Torn Between Two Wolves

Theron did not return to the den until the pale light of dawn filtered through the trees. When he finally stepped inside, he began at once, as though eager to justify himself. “Jesse burned with fever the entire night. The heat would not leave his body.”

Jesse—the cub of Isolde. To me, that name sounded like wind passing through an unfamiliar forest.

“Is he well now?” I asked evenly after a brief nod. “Why did you not remain longer? It must be difficult for Isolde to tend a sick cub alone.”

He paused while unfastening his cloak, irritation flashing across his face. “Are you mocking me again?” He let out a long breath, heavy with exhaustion. Whether it was genuine or merely an act, I could not tell. “I did not close my eyes all night. I am weary.”

“Then rest,” I replied calmly. “I am leaving for the healer’s hut.”

I turned to gather my satchel.

“Mira…” He reached out and held my wrist.

“What is it?”

“We will celebrate our anniversary another time,” he said. “I promise.”

A faint smile touched my lips, though no warmth lived behind it. “I am not angered.”

He studied me for a moment before pulling me into his arms. The embrace felt hollow, like an oath spoken without the Moon Goddess’ blessing. He rested his chin lightly against my hair. “There is a gathering with the company this coming weekend,” he murmured. “Come with me.”

Theron’s lineage was far more respected than mine. He was born within this territory, while I remained only because our marriage bound me here after graduation from the healer’s circle. His companions and acquaintances regarded me with little interest.

Though they seldom spoke to me directly, they frequently sought my assistance for minor ailments, knowing I served at the healer’s hall. In earlier days, I would carry herbs to Theron whenever he suffered discomfort, yet he never introduced me to his comrades as his mate.

Returning to myself, I answered, “I may need to remain at the hall for extra duties that day.”

He tightened his jaw. “Suit yourself.”

I did not attend. Still, I did not expect him to bring Isolde in my stead.

While I copied records under the lamplight, my phone began to hum repeatedly. When I opened it, I discovered I had been placed in a group message concerning the pack’s gathering.

Images from the event flooded the thread. Many featured Isolde smiling brightly among Theron’s colleagues, fitting in as though she belonged there.

In one scene, Theron lifted her into his arms and carried her across the meadow as part of a game. She clung to his neck, her cheek resting against his chest. Had she tilted her face slightly higher, their lips might have met.

The group erupted in praise. They tagged both of them, calling them a destined pair. Given Theron’s standing within the pack’s enterprise, the others rushed to flatter him, one comment after another declaring how well suited they were.

Since I had been included in the circle, ignoring it would have seemed improper. So I followed the others and typed two simple words: Well matched. I even added a clapping symbol to blend with the rest.

After sending it, I left the thread and silenced the device. When I completed the records, darkness had already settled over the forest.

Later, I retrieved my phone and saw that Theron had attempted to reach me many times. His messages were stacked one upon another, urgent yet unread in the quiet night.