LOST LOVE, LOST SELF

The Ghosts We Carry

Clarice.

I clung to the tenuous normality that Aunt Lydia's pack had established, even if every breath seemed like a reminder of all I had lost. Patrols, duties, and training were all intended to keep me too busy to ponder and too busy to mope. And it was mostly successful, until it didn't.

On certain mornings, even though I told myself that the mate link was no longer there, I would wake up with the phantom anguish of it, a pulse of need that left me gasping for air. I still carried the scar of Grayson's rejection with me, and it would not go away.

But sometimes the world seemed a little less cruel, and Lucas appeared to be at the center of those times when the anguish subsided.

The mist hung over the valley like a veil on this cold morning. As Rafael described the day's training activities, I stood with the other fighters, the grass wet under our boots. His voice was as piercing as the cold, and he gave orders with such power that no one argued. Even though my muscles from yesterday were still hurting, I wasn't going to give up.

Standing a few steps away, Lucas's eyes flickered with attention as his arms were folded over his wide chest. Despite the cold, he gave me a little nod when he saw that I was observing, a tacit encouragement. I retorted, bracing myself.

Rafael yelled out, looking at me, "Clarice." You're awake. Challenge Marcos. Fighting hand to hand.

I took a step forward, my heart pounding. An enormous guy with a shaven head and a smug smile, Marcos was one of the more seasoned fighters. He never took it easy on me in our previous sparring sessions.

“Are you ready, little Wolf? Marcos smirked as he lowered himself into a combat posture and challenged.

My jaw tightened. Concentrate, I told myself. Had Rafael doubted my ability to manage Marcos, he would not have matched me with him. After focusing on myself for a deep breath, I moved.

Marcos charged at me at the speed of a freight train, but I was too well-trained to be intimidated by his bulk. With quick motions, I dodged his first blow and kicked him in the side. Twisting, he caught my ankle and knocked me off balance. I landed hard on the ground, but I rolled with the force, crouching up.

Rafael yelled out, "Good," his voice piercing the mist. “Once more.”

When Marcos lunged, I was prepared. By sidestepping and smashing my elbow into his ribs, I took advantage of his momentum. He swung his leg out to grab me by the back of the knees, grunting but not slowing down. I fell once again, but I quickly got back up, my veins throbbing with adrenaline.

I felt the other warriors' gaze on us as we circled one another, their energy nourishing mine. I parried a blow from Marcos, bringing our forearms together as we did so. Despite the pain shooting up my arm, I clenched my teeth and retaliated by punching him in the gut. He stumbled back, his smile giving way to a respectful expression.

"Not bad," he answered, panting heavily. "You're becoming quicker."

"Enough chitchat," Rafael said. “Well, Clarice, finish it.”

I seized the opportunity without hesitation. Marcos lost his equilibrium as I closed the gap with a barrage of quick blows. With one more frantic push, I pulled his legs out from under him, and he fell to the ground, the sound reverberating across the meadow.

To indicate the conclusion of the contest, Rafael blew his whistle. With my hands shaking from effort and excitement still pumping through me, I stood there panting. After a time on the ground, Marcos uttered a wheezing chuckle.

“All right, all right,” he murmured, beaming up at me. "I give in." You triumph.

Despite my fatigue, I smiled as I reached down to assist him with standing up. Even though the win was minor, it felt significant because it showed that I could fight and compete.

Rafael softened his severe face a little as he nodded. You did well, Clarice. You are getting better.

I attempted to maintain a neutral look despite the pride that surged in my chest. I had learnt to hide my feelings and keep my intense need for approval hidden from others. However, as I turned to leave the training field, Lucas was observing me with a silent nod of approval.

We walked to the water station, and he fell into stride next to me. "Wow," he replied, handing me a bottle. "As an opponent, Marcos is formidable."

"Thanks," I said, sipping my lengthy drink. Despite being a shock to my system, the cold water helped me get my head clear. "I nearly doubted that I would defeat him."

Lucas's laugh was deep and warm, and it made my heart race a bit. However, you did. You underestimate how powerful you are.

I was surprised by the praise, and I glanced at him, looking for any sign of dishonesty on his face. But there was just honesty in his green eyes, and it disarmed me in a way I hadn't expected. The barriers I had erected around myself faltered, although briefly.

You say it a lot, I remarked quietly. "That I am more powerful than I realized."

His grin turned to a gaze of silent comprehension. "Because I understand what it's like to feel damaged." to believe that you would never again be strong. However, Clarice, you are, even if you haven't noticed it yet.

I gulped hard as the words sliced through the armor I had put around my heart, pushing back the unexpected outburst of emotion. I wished I could trust him, that I might be complete again. However, I had been burnt too severely to freely grant confidence, and trust was a delicate thing.

I said in a whisper, "Thank you," and he nodded as if he realized that those two words were more important than I could ever express.

One of Aunt Lydia's gardens provided me with comfort that day. A sensation of calm that I had not experienced much since coming was brought on by the soft rustle of leaves and the aroma of blossoming roses. I sat on a stone bench and ran my fingers over a deep crimson rose's petals.

"They are lovely, aren't they?" I turned when I heard Aunt Lydia's voice and saw her coming with a basket of herbs.

In a quiet voice, I said, "Yes." "Here, it feels safe."

Her presence was a soothing salve as she put the basket down and sat next to me. Her gentle statement, "I planted these after my mate died," made my breath catch in my throat. "It was my way of paying tribute to him and discovering beauty amid all of that suffering."

There was a power in her eyes that made my chest hurt, yet there was also a profound sadness. Even though Aunt Lydia had lost the love of her life, she had managed to go on and prosper. Despite its smallness and fragility, it offered me hope.

"Do you believe that things are getting easier?" My voice was little more than a whisper when I asked.

She looked thoughtfully at me as she turned. "No," was her honest response. However, we learn to cope with suffering. In the same way that vines climb a damaged fence, we grow around it. Instead of really leaving us, it becomes a part of who we are.

My heart was encircled by her words, and I had to fight back tears. I wanted to think that I could develop and rise beyond my loss and pain.

Echoing Lucas, Aunt Lydia said, "Clarice, you don't realize how strong you are." You'll find your path, too. It just takes time.

Moments. It served as a reminder that recovery was a gradual process and was both a blessing and a burden. But I let myself hope while I was sitting there, surrounded by flowers and the comfort of my aunt's company. Just a little.