Torn Between Destinies

Chapter 29: Chapter Twenty Nine

I sat alone in the quiet of my room, watching the morning light slip through the wooden cracks of the window. The world outside stirred gently—birds singing, footsteps crunching in the snow, life moving on like nothing had changed.

But something had.

Inside me.

At first, I thought it was just exhaustion. My body had been aching for days. My moods swung like a door left unlatched. But it was more than tiredness. Something deeper. Something steady.

A pulse.

Not mine.

I pressed my palm to my lower belly, unsure of what I was even feeling.

Then it hit me.

I didn’t need a healer to tell me. I knew.

I was pregnant.

I stood up slowly, the weight of the truth anchoring my steps. My breath caught in my throat, and I grabbed the edge of the table to steady myself.

A child.

Darius’s child.

The memory of our last fight came rushing back like a tide I couldn’t stop—his silence, the scent of another female on him, the distance in his eyes. The betrayal.

My heart twisted.

But then, I looked down again. And for the first time in days, I didn’t feel hollow.

I felt... full.

A strange warmth spread through my chest. My fingers brushed across my belly, and a tear slipped down my cheek before I could stop it.

"You’re real," I whispered.

I sank to the floor, curling around myself, and let the silence hold me.

This child was growing inside me. A part of me. A part of him.

And somehow, in the middle of my pain, it gave me peace.

---

I walked to the healer’s hut that afternoon, still unsure if I was dreaming. The cold air bit at my cheeks, but I barely noticed. I just needed someone to confirm what my heart already knew.

Mehra was waiting outside, gathering herbs from a basket.

She looked at me and paused. "You’ve come for truth, haven’t you?"

I nodded, unable to speak.

She ushered me inside. The warmth of the fire wrapped around me as she lit candles and motioned for me to lie down.

Her fingers were light but firm as they moved across my belly.

She closed her eyes. "There’s a heartbeat," she said softly.

I felt my own heart thump hard. "I knew it."

She smiled, but there was sadness in her eyes. "You’re carrying life during a storm."

"I know," I whispered.

She sat beside me. "But storms pass. What you do now will shape more than just your own fate."

I nodded slowly. "I’m not just living for myself anymore."

"No," she said. "You’re a mother now. Whether or not you’re ready, that child is holding on."

A pause.

"Have you told anyone?"

"No," I said. "Not yet."

"You’ll need support. Even wolves don’t birth alone."

I nodded, tears pricking at the edge of my eyes.

"Thank you," I said, voice cracking.

She squeezed my hand. "You’ll be stronger than you think."

---

Later, I sat by the river. The same river Darius and I had once swum in, laughing like fools beneath the moonlight. That felt like another lifetime now.

I touched my belly again.

"I don’t know what kind of world I’ll bring you into," I whispered, "but I swear I’ll make it better than the one I had."

The wind rustled the trees like a soft answer.

I thought about the prophecy. About the rituals. About all the risks I had taken. I thought about how Darius hadn’t come looking for me. Not even once.

Maybe he was afraid.

Maybe he didn’t love me anymore.

Or maybe both.

But this baby... this tiny heartbeat... it hadn’t given up on me.

And I wouldn’t give up on it either.

I had let my pain control me for too long. Let my broken heart speak louder than my instincts. But now, something had shifted.

This child would be my anchor.

My reason to fight harder. To live smarter. To be better.

I wasn’t just a Luna or a daughter or a broken mate anymore.

I was a mother.

And that changed everything.

---

When I returned home, Aira was sweeping the floor. Kiani was helping her, humming a soft tune.

I stood in the doorway for a while, watching them, feeling the weight of the moment press against my chest.

"I need to tell you something," I said.

They looked up at me.

Aira’s face shifted quickly—worried first, then calm. She set the broom aside.

"What is it?"

"I’m pregnant."

Her lips parted, but no sound came at first. Then, slowly, she walked to me and pulled me into a hug.

"Oh, Lu..."

Kiani’s eyes widened. "Does that mean I’ll be an aunt?"

I smiled through the tears. "Yes, little one."

She squealed and hugged my waist tightly.

Aira held me for a long time. "You’re not alone," she whispered.

"I know," I said, and this time, I believed it.

---

That night, I lay in bed staring at the ceiling.

So much had changed.

But somehow, I wasn’t afraid anymore.

Even if Darius never came back.

Even if I had to raise this child without him.

I would be okay.

Because I had something precious inside me.

A heartbeat.

A hope.

A future.

And I would protect it with everything I had.

As I drifted to sleep, I felt it again—that tiny pulse inside me.

Steady.

Warm.

Alive.

And I smiled, knowing that no matter what came next, I would never be the same.

I was a mother now.

And that gave me strength.

