Chapter 291

The engine of the car roared to life, cutting through the thick silence that followed the tense altercation.

As the forest rushed past me, the relentless onslaught of thoughts threatened to consume me. I gripped the steering wheel so tightly my knuckles turned white, each bend and turn on the road echoing the chaos that raged within me.

“Do you really believe she would willingly give up Aurora?” Steel, my wolf, questioned, his voice surprisingly calm against the backdrop of my seething anger.

“She made an agreement, Steel. With a witch. How naive can one be?” I shot back out loud, frustration evident in my voice. My hands trembled on the wheel.

“She said it wouldn’t be for another three years,” Steel reminded me, trying to find a glimmer of hope in the situation. “We have time to plan, strategize. We can outwit the witch. I don’t think her decision was as naive as you think.”

“That’s not the point,” I retorted, my voice thick with emotion. The windshield wipers cleared the light drizzle of rain that was beginning to fall. “If it had been me in her shoes, in that godforsaken mine, I would have chosen death over handing over my daughter.”

I could sense Steel’s unease, a reflection of my own emotions. “Do you really believe Olivia would ever truly let Aurora go? She was desperate and scared. She was alone, trapped.”

I exhaled sharply, my grip on the wheel loosening slightly. “I just can’t believe she didn’t trust in our bond, in our love, enough to know I would come for her. How can I trust her to make the right decisions for our family in the future?”

“I know what this is,” Steel said quietly. “It’s about what happened all those years ago…”

I was seven years old.

Like any child, I had my mischievous moments. That day, what I had done was not any different than what any other child might have done. Honestly, I couldn't even remember now what I had done. Broken a vase, maybe, or stolen a cookie.

Yet, my father saw it differently. His anger, always an omnipresent force in our household, erupted in full fury.

Without uttering a word, he grabbed my arm, his fingers biting into my skin, and dragged me to the car.

The drive was long and silent, each passing mile an agonizing build-up of anxiety and fear. When the car finally came to a halt, we were in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by dense woods and an oppressive silence. He looked at me, his eyes devoid of warmth.

“Find your way home,” he said coldly, dragging me out of the car.

And with that, he drove away, leaving me alone and terrified.

The first day was the hardest.

As the reality of my situation sunk in, I broke down and cried. But tears wouldn't help me find my way back.

The forest, a daunting expanse of unknowns, offered nothing but threats. Thankfully, my wolf instincts, even in their juvenile state, kicked in. I hunted small animals like squirrels and whatever else I could catch. The taste of raw flesh, born out of necessity, haunted my dreams for years.

Nights were the worst. The eerie sounds of the wilderness played tricks on my mind. Every rustle, every shadow became a predator, out to get me.

But it wasn’t just physical exhaustion that took its toll. It was the emotional trauma of being abandoned, the piercing loneliness that gnawed at my young heart.

By the third day, my feet were blistered, and my body was covered in scratches, bruises, and poison ivy rashes. Stumbling upon the road felt like a cruel joke. The uncertainty of whether it was the right way or a path leading me further astray was overwhelming. But it was a lifeline, and I clung to it.

When the familiar sights of our neighborhood finally came into view, relief washed over me. But that relief was short-lived.

Bursting through the front door, I was met with indifference. Grabbing a jug of water, I drank desperately, only to throw it all up moments later, my body convulsing from the sudden intake of so much liquid.

I waited for a comforting touch, a soothing word. Instead, my father’s harsh voice cut through my sobs.

“Should’ve learned your lesson, shouldn't you?”

I looked to my mother for help, but got none. My mother, her eyes downcast, said nothing, her silence echoing louder than any words.

…It was a wound that never quite healed. The physical scars faded, but the emotional ones remained, buried deep, a reminder of a pain that shaped my resolve.

“Maybe this is about that,” I said, pulling into the cabin’s driveway. “You know that I swore to myself that day that I would never abandon those I loved, especially not my own children. That I’d never be like… him.”

“And you’re not,” Steel said gently. “But walking out on her won’t help any.”

Inside, the cabin was just as I remembered it. A place of solace and reflection, away from the world's chaos. But tonight, it felt cold and empty. I started a fire, the flames licking the wood, casting dancing shadows on the walls. Each flicker reminded me of Olivia, of the warmth and love we shared, now overshadowed by yet another looming threat.

Steel paced restlessly within me. “We need a plan, Nathan. Moping and wallowing in anger isn’t going to help.”

“I know,” I whispered, staring into the flames. “But I just can’t shake off the feeling of betrayal. I need to understand why she did it. Why she chose this path.”

“Do you remember when we first met Olivia?” Steel’s voice broke through my thoughts, a faint hint of nostalgia evident.

“How can I forget?” I smiled ruefully. “She was fiery, stubborn, and utterly captivating.”

“And she still is,” Steel pointed out. “Think about all the challenges we’ve faced together. All the battles we’ve won. She’s always been by our side.”

“I know, Steel,” I replied, sighing deeply. “And I’ve been by hers. But this... this is different. This is about trust. About the very foundation of our relationship.”

As the night deepened, the images of my father’s horrific ‘lesson’ haunted me like a ghost. The soft creak of the wooden beams overhead, the distant hoot of an owl, even the gentle rustling of the trees outside only served to amplify the feeling that I had felt all those years ago. The thought of my daughter feeling like that someday only made it worse.

Steel tried to offer comfort. “She loves you, Nathan. More than life itself. Perhaps in that dark, cold mine, with the weight of the pack’s future on her shoulders, she made an impulsive decision.”

I leaned back, staring up at the wooden ceiling. “But that’s what worries me, Steel. If she could make such an impulsive decision once, what’s stopping her from doing it again?”

The silence that followed was deafening, neither of us having an answer.

Climbing into bed, the sheets felt cold and uninviting without Olivia beside me. My mind kept drifting back to her - the curve of her smile, the sound of her laughter, the way her eyes sparkled when she was excited. But now, those memories were tainted with the raw pain of betrayal.

“Nathan?” Steel’s voice was soft, almost hesitant. “Do you still love her?”

My heart clenched at the question. “Of course I do. More than anything. But love isn’t the only thing at stake here.”

Steel was silent, contemplating. “What are you going to do?”

I turned onto my side, pulling the blanket tight around me. “I don’t know, Steel. I just don’t know.”