Bound by the Moon

Chapter 53

Darkness enveloped Astrid, a thick and impenetrable void that stretched endlessly in every direction. Time seemed to lose all meaning. Was she still alive, or was this death—this cold, numbing stillness that clung to her bones? Somewhere, far away, she could hear voices, muffled and distorted as though carried through water. She tried to move, to speak, but her body felt disconnected from her mind, weighed down by invisible chains.

Then, a light—faint and flickering—cut through the darkness. It shimmered at the edges of her vision, growing brighter, warmer. Slowly, awareness began to return, and with it came the weight of her own body, the dull ache in her limbs, the sting of the wounds left behind by the battle.

Astrid stirred, her fingers twitching against something soft. She wasn't on the battlefield anymore. The oppressive weight of the fight, of the energy she had unleashed, was gone. There was warmth here, the comforting scent of pine and earth mingling with the faint trace of smoke. Her eyelids fluttered, heavy and resistant, but she forced them open, blinking against the soft glow of firelight.

She was lying on a bed of furs, the room around her dimly lit by the flickering flames of a fire burning low in the hearth. The familiar shape of a wooden cabin came into focus—Lucien's cabin. She recognized the carved beams overhead, the sturdy walls that had always made her feel safe, grounded.

A soft groan escaped her lips as she tried to sit up, her body protesting with every movement. Pain lanced through her arm, and she glanced down to see the makeshift bandages wrapped around the wound from the rogue leader's claws. It had been cleaned and bound, but the skin still throbbed, raw and tender.

Footsteps approached, and Astrid tensed, instinctively reaching for the power inside her. But before she could summon it, Lucien appeared in the doorway. His face was drawn, his usual composure strained beneath the weight of worry. His dark eyes locked onto hers, and for a moment, relief flickered across his features before he quickly masked it with his typical stoicism.

"You're awake," he said quietly, stepping closer, his voice barely above a whisper, as if he were afraid speaking too loudly would shatter the fragile peace that hung between them.

Astrid nodded, her throat dry, her voice a hoarse rasp when she finally spoke. "How long...?"

"Three days," Lucien replied, his brow furrowed. "You've been in and out of consciousness, but you were too weak to wake fully."

Three days. The words settled heavily in her chest. She had been unconscious for that long? The last thing she remembered was the blinding surge of power, the rogue leader's twisted sneer, and then... nothing. Her heart quickened with the memories of the battle, of the destruction she had caused. Fear lanced through her. What had she done?

Lucien seemed to sense her unease. He crouched beside the bed, his gaze softening as he spoke. "You saved us, Astrid. The rogues... they didn't expect it. That power you unleashed—it turned the tide of the fight."

Astrid swallowed hard, her mind racing to piece together the fragmented memories of the battle. She had felt the power slipping, had felt herself teetering on the edge of losing control. But the aftermath... she didn't know what had happened after the final blast of energy. Her fingers clenched the fur blanket beneath her, her voice trembling as she asked, "Did... did I hurt anyone?"

Lucien hesitated for a heartbeat too long, and her stomach twisted into knots.

"No," he said finally, though the weight of his voice made her question the truth. "The pack is safe. You did what you had to do."

What I had to do. The words echoed in her mind, but they felt hollow. She had lost control, and in that moment, she had become something... dangerous. A weapon. She could still feel the lingering traces of that power deep inside her, coiled and waiting, ready to strike again if she let it.