The mirror no longer showed her face.
A massive white wolf stood in its place, golden eyes fixed on her with unsettling intelligence.
The fur looked thick enough to disappear a hand in.
When the wolf tilted its head, Rosella felt an answering pull deep in her chest—a sudden, sharp burn, like something long dormant had just opened its eyes.
She stepped closer.
The wolf stepped closer too.
She lifted her hand.
The wolf raised one heavy paw and pressed it against the glass from the other side, perfectly matching her movement.
Her breath caught.
She had spent her entire life wolf-less.
Omegas like her were not supposed to have one.
The absence had been a quiet shame she carried through childhood, through every full moon when other children shifted and she remained human and small.
Now a wolf stared back at her—powerful, ancient-looking, and somehow hers.
Or Colette’s.
She wasn’t sure which truth was more terrifying.
“Colette?” she whispered.
The golden eyes blinked once.
“How is this possible?” Rosella’s voice came out thinner than she wanted.
“I don’t understand.
How can you be here?” The answer rose from inside her own mind, calm and slightly strained.
I am not entirely sure either.
Rosella’s fingers curled against the glass.
“You’ve been here the whole time.” Yes… and no.
“What does that mean?” A pause.
When the voice returned, it sounded weaker, as if speaking cost something.
We are still too weak to hold two souls for long.
I cannot stay.
The white wolf’s form began to fade at the edges, gold eyes dimming.
“Wait—” Rosella pressed both palms flat against the mirror.
“Don’t go.
I have questions.
About the curse, about the people who killed you, about why I’m—” The reflection shimmered.
Then it was only her own face again, Colette’s silver hair, Colette’s violet eyes, Colette’s sharp cheekbones staring back in the quiet room.
Rosella stood there long after the wolf disappeared, heart still racing, the burn in her chest slowly fading to a dull ache.
For the first time in her life she had felt the presence of a wolf.
And it had spoken with another woman’s voice.
She did not sleep that night.
.
.
Morning light found her already dressed, sitting on the edge of the bed with her hands clasped tightly in her lap.
The silver robe she had pulled on felt too light.
Everything felt too light after what she had seen.
A knock sounded at the door, then came again, louder.
Rosella rose and opened it.
Elias stood in the hallway, leather jacket neat, hand resting near the hilt of his sword out of habit.
His eyes flicked over her once, widening a fraction before he smoothed his expression.
“Good morning, Alpha.” “Good morning, Elias.” He studied her face a moment longer than necessary.
“You seem… different these past few days.” She managed a small smile.
“I’m about to secure my life.
Literally.
How could I not be in a better mood?” Elias gave a short nod, though something thoughtful lingered in his gaze.
“I suppose that calls for the occasional smile.” Rosella wasn’t sure what he meant by that, so she only kept the smile in place.
“The servants will be here shortly to help you prepare,” he continued.
“I’ve arranged the carriage.
We leave after breakfast.” “So soon?” The words left her before she could stop them.
She had hoped for more time.
Marcus had been here.
Marcus was connected to Henrik somehow.
Leaving now felt like walking away from the first real thread she had found.
Elias raised one brow.
“Soon?
Your standing policy is never to remain more than a single night in unfamiliar territory.” “This is different,” she said carefully.
“He’s… my future husband.
I’ll be here often enough.
I might as well begin getting used to it.” Elias stared at her for a beat.
Then the corner of his mouth twitched.
“Who are you,” he said mildly, “and what have you done with Alpha Colette?” Rosella’s stomach dropped.
“It was a joke, Alpha.” “Of course.” She forced another smile, though her pulse had picked up.
Four days.
She had known this man for four conscious days, and he already noticed the cracks.
“Besides,” Elias added, “you have meetings scheduled from sunrise tomorrow through the rest of the week.
Bloodmoon business does not pause.” Meetings.
Pack politics.
The kind of rooms her father used to sit in, the kind her stepfather had poisoned from the inside.
She had never cared for them as Rosella.
As Colette, she was expected to command them.
She would have to rely on whatever fragments of memory still surfaced.
They had grown quieter since the first day.
“We’ll stay for breakfast at least,” she said.
Elias inclined his head and left.
**** The servants arrived twenty minutes later.
They prepared her bath in silence, helped her into a dark tailored dress that felt more like armor than clothing, and pinned her silver-white hair back with practiced hands.
Rosella watched her reflection the entire time, half-expecting the white wolf to appear again.
It did not.
A tall, bald man in his late forties—Bruce, the butler arrived to escort her downstairs.
He was built like a warrior who had retired into service.
When she thanked him, he looked briefly startled, then bowed deeper than necessary.
Elias waited at the entrance to the dining hall.
His expression was unreadable as she approached.
“I was just coming to get you.” “I made a friend,” she said lightly, glancing back at Bruce.
Elias’s gaze followed hers.
“The butler.” “He’s polite.” Elias said nothing, only offered his arm and walked her inside.
A high, delighted squeal cut through the morning quiet.
Laura came flying across the polished floor, black curls bouncing, silver-grey eyes bright.
Behind her, Henrik’s voice rang out in warning.
“Laura!” The little girl ignored him completely.
She skidded to a stop in front of Rosella and stretched both arms up without hesitation.
Rosella’s chest tightened.
She bent and lifted the child easily.
Laura smelled like soap and something sweet.
Her small arms locked around Rosella’s neck as if she had done it a hundred times.
“You’re still here!” Laura said, delighted.
“I am.” Rosella adjusted her hold.
“You look beautiful today, princess.” “Papa got me this dress.
He says it makes me look like a real princess.” “He’s right.
You do.” Laura giggled, pressing her cheek against Rosella’s.
The sound was bright and unguarded.
Around them, the dining hall had gone noticeably quieter.
Rosella felt the weight of multiple stares but kept her attention on the child in her arms.
For a few precious seconds the rest of the room faded.
Henrik stood as she approached the table.
His mouth was a thin line.
“Good morning, Alpha Colette.” “Good morning, Alpha Henrik.
Lovely day, isn’t—” The words died.
Across the hall, near the entrance to the kitchens, a familiar figure stepped into view.
Marcus Dune.
He carried nothing, he simply stood there for a moment, as if he belonged, and when his eyes found hers he smiled—small, knowing, and completely at ease.
Rosella’s arms tightened around Laura on instinct.
Marcus held her gaze for one long second longer, then turned and disappeared through the kitchen doorway as if he had never been there at all.