---

Here is **Chapter 33: A Quiet Truce**, written in Luciana’s first-person POV, with emotional depth, simple sentence structure, and approximately 1500 words:

---

I didn’t plan to see him. Honestly, I’d been avoiding him.

Every day, I’d walk the long way around the northern border just to keep from crossing his path. I didn’t want to face his silence. Or the scent of that other female I could still sometimes smell on the wind.

But the Moon had a cruel way of tying fates together, no matter how far you tried to pull away.

Today, he stood just outside the training grounds, alone.

His back was to me. Shoulders tense. He didn’t turn when I stepped into view.

"Darius," I said.

His head lifted slightly. Then he turned.

His eyes met mine—and for a moment, the world felt too loud. Like my heartbeat was echoing off the trees.

"Luciana," he said. His voice was rough. Low.

I took a breath and walked toward him, slow and careful, like I was approaching a wounded animal—or maybe I was the wounded one.

We stood a few feet apart. Too close, too far. Somewhere between what we were and what we’d become.

"You wanted to talk," I said.

He nodded. "I didn’t think you’d come."

"I didn’t think you’d ask."

Silence stretched between us. Heavy. Uneasy.

"I heard about the pregnancy," he said.

Of course he had.

Wolves talk. Packs know everything eventually.

"I didn’t tell you because I didn’t know how," I said.

His jaw tightened. "Is it mine?"

I blinked. "What?"

"I just... I had to ask. After everything."

I took a step back, something in me recoiling. "Yes. It’s yours."

His face shifted, relief flashing before guilt swallowed it.

"I’m sorry," he said. "That I even questioned it."

"You think I would lie about this?" I asked, voice shaking.

"No. Not really. But I’ve been... lost."

I looked away, the pain in my chest stirring again. "So was I. But I didn’t betray you."

He flinched. "I never meant to. I swear to the Moon, Luciana... I didn’t sleep with her."

I turned my head slowly, meeting his eyes again. "Then why didn’t you deny it that night?"

"Because I didn’t think it would matter," he said. "You were already looking at me like I was filth. Like I wasn’t worth defending."

My mouth parted, but I didn’t know what to say.

"I was afraid," he went on. "Of what we were becoming. Of what you were turning into."

His words cut deep, but not as deep as they once would’ve.

"What I was turning into?" I asked.

"You weren’t the same after the ritual. After bringing Aira and Kiani back. You were... distant. Obsessed with prophecy. You barely saw me anymore."

"I was fighting to keep our family together," I said.

"I know," he said softly. "And I didn’t help. I let my pride rot us from the inside."

I crossed my arms, unsure if I was trying to protect myself or just keep from falling apart again.

"She kissed me," he said. "The female. I didn’t stop her fast enough, and the scent lingered. That’s all it was."

"Why didn’t you tell me?" I asked.

"Because I was ashamed. And angry. And I thought... maybe you didn’t want to hear the truth."

"Well, I did."

He looked at me, truly looked at me, and I saw the man I’d fallen in love with hiding behind tired eyes.

"I still love you," he said.

The words hit me like a whisper against a bruise. Gentle. Painful.

"I never stopped."

I bit the inside of my cheek. I wanted to scream. To cry. To believe him. To run.

Instead, I said, "I’m carrying your child."

"I know."

He stepped closer. Just one step. Careful.

"I want to be there," he said. "If you’ll let me."

I studied his face, trying to see if the sincerity was real. It looked like it was. But I had been wrong before.

"You broke something," I whispered. "In me. In us."

"I know," he said. "And I can’t fix it with words."

"No," I agreed. "You can’t."

We stood in silence again. But this time, it wasn’t sharp. It was just... quiet.

Then he said, "I don’t expect us to go back. Not today. Maybe not ever. But I need you to know that I never stopped being yours. Even when I didn’t deserve to be."

My throat closed up.

"I don’t know if I can trust you," I said. "But I’m tired of fighting."

His eyes softened. "Then let’s stop. Just for a little while."

I gave a small, bitter laugh. "You mean a truce?"

"Yeah," he said. "A quiet one."

I nodded slowly.

"We can start there," I said. "But I won’t promise more than that."

"I’m not asking for more," he replied. "Just... let me stand beside you again. Even if it’s from a distance."

My fingers rested on my belly. The child stirred, just a flutter—but it felt like a nudge from the Moon herself.

"I’ll need help," I admitted.

"I’ll be here," he said, voice steady. "Not as your mate. Not yet. Just... as the father. And maybe, someday, more."

I didn’t reply. I just let the words hang there, like the pale sunlight breaking through the clouds above us.

A quiet truce.

That’s all we had.

But maybe it was enough for now.

Maybe healing started in small, broken pieces—held gently between two people who still remembered how to love.

Even if they’d forgotten how to say it.