The morning light filtered through the heavy drapes, spilling golden streaks across the plush velvet of Nyma's chambers. Dust motes swirled in the air, dancing in the soft glow, as a faint rustling broke the silence. A familiar voice, gentle yet insistent, called her back from the restless void of sleep.
"Luna, it's time to rise."
Nyma inhaled deeply, the scent of lavender and embers lingering from the night before. She blinked away the remnants of broken dreams, her hand instinctively settling over the curve of her unborn child. A tether to the present. A reminder of all that lay ahead.
But beside her, the sheets remained undisturbed. Cold. As empty as they had been all night.
The warmth from last evening... had been nothing but a cruel mirage.
She said nothing as her omega moved efficiently through the room, drawing out layers of gossamer fabric, silks soft as moonlight. The quiet routine should have been comforting. Instead, it made the silence between her ribs ache all the more.
Then, as if suddenly remembering something, her omega turned, cradling a small, unmarked box as if it were something fragile. Something important, the girl hesitated before stepping forward. "I think this was left for you last night, Luna. I wasn't sure if you wanted to open it now or take a look—"
Nyma took the gift, certainly it was for her. Her name was written on it in golden words. A strange flutter curled in her chest, part intrigue, part apprehension. Her fingers brushed the wrapping, hesitant, then determined. She peeled it back with delicate precision.
When she opened it, and the moment she saw what lay within, her breath caught.
Exquisite craftsmanship. Thoughtful. Intimate. Every detail whispered of careful consideration, of someone who knew her heart. Her chest swelled with warmth. Inside was a delicate silver moon's diamond studded locket, rarest of all.
"For Luna and Little Star—woven in fate, guarded in love." The engraving shimmered, each letter aglow with devotion, as if his very love had been etched into the silver itself, a vow that neither time nor fate could break.
Her first thought was of Adrain.
So, this was his gift for the baby shower. A guardian's token, handcrafted not just with love—but with intention to protect her and their child.
As she lifted the locket, a faint hum of energy thrummed against her fingertips, like an ancient magic woven into its core. The moment she clasped it around her neck, the metal snapped into place—not just with a simple click, but with a finality that sent a ripple of unseen power cascading over her skin.
Nyma gasped.
A shiver ran through her, not from cold, but from something unseen, warm and protective, like invisible arms encircling both her and the child she carried. She felt it—a shield, woven of magic and moonlight, cocooning them in an embrace that no ordinary force could break.
Adrain… had done this?
Did he wield some secret witchery, or had he sought the aid of an enchantress to craft such a talisman? The thought sent her heart racing. This was more than a gift. It was a vow. A silent promise.
The doubts that had gnawed at her before completely melted away like mist before the morning sun. A slow, genuine smile curved her lips—the first in what felt like an eternity. Her fingers curled around the locket, pressing it to her heart.
She had been too harsh. Too doubtful. Perhaps… despite everything, he had been thinking of her and their child all along, to make this custom gift, it meant a lot.
That ember of love fuelled her as Nyma allowed her omega to prepare her for departure before getting ready. Soft layers of fabric draped over her frame, a cascade of gossamer folds that moved with every breath. Her hair, a river of ink, was carefully brushed and smoothed into waves.
Outside, she could hear Kael and Raina murmuring to one another, patient but expectant. The weight of her luggage being loaded onto the cars signaled what she had tried to ignore.
It was time to leave. But Adrain wasn't even here to see her off. The absence cut sharper than she had expected.
Reaching through their bond, she steadied herself, pushing aside the raw edge of longing. Her voice was a whisper of thought, laced with quiet determination.
'Alpha, Where are you?' Nyma mind-linked her Alpha. Silence stretched, thick and unyielding.
Then, finally, Adrain's reply came. 'Good Morning, love! At grounds, training.'
Nyma stilled. Training? Of course. The entire pack would be on the grounds, running their routines, honing their strength. Her fingers tightened around the fabric of her dress, smoothing it absently over the curve of her belly.
Then Nyma's fingers traced the enchanted locket at her throat as she reached through their bond, the silver still humming with protective magic. 'Adrain... about last night. Where were you?'
A pause. Then his mental voice, smooth as aged whiskey but with an unfamiliar hesitation: 'I know I should have returned.'
She waited, her pulse throbbing in her temples.
A pause. Then, his voice came again, slow and measured. 'Lira had too much to drink.'
Nyma stilled mid-step. 'And?'
'She was in bad shape,' he admitted. 'She almost shifted in the middle of the packhouse. I had to calm her down before things got worse.'
Nyma's fingers clenched around 'You stayed with her?'
Another pause.
'She was admitted to the pack infirmary.' His voice was unreadable now. 'I had to make sure she was stable before I left.'
Her heart clenched, cold unease seeping into her veins.
'All night?'
His answer came quieter this time. 'By the time things settled, it was nearly dawn. I figured there was no point in waking you.'
No point in waking her. But at least informing her in the morning. A bitter taste coated Nyma's tongue.
He had spent the night somewhere else. And she was just supposed to accept that?
The warm hope she had cradled that morning—the thought of the locket, the possibility that he had been thinking of her, missing her—cracked at the edges.
She pushed down the sting of disappointment, forced her voice to remain steady. 'I see.'
But she wanted see him before she left and show him the locket she wore. 'Can you come?I'll be leaving shortly.'
This time, his response was immediate, urgent. 'Wait for me. I'll be there once I shower.' Somethings in his tone made her pause as if he needed her to stay.
She exhaled softly, her decision made.
With quiet grace, smoothing the silk over her stomach as she moved toward the waiting vehicle. She greed to wait near the vehicle.
Nyma waited.
Minutes bled into one another, the morning stretching long and silent. The crisp air carried the distant hum of voices, the shuffle of feet, the rhythmic clang of metal as warriors honed their skills beyond the estate. But none of them were him.
Adrain still hadn't come.
A shadow of unease crept in, curling at the edges of her thoughts. Was he truly coming, or had duty taken precedence over her yet again?
Behind her, Kael shifted impatiently.
"Nyma," her brother called, his tone firm but not unkind. "We need to leave now if we want to reach our pack before sundown. The roads aren't safe after dark."
Raina, ever gentle, stepped closer, resting a hand on Nyma's arm. "We can't delay much longer."
She knew they were right. The journey ahead was long, and traveling at night—with the weight of her unborn child pressing at her spine—was an unnecessary risk.
Still, something inside her rebelled against the idea of leaving without seeing him.
She took a slow breath, swallowing the lump of frustration in her throat, before looking up at her brother. "Give me ten more minutes."
Kael's expression hardened, but he nodded. Raina simply sighed, her grip tightening in quiet understanding.
Without waiting for further argument, Nyma turned on her heel and strode toward the training grounds.
If Adrain wouldn't come to her—then she would go to him.
The path to the training grounds was lined with frost-kissed grass, the early morning air crisp against her skin. Nyma moved with purpose, determination fueling each step.
Then—just as she neared the clearing—she heard something that made her stop in her tracks.
A hushed, breathy whisper. A teasing laugh.
Lira.
Nyma's steps faltered. The sound of her husband's voice followed—low, firm, warning.
"Lira, enough."