Lost Legacy

*I know some readers have found Ariella to be whiny or frustrating at times, but that’s intentional — her character is meant to grow through her fears and insecurities. Everything she’s going through is heavy, and her reactions reflect that. While she loves Kayden and is learning to accept him, she’s also figuring out who she is in her own way and at her own pace.

Everything that happens in Book 2 serves a purpose and contributes to her journey. So if you’re judging the story solely on her behavior, I kindly suggest this may not be the book for you.

Thank you so much for your support, feedback, and for taking the time to read my work. ❤️*

He’d only been gone a day and a half, but it felt like forever.

The moment the door had opened and Kayden’s arms closed around me, the ache in my chest had eased, but it hadn’t vanished. I hadn’t realized how much of myself I’d been holding together with fraying threads until I could bury my face in him and breathe. His scent, his strength, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat—it was all I’d wanted.

Now the fire burned low in the cabin, shadows flickering across the walls where notes and maps still cluttered his desk. Briar’s handwriting, faded ink, scraps of parchment that whispered about things I didn’t want to hear. Carmine wolves. Legends I couldn’t believe.

But I couldn’t look at them tonight. Not when he was here.

Kayden’s arm was heavy across my waist, holding me as if he’d never let go. His storm-gray eyes tracked me even in the dim glow, sharp enough to see through every lie I tried to tell myself. He could feel it—the tension still coiled inside me, the way my heart refused to settle.

“You’re not resting,” he murmured, voice rough with exhaustion, but gentle.

“I don’t want to,” I whispered back, my fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt. “Not yet.”

I didn’t want to sleep. I didn’t want to think. For one night, I wanted the world to stop pressing in—the whispers of wolves that should have been extinct, the weight of a bond I didn’t know if I was ready to claim. I wanted Kayden, and only him.

His thumb brushed across my cheek, steadying me. “Then don’t,” he said simply. “Tonight, it’s just us.”

The bond hummed low in my chest, warm and insistent. It pulled and pulled, demanding more, demanding everything. I hated how much I craved it, how much of me wanted to give in and let him mark me, end the uncertainty. But that wasn’t a choice I could make out of fear. Not tonight. Maybe not ever.

I turned away from the desk, away from the shadows that held too many questions, and let him guide me back to the bed. His presence wrapped around me like a shield, the kind I hadn’t known I needed until I had it.

When he pulled me close, I clung harder than I meant to. My body remembered before my mind did—remembered the cold space beside me the night he left for Moon Valley, remembered the storm of fear in my chest when I didn’t know if he’d return.

“I missed you,” I breathed, the words trembling out before I could stop them.

Kayden’s lips brushed the top of my hair. “I missed you more.” His voice was rough, frayed, as if the truth cost him something to admit. “But I’m here now. And nothing’s taking me from you again.”

Tears pricked at the corners of my eyes. I pressed my face into his chest and let the sound of his heartbeat anchor me. The rest of the world—the Carmine wolves, the weight of Silver Heart, the shadows of every secret we hadn’t uncovered yet—could wait.

For tonight, there was only this. The warmth of his arms. The steadiness of his breath. The certainty that even if I didn’t know who or what I was, I wasn’t alone.

And as the fire dimmed to embers and the packhouse quieted beyond the cabin walls, I let myself believe it: that I could stop running, stop fearing, stop questioning—just for one night.

Because tonight, I wasn’t the girl with a legacy buried in ash and myth.

Tonight, I was his.

Kayden’s arms were solid around me, his chest rising steady beneath my cheek. I clung to that rhythm, but the thought pressed too heavy to keep silent.

“Kayden?” My voice came out softer than I meant, almost fragile.

“Mm?” His lips brushed the top of my hair, his voice thick with the edge of sleep.

“How is he?”

He stirred, just enough to tilt his head so he could see my face. “Who?”

“Kato.” My throat tightened as I said it. “After the silver… is he still suffering?”

For a moment, Kayden just studied me, storm-gray eyes dark in the firelight. Then his hand came up, cupping my cheek with the same gentleness he always carried when I brought up the wolf I’d loved before I ever admitted I loved him.

“He’s strong,” he said quietly. “Silver leaves its mark, but he’s healing. He was more angry than hurt. You know how he is—he hates being weakened, even for a breath.”

Relief loosened something tight in my chest, but the worry didn’t vanish. “I keep thinking about him. About… what he felt. I know he’s you, but he isn’t just you. He matters to me.”

Kayden’s jaw worked, and for the first time since he’d walked back through the door, I saw the faintest crack in his steady calm. “He knows. He feels it, Ariella. Your love for him. That’s why he pushed through the pain. Not for me—for us.”

I pressed closer, closing my eyes against his chest. The bond hummed between us, alive, steady, and for the first time since the battle I let myself believe it.

Kayden’s lips brushed my hair again, his voice low, certain. “Kato doesn’t suffer alone. Neither will you.”

Kayden’s words settled over me like a blanket, warm and certain, quieting the storm I hadn’t realized had been clawing so loud inside me.

