Double Trouble, Triple Heat

Chapter 23

Sera’s POV

Days blur into grief and recovery.

The dead are burned according to pack tradition—massive pyres that light up the night sky, sending souls to whatever waits beyond. Wolves who fell defending their home. The few hunters who turned against their own, choosing conscience over loyalty in those final moments.

I watch the flames climb toward the stars and feel nothing. Then everything. Then nothing again.

Grief is strange. It comes in waves—crashing over me when I least expect it, then retreating to leave me hollow and numb.

I bury Robert alone.

At the edge of Blackwood territory, where the pack's land meets the wild forest beyond. Not among wolves—he was never truly one of us. Not among hunters—he betrayed them in the end. Between worlds, where he lived and died. Where he belongs.

I dig the grave myself, despite Dominic's protests. My hands blister and bleed, but I need the physical pain. Need something real to anchor me while I try to make sense of everything I've learned.

My father killed my mother. My father saved my life. Both things are true. Neither cancels the other out.

When the grave is filled, I stand over the fresh earth and try to find words. They won't come. So I just say the only thing that matters:

"I forgive you, Dad. I don't know if I should. But I do."

The wind stirs the trees. It feels like an answer.

My power is changing me rapidly now.

The healing I did on Caspian wasn't a fluke—I can feel all the pack bonds now, a web of golden light spreading out from my chest. I can strengthen them, soothe pain from a distance.

When a young wolf breaks his leg during rebuilding, I lay my hands on him and watch the bone knit back together in minutes.

But it costs me. I absorb what I heal—his pain becoming mine, echoing through my body until it fades. The pack's collective grief presses against my consciousness like a weight I can't set down.

Eldric calls me to his cabin on the fourth day.

His home is a chaos of ancient texts and strange artifacts—bones and herbs and things I can't identify. He sits in a worn chair, milky eyes somehow finding mine despite his blindness.

"Prime abilities are amplification," he says without preamble. "You make others stronger. Heal their wounds. Strengthen their bonds. But it costs you—you absorb their pain, their fear, their grief." He pauses. "You've been drowning in the pack's emotions without understanding why."

"I thought I was just... sad."

"You are sad. You're also carrying the sadness of everyone around you." He reaches for an ancient book, pages yellowed with age. "There's something else you should know. About why your wolf never emerged until now."

I lean forward. "I thought it was the pregnancy. The bond."

"Those broke the spell. But the spell came first." He opens the book to a page covered in symbols I don't recognize. "When you were born, you showed signs of being a Prime—even more powerful than your mother. Your grandmother, Lena's mother, came to Robert in secret after Lena died."

"My grandmother? I never knew her."

"She didn't trust the hunter who'd driven her daughter away. But she wanted to protect her granddaughter from a world that would destroy you for power you didn't know you had." Eldric traces the symbols with one gnarled finger. "She found a witch. Paid dearly for a binding spell—one that would suppress your wolf entirely. Make you appear fully human."

"Why?"

"To protect you. From hunters who'd kill you for being half-wolf. From wolves who'd use you for your Prime blood. From the supernatural world that would tear you apart for power you couldn't control." He closes the book.

"The spell was meant to last your entire life. But your grandmother couldn't have predicted you'd return to Silverpine Falls. Couldn't have predicted the tri-bond, or the pregnancy."

"So the pregnancy started breaking it—"

"And the mating bond shattered it completely." His milky eyes seem to glow. "Your wolf was always there, Sera. Just sleeping. Waiting for the right moment to wake."

I think about all those years feeling incomplete. Like something was missing that I couldn't name. My wolf, locked away, trying to reach me through dreams I couldn't remember.

"My grandmother did this to protect me," I say slowly. "And it worked. I survived. But now..."

"Now you're awake. And more powerful than anyone anticipated." Eldric reaches out, places a papery hand over mine. "The pack will need you. Your mates will need you. Your children will need you. But you must learn to shield yourself, or the weight of everyone's pain will crush you."

I leave his cabin with more questions than answers. But at least I understand now why I feel like I'm drowning.

Dominic finds me crying in our room that evening.

He doesn't ask questions—just wraps his arms around me and pulls me against his chest. His heartbeat is steady beneath my ear. His strength is a wall between me and the world.

"I've got you," he murmurs. "Whatever it is, I've got you."

Later, Caspian curls around me from behind. His lips find my shoulder, my neck, the soft spot behind my ear. Gentle touches that don't demand anything—just offer comfort.

"Whatever you're feeling," he whispers, "let us carry some of it. That's what we're here for."

The triad is my anchor in the storm. Their love holds me together when everything else wants to fall apart.

Luna stays close in the days that follow.

She helps with practical matters—organizing rebuilding efforts, coordinating patrols, handling the thousand small crises that come with recovering from war. She doesn't push for emotional connection, but she's present. Steady. Reliable in ways I never expected.

"I think we're friends now," she says one evening, awkward and uncertain. "If you want."

I look at this woman who once hated me. Who saved my life in the tunnels. Who fought beside me when everything fell apart.

"I think we are."

She almost smiles. Almost.

The pack begins rebuilding.

Dominic is different in the aftermath—less autocratic, more willing to listen. He starts consulting others before making decisions, sharing the weight of leadership instead of carrying it alone. The pack responds, stepping up in ways they never did before.

"You're changing," I tell him one night.

"You changed me." He pulls me closer. "You and Cas. I spent so long thinking leadership meant being untouchable. Invulnerable. But that's not strength—it's just loneliness."

Not soon after, we got the news that Joseph survived.

They found him in the forest after the battle, trying to crawl away with Dominic's bite marks still fresh on his arm. The wound went septic before they could treat it. He lost everything below the elbow.

Now he sits in a cell beneath the lodge, broken in body and spirit. His face bears my claw marks—four deep scars that will never heal. His eyes hold nothing but hate.

The question of what to do with him divides the pack. Some want death. Some want to hand him over to human authorities. Some want to keep him locked away forever.

I visit his cell alone.

He looks up when I enter—this man who stalked me, who orchestrated the death of wolves, who tried to destroy everything I love. He's pathetic now. Broken. A ruined shell of the predator he thought he was.

"You wanted to own me," I say. "Look at you now."

He spits at my feet. Even defeated, his hatred burns. "Your children will be hunted. Every hunter in the world will know what they are. You think this is over? It's just beginning."

I should feel rage. Fear. Something.

Instead, I just feel tired.

"Then we'll be ready."

I walk away. He's not worth my rage anymore. Not worth anything at all.

That night, I lie between Dominic and Caspian, their warmth surrounding me on both sides. The baby kicks against my ribs—stronger now, more insistent. Almost ready.

"I love you," I whisper into the darkness. "Both of you. Whatever comes next, I need you to know that."

"We know," Dominic murmurs against my hair.

"We love you too," Caspian adds, hand resting on my belly. "All of you. Always."

I close my eyes, letting their presence anchor me.

Then I feel it.

A tightening low in my belly. Sharp. Wrong.

"Something's—" I gasp as pain radiates through me. "Something's happening."

I try to sit up, and liquid gushes between my legs, soaking the sheets.

My water just broke.

"The babies," I manage, terror cutting through everything else. "They're coming. Dominic, they're coming now."

"It's too early," Caspian says, already moving. "You're not due for weeks—"

Another contraction hits, harder than the first, and I cry out.

The babies are coming. Weeks too early. Far too fast.

And there's nothing any of us can do to stop it.