“Was it?” She meets my eyes, vulnerability raw and beautiful.
My wolf surges forward, craving her closeness. “Siena, I-”
“Don’t,” she whispers, but she doesn’t move away when I step closer. “Please don’t say things you’ll take back tomorrow.”
“I never should have taken them back the first time,” I confess, my voice breaking as I reach for her hand. “I’ve missed you. Every day, every minute–I’ve missed you like breathing.”
Her fingers tighten around mine, tears gathering in her eyes. “Raiden…”
The potato soup boils over, hissing against the hot stove, but neither of us moves to save it.
For the first time, I don’t deny or deflect the intensity of my feelings. I allow myself to fully experience them–love, longing, regret–without prideful protection or stubborn avoidance.
“Siena,” I whisper softly, my heart pounding fiercely as courage gathers slowly inside my chest. She glances up curiously, her amber eyes gentle yet guarded, waiting patiently for the words I desperately wish to speak.
“I–I want you to know…” My voice falters softly, vulnerability trembling dangerously beneath the surface. The confession of love rises swiftly to my lips, yet something holds me back–recognition that mere words cannot repair years of damage, cannot fully heal wounds I’ve inflicted.
Instead, carefully, I shift toward genuine curiosity about the life she’s built without me. “Tell me about your itarian work,” I ask softly, sincerity clear in my tone. “I’ve heard others praise your efforts, but I’d like to understand more.”
Surprise flickers gently across Siena’s features, quickly replaced by quiet appreciation when I ask about her international work.
“It started in Geneva,” she begins softly, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “Just a three–month assignment, but then…” “Then what?” I prompt, leaning forward.
“Then I saw what was actually happening on the ground.” Her eyes meet mine, something tentative in her gaze. “These weren’t just statistics in reports. They were families, children, entire communities devastated.”
I nod, encouraging her to continue.
“We built seven refugee centers along the border,” she says, her voice growing stronger. “Not just shelters, but places with schools, medical facilities, counseling services.”
“That must have been challenging,” I offer, genuinely fascinated.
“The politics were brutal,” she admits with a small laugh. “But watching a mother who’d lost everything find her footing again…” Her hands gesture expressively. “There’s nothing like it, Raiden. Nothing.”
“Tell me about the children’s program,” I ask, remembering the photos I’d seen.
Her face transforms, lighting up completely. “You remembered that? It was my heart project. We created safe spaces where children could just be children again, even in the midst of chaos.”
“Of course I remembered,” I say quietly.
She pauses, studying my face. “You really want to hear all this?”
“I want to hear everything, Siena.”
Her voice grows animated, passionate, sharing stories of lives touched, hope restored. Watching her speak, pride and admiration swell softly inside my chest.
How had I ever dismissed her ideas, her wisdom, her worth?
“You’re remarkable,” I admit quietly when she finishes, sincerity resonating clearly through my voice. “I’m sorry I didn’t recognize that sooner.”
The quiet intimacy of honest conversation settles gently between us, fragile yet beautiful.
Eventually, the storm finally begins easing outside, rain softening gently as dawn approaches. Siena rises slowly, stretching carefully, moving quietly toward the cabin door, gazing thoughtfully toward the clearing sky.
“I should return,” she murmurs softly, turning back toward me, expression carefully neutral. “I still plan to depart Windhowl
soon.”
Her words pierce sharply, and panic rises swiftly inside me. Despite our honest conversation and connection, she still
intends to leave.
Yet doubts linger stubbornly, uncertainty holding me hesitantly frozen. Siena gathers belongings quietly, preparing carefully to step outside, to leave this fragile intimacy behind.
2/3
#Chapter 89: Thunder of the Heart
I step forward impulsively before hesitation can halt me again.
“Siena, wait,” I call softly, voice raw with urgency. She pauses curiously, glancing back quietly, eyes wide with cautious hope.
I swallow roughly, gathering courage fully, heart hammering fiercely. “Please–stay. Not just for the pack business or obligation, but because I want you here. Because Silverfang isn’t home without you.”
“Raiden, I-”
“It’s alright, you don’t need to answer now. Just…think about it. Please.”
She nods slowly, eyes shimmering softly, gratitude mingling gently with quiet uncertainty.
Carefully, Siena steps outside, moving silently back toward Windhowl, leaving me alone in fragile silence that I do not regret.
