THE WEIGHT OF THE GHOST
1347 Words
Winter in Silver Ridge didn’t simply settle over the land, it cut into it.
The air was sharp, biting, as if it carried tiny needles that pressed into my skin every time I stepped beyond the kitchen doors. It burned my lungs when I breathed too deeply and numbed my fingers no matter how tightly I wrapped them in wool. Six months pregnant, my body no longer moved quietly through the world. My belly was round and unmistakable now, a heavy truth I could no longer hide beneath loose tunics and careful posture.
I wore Draven’s old flannel shirts instead, oversized, thick, smelling faintly of cedar and smoke. I told anyone who asked that I liked the warmth. No one believed me. The women of the pack weren’t fools. Their whispers followed me everywhere, curling through the pantry aisles, slipping between the steam of the laundry room, lingering just long enough to remind me that secrets had weight.
And mine was showing.
I knelt on the wooden floor of the main hall, scrubbing the baseboards in preparation for the Winter Solstice festival. The position was agony. Every movement sent a dull ache through my lower back, a grinding throb that radiated down into my hips. My ankles were swollen, stiff inside my boots, and my knees protested every time I leaned forward. Still, I scrubbed.
Lemon and pine from the soapy water stung my nose.
If I kept moving, I didn’t have to
“You shouldn’t be on the floor, Vexa.”
A sound dropped down from up there - low, even, one I knew right away.
My eyes stayed down.
Lately, Draven stayed close without touching. Noticing him wasn’t about sight , it was pressure in empty hallways, silence thickening when he entered. Warmth rose in my chest, long frozen ground cracking. Yet fear stirred too, old memories twitching beneath skin.
Maybe hands bring pain. Power might break things instead.
“I’m fine, Alpha,” I said tightly, scrubbing harder. “This needs to be done.”
Stopping meant seeing him. Should I look, maybe I'd notice warmth behind his gaze. Nothing scared me more than that possibility.
A shadow dropped down next to me, silk fabric pressing deep into damp floorboards. Warmth spread across my skin as his fingers paused just shy of touching mine.
“Give me the brush,” he said.
This time, it came across more like care than command. Not once did power show its face. Quiet worry stood in its place instead.
“No.” It slipped out, harder than intended. Being an Omega defines me. This task belongs to me
It was then I turned my eyes his way.
Close. Too close. The thin line of a scar ran down his jaw, clear under the light. Each lash above his eye stood out, dark against skin worn by time. Smell came first, cedar, wet earth, something steady beneath it all. That single wild moment made me think of tipping forward. Of letting him carry the paintbrush, the heavy pail, the knot between my shoulders, every burden stacked high.
A tremor ran through his arm as he raised it, deliberate, quiet, then came the lightest touch along my skin.
I recoiled violently.
A jolt ran through me, raw, sudden. The bucket tipped, spilling water in a messy splash while my pulse hammered deep in my chest. Cold fear tore up my spine, leaving me gasping. He stopped dead, arm half-raised, pain flickering in his eyes just before he shut it down.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered, tears burning my eyes. “I … I don’t like being touched.”
“I know,” he said quietly. His voice was gentle, grounding. “I forget sometimes. Your ghosts are still loud.”
A figure rose, extending a palm forward.
I pushed, ignoring it, a groan tight in my throat, palm pressed hard into the small of my back. Tight walls closed in, air thick with his presence. His weight filled every corner.
“I need some space,” I muttered, stepping back without waiting.
A sharp chill hit me the moment I slipped out the rear door. Cold air stung my skin, sudden and hard. My body pressed into the wooden rail of the porch, unsteady. Breath came too fast, uneven. Wind yanked at strands of hair, tugged at fabric. Eyes closed tight - focus on slowing each inhale. Stillness needed now.
Something moved inside the dark.
Snow. Ozone.
***
The memory hit without mercy.
Moonlight flooded Kryden’s suite, silver and bright across the floor. My skin had burned with my first heat, every nerve alive, raw. Kryden had pinned me against the heavy oak door, his strength overwhelming, intoxicating.
He’d looked at me like I mattered then.
Like I was everything.
His voice had rumbled my name against my throat. His teeth had grazed my skin, not a bite, not yet, but the promise of one. The mate bond had snapped into place, a golden thread winding tight around my heart.
I’d never felt so powerful. So seen.
So foolish.
I sobbed aloud, fingers digging into the railing as the memory poisoned me. He’d held me like treasure, and then cast me aside like rot.
“Vexa?”
I spun.
Frozen in the entrance, Draven wore worry like a shadow across his features. Not moving forward. Just staying there. Holding his place.
“You were crying,” he said.
“The wind did it,” I said, wiping my face. Cold air stings sometimes
“You’re thinking about him,” he said calmly. “The one who left you with this.”
“He didn’t just break my heart,” I snapped. “He broke my life. I was a mistake to him. A curse.”
Fingers curled hard around the metal bar. A fool, if that's what he believes
My eyes settled on him just then, actually taking him in. Not like Kryden at all. Calm, for one thing. Gentle, too. He noticed me, truly did.
Fear shot through me as it tugged.
Close up I came, halted just a breath from him. Still he stayed. Not one hand lifted toward me.
Fingers shook as I touched his arm. What made him worried, anyway
“Because you matter,” he whispered. “And I think I’ve been waiting for you longer than I realized.”
Into my space he moved, quiet and low. That gave me room to step back if I wanted.
I didn’t.
Close enough to feel your breath on my lips, then, sudden shouts from the gate broke it. The air snapped tight. Sound crashed through the quiet like stone hitting glass. Your eyes held mine just a second longer. Then everything shifted.
“Alpha! News from the trade scouts!”
He yanked his hand away without delay.
The moment shattered.
The scout’s words were knives.
Kryden had mated. The pack was rotting. And he was searching.
For me.
Draven’s gaze hardened as it landed on mine. “He won’t find you.”
The cabin. Isolation. Protection.
I agreed because I had no choice.
The months blurred. Snow. Silence. Fear. Draven’s presence outside the door. Sarah’s hands steady as my body changed.
Then the storm came.
Labor tore through me like fire and bone. I screamed. I broke. I pushed.
And then…
A cry.
Teardrops fell from Sarah's eyes when she handed him over. That moment, her voice cracked under the weight of silence.
My son.
Midnight strands frame her face. Her hands catch light on each fingertip.
Kryden’s eyes.
That look broke something inside.
“Ronan,” I whispered.
It started with him, A prophecy, he carried what people had foretold. A quiet threat walked beside his steps. What belonged to me, stayed with him.
Far off, Kryden Arden kept trying to track her, silver-eyed, unseen. Every clue pulled him deeper into the hunt. Not chance, but purpose drove him forward. One moment could change everything now. I hope his search eventually be in vain
Under no circumstance could he take my boy.
Never.
- Writer
