Chapter 256
Chapter 256
Ellie POV
The packhouse was quieter than usual at night now.
Not empty-never empty-but softer. The kind of quiet that came after long days filled with tension and watchful anticipation. Guards rotated through the halls more frequently, footsteps echoing faintly through stone corridors, but even that had begun to feel routine.
I had learned the rhythms of it.
August and lan were asleep, tucked into their cribs with their favorite blankets, small chests rising and falling in perfect, synchronised calm. I lingered longer than
necessary, brushing a thumb over August’s curls, smoothing the edge of lan’s blanket for the third time.
I hated leaving them, even for a moment.
But Nolan hadn’t come to bed.
I walked down the stairs silently, letting the pull guide me to him.
I felt him before I heard him, the soft sound of his movements through the window. It was a cool night, late, and no one in the packhouse was up besides the guards.
The pull was subtle now-not the desperate ache it once had been, not the painful hollow tug that had defined so much of our marriage. This was quieter. Warmer. A steady awareness that hummed low in my chest.
I wrapped a shawl around my shoulders and slipped out into the back garden.
Nolan stood beneath the lantern light near the old training ting, shirt unbuttoned, sleeves rolled up, his injured arm moving through controlled, deliberate motions.
The muscles in his shoulder flexed and shifted with each movement, scar catching the light briefly before vanishing again as he turned.
I stopped just inside the doorway. I leaned against the frame and tilted my head as I observed his exercises.
I watched him without thinking, without trying to stop myself.
The way he moved was careful but powerful. Focused. He wasn’t pushing himself recklessly-he was rebuilding. Reclaiming strength that had been taken from him.
The sight stirred something low and familiar in my stomach.
Heat curled slowly, lazily, the way it did when I let myself acknowledge what had always been there between us. Not urgency. Not desperation.
Gravity.
Nolan’s wolf stirred. It was strange how I could sense that sometimes. That animal part of him that always seemed to be so aware of me.
I felt it before he turned, the subtle shift in the air between us.
He glanced over his shoulder and smiled faintly. “You’re staring p>
I felt warmth creep into my cheeks. “You’re hard to miss p>
He chuckled, lowering his arm and rolling his shoulder once. “Everything okay p>
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“Yes,” I said. “I just… you weren’t in bed p>
“I didn’t want to wake you,” he replied. “Or the boys p>
I stepped closer, the cool night air brushing against my ski “You could never wake
them. They sleep like you do -like nothing could touch them p>
Something flickered in his eyes at that. Relief, maybe. Or resolve.
“Come here,” he said quietly. It wasn’t a command, it was an invitation.
I did. I drifted to him like I was being pulled by gravity. Nolan moved closer to me, too. The two of us stopping just short of touching.
Up close, I could see the tension still coiled in him, beneath the calm exterior. The way his jaw tightened when he flexed his arm. The way his shoulders stayed squared even when he was at rest.
He was in pain.
My eyes drifted down to his bare chest. His shirt was loose, open wide enough that I could see the scar on the front of his shoulder. It was jagged, pale in the moonlight. A ridge of raised flesh that stood as a reminder of how close I came to losing him.
“You shouldn’t be pushing it,” I murmured, fingers hovering near his scar.
“I’m not,” he said. “I’m listening this time p>
That made me smile. If there was one thing I knew about Nolan, it was his unwavering skepticism of doctors. He always thought they were too cautious, that they exaggerated their care instructions.
But he had been diligent about his recovery, so I chose not to argue the point.
I traced the edge of the healed wound gently, reverently. “I still hurts p>
“Only when I forget myself,” he admitted. “Or when I think too much p>
I laughed softly. “That sounds familiar p>
We stood there for a moment, neither of us rushing to fill the silence. The bond between us felt… different. Not strained. Not aching.
Present.
It made me smile to think about how naturally things had settled between us since
I’d returned. Maybe it was because we’d both given up the expectations we’d once put on one another.
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