Kato doesn’t suffer alone. Neither do I. And neither will you.

I let out a shaky breath and pressed closer, curling into the steady line of his body. His scent wrapped around me, smoke and pine and something darker that was only him. The bond hummed at the edges of my chest, but I shoved the thought aside. I didn’t want to think about bonds or wolves or Carmine legacies. I didn’t even believe in any of it.

All I believed in was this.

His hand slid down my back, slow and soothing, the way you’d calm something fragile. My eyelids grew heavy, though I fought it, not wanting to miss a second of being here, of having him back where he belonged.

“You should sleep,” he murmured, lips brushing the crown of my head.

“I will,” I whispered, fingers fisting tighter into his shirt. “Just… stay.”

His arm tightened, his voice a low growl of promise. “Always.”

The fire cracked softly, shadows dancing on the walls. My heartbeat finally began to match his, steady and strong. And for the first time since he left, the world didn’t feel so sharp. It felt like a place I could rest.

My last thought before sleep dragged me under wasn’t of silver, or whispers of wolves that shouldn’t exist. It was of storm-gray eyes, a wolf who had never once let me fall, and the man who swore he never would.

Wrapped in both, I finally closed my eyes.

Sunlight spilled through the curtains in thin ribbons, warming the wooden floorboards and brushing across my face. I stirred, reluctant to move, my cheek still pressed against Kayden’s chest. His arm was heavy around my waist, steady even in sleep, and for a long moment I just lay there, listening to the deep, even rhythm of his breathing.

It felt unreal — waking up like this, instead of alone.

The fire had gone out, leaving only ash and the faint scent of smoke in the air. For once, there was no fear sharp in my chest, no immediate weight dragging me down the moment my eyes opened. Just him. Just us.

Still, the thought crept in as I traced lazy circles over the fabric of his shirt. What now?

Kayden was Alpha. He carried the pack on his shoulders, and yesterday he’d carried Moon Valley too. Would he leave me again today, caught up in meetings and disputes I couldn’t even begin to understand? Or would he stay — just for one day — here with me, where the bond between us felt less like a storm and more like a shelter?

I hated that I didn’t know the answer. I hated more how much it mattered.

His chest shifted beneath my cheek, the faint rumble of a growl slipping out as he stirred awake. His arm tightened reflexively around me, dragging me closer as if I might try to escape.

“You’re awake,” he rasped, voice low with sleep.

“So are you,” I whispered back, my lips tugging despite the knot of nerves in my stomach.

His eyes cracked open, storm-gray and sharp even in the morning light. He studied me for a moment, and I couldn’t help blurting the question that had sat heavy in my chest all night.

“What happens today?”

His brow furrowed faintly. “What do you mean?”

“You’re Alpha,” I said softly. “You’re always busy. Are you… leaving again?”

The words came out smaller than I wanted, rawer too.

For a moment, he didn’t answer. Just searched my face with that piercing calm that always seemed to strip me bare. Then his hand slid up into my hair, steady and grounding.

“I’m here,” he said finally. “And whatever else this day demands, you’ll have me in it.”

His words should have been enough — I’m here — but the knot in my chest didn’t untangle right away. I shifted slightly, pressing closer, needing more proof than promises. His hand slipped lower, fingers brushing the curve of my spine, steady and patient, as if he had nowhere else in the world to be.

“Good,” I whispered, letting out a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding. “Because I don’t want to share you with the pack. Not today.”

The corner of his mouth tugged in the faintest smile, that rare expression he only ever gave me. “Greedy,” he murmured, his voice still husky from sleep.

I buried my face against his chest, grinning despite myself. “I don’t care.”

His laugh rumbled low, vibrating against my cheek, and the sound settled into me like sunlight warming through cold skin. For a while, neither of us moved. His heartbeat thudded strong beneath my ear, his breathing slow and even, as if this moment — this ordinary morning in an extraordinary life — was something he wanted to hold on to as much as I did.

I tilted my head just enough to meet his eyes. The storm-gray had softened in the light, less like thunder and more like the calm after it. I could have drowned in that look, the one that stripped away the Alpha and left only the man.

“You’re staring,” he said, voice softer now, almost teasing.

“Maybe I missed the view,” I murmured back, heat crawling up my cheeks.

His thumb brushed my jaw, slow and reverent, and something in his gaze shifted — not just affection, but need, tethered and controlled. “Then don’t look away.”

So I didn’t. Not when his lips brushed my forehead. Not when his hand traced circles against my back, lulling me into the kind of peace I hadn’t felt in months.

For a little while, the world outside the cabin didn’t exist. There were no whispers about bloodlines, no duties demanding his time, no questions clawing at my chest. There was only his warmth pressed into me, his wolf steady at the edges of my bond, and the safety of knowing I wasn’t alone in the bed where sunlight pooled across tangled sheets.

And I realized then, maybe for the first time, that this — quiet mornings, laughter in whispers, promises spoken without words — was the life I wanted to fight for.