POV Eva
Two years.
It's strange how time moves when you're living outside of it. Days blur into weeks, weeks into months, until suddenly you look up and realize two whole years have passed since everything changed.
I stand at the window of our cabin, my son warm and heavy against my chest. He's sleeping now, finally, his small fist curled in the fabric of my shirt.
The morning light catches the dark hair that's begun to thicken on his head—my coloring, but with something of his father in the shape of his brow.
His biological father. The man whose name he carries.
Soren.
We named him that because some debts can only be paid in memory.
The cabin is quiet around us, filled with the sounds of a life carefully built from nothing. Dominic's footsteps creak on the porch outside, where he's been chopping wood since dawn.
The fire crackles in the hearth. Wind whispers through the ancient pines that surround our hidden home.
This is our world now. Small. Simple. Safe.
For the moment.
Little Soren stirs against me, making the soft sounds of a baby fighting sleep. I press my lips to his forehead, breathing in the scent of him—milk and warmth and the faint musk of wolf that's already beginning to develop beneath his skin.
His wolf will come someday. I wonder if it will be white like his father's, or brown like Dominic's, or something entirely his own.
I wonder so many things about who he'll become.
The door opens, and Dominic enters with an armload of firewood. He's broader than he was two years ago, muscles built from the daily labor of survival.
A scar runs along his forearm now, a hunting accident from last winter, but his eyes are the same. Warm. Steady. Full of love when they find me and our son.
"He's sleeping?" Dominic keeps his voice low, setting the wood by the hearth.
"Finally." I shift the baby's weight, my arms aching pleasantly. "He fought it for an hour."
Dominic crosses to us, his calloused hand gentle as it cups our son's head. We stand together in the morning light—a family forged through fire and loss and impossible choices.
It's more than I ever dared to hope for.
"I'll take him." Dominic lifts the sleeping child from my arms with practiced ease, settling him against his shoulder. Little Soren doesn't wake—just burrows deeper into his father's warmth.
Not his biological father. But his father in every way that matters.
I watch them for a moment—Dominic swaying gently, one hand spread across our son's back, humming something low and tuneless. The sight fills my heart until it aches.
But shadows linger at the edges, as they always do.
Word reached us six months ago, carried through whispers from rogues and packless wolves who pass through the territories.
Soren, the other Soren, the one who gave his life for our freedom, died that night. Khalil killed him at the tunnel exit, after we escaped.
The news shattered me.
I spent weeks in a fog of grief and guilt, barely able to function. Dominic held me through the worst of it, letting me cry against his chest, never once suggesting I shouldn't mourn the man who fathered my child.
Because that's who Soren was to me, in the end. Not a rival. Not a claim. Just a man who loved me enough to let me go. Who fought until his last breath to buy us time.
I named our son after him. It's the only tribute I can offer—a living reminder that his sacrifice meant something.
I still mourn him. Still carry the weight of his death like a stone in my chest. Some nights I dream of pale eyes and white fur, of the last glance we shared before he told me to run.
Tell them their father wanted them to be happy.
I will. When little Soren is old enough to understand, I'll tell him everything. About the man whose name he carries. About the courage it takes to love someone enough to set them free.
I think often of Matteo and Sebastian too.
Matteo, with his dark humor and unexpected tenderness. The predator who became a protector. I wonder where he is now—probably navigating some political catastrophe with that sharp mind and sharper tongue.
Sebastian, golden and kind, who offered help despite his broken heart. He could have turned bitter. Could have let his hurt curdle into hatred. Instead, he risked everything to save the woman who'd lied to him.
I miss them. Both of them. I wish I could thank them properly, could tell them what their friendship meant during the darkest time of my life.
But contact is impossible.
Our escape was deemed political treason. My disappearance, combined with Soren's death and the princes' involvement, caused a diplomatic catastrophe that's still reverberating through the territories.
The Aldridge pack and the Northern pack stand on the brink of war. Matteo's family has distanced themselves from the scandal. Sebastian's pack is caught in the middle, trying to maintain neutrality.
Any attempt to reach them would endanger everyone involved.
So I stay silent. Stay hidden. Let them believe I've disappeared forever, if that keeps them safe.
Some nights, though, I lie awake and send wishes into the darkness. Be well. Be happy. Know that I remember everything you did for me.
And then there's Khalil.
His final words still echo in my nightmares—not a threat, but a promise. Run as long as you want, princess, but you won't be able to hide for long!
I know he meant it. Know that somewhere out there, the gentle prince who became a monster is still hunting. Still waiting. His pride won't let this go. His cruelty won't rest until he's finished what he started.
Peace won't last forever. I've always known that.
Dominic knows it too. We don't speak of it often, but I see the way he scans the tree line when he thinks I'm not watching. The way he's trained himself to sleep lightly, to wake at the slightest sound.
We've built a beautiful life here, but it's built on borrowed time.
Someday, the debt will come due.
Dominic settles into the rocking chair by the fire, our son still sleeping against his chest. He catches my eye and smiles—that quiet smile that says everything words can't.
I love you. We're safe. This is enough.
I move to join them, perching on the arm of the chair, my hand finding Dominic's where it rests on our son's back. Little Soren sleeps on, oblivious to the weight of history pressing down on his small shoulders.
Oblivious to the sacrifices made for his existence.
This is what we fought for. This moment. This peace, however temporary. This chance to build something real before the wolves come howling at our door.
And when they do come, because they will, I can feel it in my bones like an approaching storm, I won't run.
Not this time.
I'll fight. For my son. For Dominic. For the memory of everyone who sacrificed to give us this chance.
I owe them that much. I owe Soren that much.
The man who died so we could live. The prince who loved me enough to let me go.
Dominic's hand turns beneath mine, our fingers intertwining. Outside, wind stirs the ancient pines. Inside, the fire crackles and our son breathes soft and steady against his father's chest.
Difficult times are coming. But we'll face them together.
And whatever happens next, I'll make sure his sacrifice wasn't in vain.
Rest well, Soren, I think, sending the words into the silence. We'll make you proud.
The morning light grows stronger through the window.
And despite everything, the shadows and the threats and the uncertain future, I find myself at peace.
Even though I’m not sure how long this peace will last.