Chapter 8: The One She Let Go
889 Words
The morning stretched quiet and gold across the sky, spilling through the tall windows of the Moon Pack house like honey. Sofia rolled onto her side with a sigh, the ache in her arms a low throb from yesterday’s drills. Every muscle complained.
But it wasn’t pain that woke her.
It was restlessness.
She dressed without thought. Pulled her hair into a knot. No ceremony, no armor. There was nothing to prepare for except the day itself.
The house was still.
A rare thing.
She followed the scent of chamomile and toasted bread to the kitchen, where Eliza sat on a stool at the island, her braid heavy down one shoulder, a ceramic mug cradled in her hands. She looked up as Sofia stepped into the sun.
“Morning,” her mother said softly. “Tea or sparring?”
Sofia shook her head and sat beside her. “Neither.”
Eliza raised an eyebrow, but didn’t push.
Silence stretched warm between them.
Then Sofia said, “I wanted to tell you… about last night.”
Her tone was even, but something inside her tightened just saying it.
Eliza set her mug down gently, as if preparing for impact.
“There was no bond,” Sofia said. “Not even close.” Her voice lowered. “And I’m asking you… not to bring it up again.”
She didn’t mean it cruelly. Just clearly. She was tired of dancing around what wasn’t there. Of feeling the weight of someone else’s hope sitting on her chest.
For a moment, Eliza said nothing. Her gaze lingered on her daughter like she was tracing her—bone by bone, breath by breath.
There was no disappointment in her expression. Just a soft, wordless ache.
And then, finally: “I understand.”
No lecture. No fragile smile. No quiet push.
Just love, reshaped into acceptance.
Sofia exhaled slowly, the knot behind her ribs loosening. Her hands stopped curling into fists.
Eliza stood and smoothed her hands down her legs. “I should get moving. There are still preparations to make. The Clearwater Moon pack is sending many warriors. We’ll need to make space. Feed them. Sort the lodgings.”
She paused at the doorway.
“I’ll make sure they don’t expect you to attend the welcome feast.”
Sofia nodded. Her throat was too tight to speak.
And then Eliza was gone, her steps swallowed by the hush of the house, like she’d never been there at all.
But she had been.
And that mattered more than anything she could have said.
Sofia sat alone, the warmth of the morning sun breaking through the window.
Outside, the morning was beginning to hum—shadows stretching longer, footsteps stirring through distant hallways. But here, in the golden hush of the kitchen, time slowed. The quiet curled around her like a blanket, and for once, she didn’t shake it off.
She thought about the gathering, then the receptions she was forced to attend.
About the way other wolves had looked at her—some with open admiration, others with nervous curiosity. A few had tried to impress her. One had stumbled over a poem. Another had offered her wildflowers like she was something soft to be won.
All of them hopeful.
All of them waiting for that flash—that spark they’d been raised to believe was fate.
And she’d felt nothing.
Not even the whisper of a pull.
And maybe that was the most honest thing of all.
She hated the receptions. Always had. The way people stared, expecting magic to bloom just because her bloodline ran thick with power. The way others treated her like a prize to be claimed. A prophecy to be fulfilled.
It had never felt like choice.
It felt like being hunted.
She went anyway—again and again. Out of duty. Out of respect. And every time, she came back emptier, her chest aching with the weight of pretending to care.
She couldn’t go back to that.
If she ever had to line up again, dressed in something she didn’t choose, smiling at strangers who only saw her title—not her laugh, not her scars—she thought she might lose her mind.
And now, with her mother’s pressure finally lifted, she let herself think about it.
Not the search. Not the ceremony.
But him.
The Mate that hadn’t come.
She’d never said it aloud—not even to herself—but if he did exist, if the bond was real, she didn’t want a warrior. She didn’t want someone who looked good at her side in battle.
She wanted someone whole.
Someone who didn’t need to be told who she was to know it. Someone kind, curious, funny in that quiet, brilliant way that made her drop her guard and laugh until her stomach hurt. Someone who could meet her strength without trying to tame it.
Someone who could sit with her in silence and still make it feel like music.
She wanted a Mate who didn’t want to claim her.
Just hold her.
And still, even as that picture flickered to life in her mind, she let it go.
Because there were bigger things coming.
Bigger than longing. Bigger than fate.
War didn’t care about dreams.
And she didn’t intend to be left behind chasing one.
- Writer
