Chasing The Lost Winter Heiress

CH 4 - Helena

HELENA POV

The last five months had been a strange blend of healing and falling apart at the edges. Some days I woke up feeling almost whole, convinced I had finally made a clean break from my old life, while others hit me with a wave of guilt so heavy I could barely breathe through it. I missed my family more often than I wanted to admit, and the shame of running away without telling anyone sat lodged under my ribs like a permanent thorn.

But I kept going, and moving to Seattle had been the easiest part of running.

I had someone waiting for me there.

Not someone from the pack. Not someone who would judge me.

Trish.

We had been online friends for months before everything in Winter Pack blew up, and she was the only witch I knew who had zero connection to wolves, dragons, or any of the families who might have recognized my name. She was a writer, one with a sharp mouth and a big heart, and she had reached out originally because she had seen one of my fan illustrations and wanted to know who had drawn her characters so perfectly. I never told anyone in my family about that hobby. It wasn’t an alpha thing, not something an heir was supposed to spend hours doing behind a closed bedroom door, sketching scenes from books or experimenting with graphics instead of training drills. But to me it was safe. It was mine. It was something nobody could take from me.

When I started posting my illustrations online, my bank account had slowly started to grow. A few commissions at first, then more, and eventually enough that I could pretend I had a tiny business. I never expected it to become something real. I never planned on needing it for survival.

But then I watched Silas being kissed under the mistletoe by that she-wolf and everything inside me cracked again, and I drove all night until I reached Seattle at dawn. I knocked on Trish’s apartment door like a lost child who had nowhere else to go, shaking so hard I almost fell forward when she opened it. She didn’t ask questions at first. She just pulled me inside, made me sit on her couch, brewed some kind of herbal tea that smelled like honey and pine, and only then let me tell her everything.

Every single thing.

The crying. The pregnancy test. The fear. Silas. The forest. The mess I had made.

I expected her to judge me. Or yell at me. Or tell me to go home and face my consequences.

Instead she looked at me with the kind of softness only witches seemed capable of and told me I could stay.

The last five months had been the best of my life, or at least the calmest ones since turning eighteen, minus the morning sickness, the nightmares, and the way my heart still cracked every time I thought about Silas’s eyes the last time he saw me. Trish turned out to be exactly what I needed: steady, sarcastic, patient, and fiercely protective. She became the friend I never saw coming.

And my little art business didn’t just grow; it exploded. Trish introduced me to writers from all over the world, connecting me through group chats and emails, and within weeks I was booked with cover designs, character art, bonus scene illustrations, and merch sketches. I was making enough money to live on, something I never imagined I could do with my so-called useless human skills.

Good thing too, because two weeks after arriving in Seattle, an ultrasound revealed the truth I definitely had not been emotionally prepared for.

Twins.

Two boys.

I stared at the screen with my breath caught in my throat, and all I could think was that Silas had done this. He had given me two lives. Two futures. Two little heartbeats echoing in a human hospital ultrasound room under a fake name that Trish had helped me secure. The only complication had been the timing. I had to lie about how far along I was, because these babies grew faster than a normal human pregnancy. Dragon blood didn’t follow human rules. Every midwife I saw thought I was further along than I admitted, and Trish covered my nervous babbling better than I did.

Now here I was, five months in, lying on the couch in our apartment with one hand rubbing slow circles on my round stomach. I sipped another mug of her calming herbal tea while staring at the messy spread of sketches scattered across the coffee table. I had been designing the cover for Trish’s Christmas smut novella, going to be released next December, and she wanted a fae princess and an alpha werewolf locked in some kind of steampunk masquerade pose. I was halfway through drawing the gears around the fae’s mask when I stopped, letting out a soft breath as I looked down at my stomach.

Life had flipped on me so violently, but somehow I had found a path anyway.

I smiled to myself, quiet and small.

And that was when my water broke.

The warm gush soaked through my leggings and onto the couch cushions, and I froze for a second, trying to process what had just happened. Then a hard contraction tore through my body so suddenly I gasped out loud.

“Trish!”

My voice shook as I grabbed the armrest. “They are coming!”

I heard her running before I saw her. She flew down the stairs in a blur of messy hair and pajamas, dropped to her knees beside me, and pressed a hand to my belly. Her eyes widened and her mouth set in a sharp line.

“They are early. And in a rush, apparently.”

My breath grew ragged, panic tightening around my chest.

“No, no, no. This isn’t how it’s supposed to go.”

Another contraction hit, stronger, and I felt sweat bead at my temples. Trish knew immediately.

“If we try to get to the hospital, you will deliver in the car,” she said, voice steady even though her eyes were sharp. She squeezed my hand. “I am calling Amaranta. You just breathe in and out.”

I nodded through clenched teeth, sending every curse I knew into the universe. Even Sekhmet’s name slipped out at one point, and I hoped she wouldn’t take offense.

Amaranta arrived within minutes, a spirit witch and midwife with silver eyes that glowed faintly when she concentrated. Trish guided me toward the bathroom, and soon enough I was lowering myself into the large tub as warm water filled around me. My clothes were gone in seconds, discarded in a pile somewhere behind me. Both witches gripped my hands on either side while I breathed through the tightening fire ripping through my abdomen.

Push, Helena.

You have to push.

The pain split me open. It was sharp at first, but then it sank deeper, twisting and stretching until I thought my bones might crack from the pressure. My skin grew hotter and hotter, a slow burn rolling up from my spine and spreading across my arms, chest, and stomach until the air above the water shimmered. Steam rose in thin wisps at first, then in thicker clouds that curled around me like smoke.

Trish hissed the moment her fingers brushed my forearm.

“She is burning up. Her skin is too hot.”

Her voice shook. Mine couldn’t have spoken even if I wanted to.

Amaranta leaned closer, her silver eyes narrowing, her palm hovering a breath above my stomach without touching. “I can feel it,” she said quietly. “This is not normal. I have never sensed anything like this in a human birth.” She swallowed hard. “I do not know what it is, but it is ancient. Step back before she burns you.”

Another contraction tore through me, harder than the others, and the water around my legs began to bubble violently. Not warm. Not simmering. Boiling. The surface trembled like a cauldron brought to a furious heat.

My breath hitched as the world blurred at the edges. The pain should have terrified me, the heat should have sent me begging for help, but instead something else rose inside me. It moved beneath my ribs. It hummed in my blood. It felt like a pulse that didn’t belong to my heart, something buried deep waking up for the first time.

Whatever was inside me wasn’t normal. It felt wild and ancient, pushing through my veins with a force that didn’t belong to a human body. The pain receded the moment it rose, the fear fading with it, and all that was left was a strength that didn’t ask permission. It settled into me like it had always been there, waiting.

I felt strong.

More than strong.

I felt made for this.

I planted my feet at the bottom of the tub, braced myself against the sides, and pushed. Two pushes and I felt him move.

“Almost there,” Amaranta murmured, her voice distant but grounding. “Bring him out.”

I pushed again, and the first baby slipped free.

Sebastian.

He screamed the moment Trish lifted him from the water and wrapped him in a towel.

“Beautiful boy,” Trish whispered, her voice shaky.

Another contraction clenched deep inside me, the second baby already shifting downward.

“Stephan is right behind him,” Amaranta said. “Push.”

I pushed hard, gripping the edge of the tub until my knuckles whitened. Another cry broke the air as Stephan slid into Amaranta’s waiting hands, angry and loud and alive.

The boiling stopped.

The water calmed.

My skin cooled, returning to its usual temperature.

But the look both witches shared over the edge of the tub made something twist low in my stomach.

Something had just awakened inside me.

Something I was never supposed to have.