

“Come on,” I whispered. “Inside.”

He didn’t argue. He couldn’t. His steps were slow, dragging, until I finally managed to bring him back into his small hut. The air was thick with silence, and for once, I wasn’t suspicious, wasn’t wary of his kindness. I simply wanted to help him.

I found clean cloth, water, and whatever herbs he had stashed away. My hands worked quickly, though my heart still raced from the battle outside. When the cloth pressed against his wound, Dorian winced, letting out a low groan.

“Sorry,” I murmured.

He shook his head, forcing a faint smile. “Don’t be. I’d rather hurt like this… than see you in his hands.”

The words made me pause. My chest tightened, and I didn’t know how to answer. So I just kept working, binding his wounds carefully.

But I felt his eyes on me, steady, searching. When I glanced up, I caught it. A softness in his gaze I hadn’t seen before. Something unspoken, something growing.

We talked more that night than ever before. About small things, meaningless things, yet every word felt heavier, closer, binding us in ways I hadn’t expected. For a moment, the fear of Kael, of the Bloodmoon, of the hunters, all of it faded.

It was just the two of us.

And yet, even in that quiet, I couldn’t shake the feeling that Dorian was holding something back. A secret. A truth waiting to break.

The fire crackled softly, its glow painting the walls in shifting shades of gold and shadow. I sat close to Dorian, carefully dabbing at the wound along his ribs. He hissed under his breath but refused to pull away, his jaw set with stubborn pride.

“You don’t have to act so strong,” I murmured, my voice quieter than I intended.

He gave me a crooked smile, faint but disarming. “If I let you see me weak, you’ll never look at me the same.”

I shook my head, pressing the cloth gently to his side. “Strength isn’t in pretending. It’s in enduring.”

For a moment, neither of us spoke. The silence stretched, filled only by the rhythm of the flames. Then, unexpectedly, we began to talk again. Not about Kael, or Bloodmoon, or the fear that haunted us but about small, meaningless things.

His favorite place to watch the sunrise. The food he used to crave as a boy. The way he hated the sound of crows in the morning. I found myself laughing softly, and the sound startled me. It felt foreign, almost forbidden, yet it was real.

We talked more that night than ever before. About nothing and yet everything. Every word drew us closer, binding us in ways I hadn’t expected.

At one point, our hands brushed. Just a fleeting touch, but it lingered, heavy and electric. My breath caught, and I didn’t pull away. Neither did he.

But even in that fragile warmth, I felt it. That invisible wall he kept between us. Every time I asked something deeper, his answers turned vague, evasive. There was something he didn’t want me to know. Something he was carrying alone.

When I finally leaned back, exhaustion tugging at my eyelids, Dorian’s gaze lingered on me. His expression softened, touched with something I couldn’t name.

I pretended not to notice as sleep pulled me under.

And in that hush, as if confessing to the fire itself, I heard him whisper, words meant for no one but himself.

“When the truth comes… she’ll never forgive me.”