Falling For The Demon Wolf-Chapter 68: Shift In Destiny

I turned at Garrick’s words, my fingers tightening around the leather-bound book.

"You may need your mate sooner than you expect."

There was something beneath his voice—low and deliberate—like he knew more than he was letting on. A warning cloaked in care. A thread meant to pull at my already tangled thoughts.

My chest tightened. I nodded once, not trusting myself to speak, and stepped out of the tent.

The air outside was sharp, laced with woodsmoke and cold pine. The fire pits scattered across the camp crackled to life, casting long shadows between the tents. Somewhere nearby, children laughed. A dog barked. And for a brief, disoriented moment, it almost felt like peace.

But that one sentence wouldn’t leave me.

You may need your mate.

I clutched the book to my chest, the pendant beneath my shirt warm against my skin, like it had fused to me—become a part of my heartbeat.

Back in my tent, I lit a small lantern, its glow soft and flickering, and sat cross-legged on the furs. I opened the book. The pages were thick, worn, and filled with neat, looping handwriting that looked older than time.

"The Sight chooses blood that remembers. Pain awakens it. Purpose shapes it."

The words felt as if they’d been written for me.

I traced them with my fingers, but the ink began to blur. Not from wear. From my vision.

My head throbbed suddenly, a pulse right behind my eyes. Then my stomach turned—violent and hot—and I barely made it outside before I dropped to my knees and vomited into the earth.

The cold air did nothing to soothe me. I stayed there, hunched and trembling, until my body gave me back control. My hands dug into the dirt as if grounding myself would stop the spinning.

This wasn’t the first time I’d felt off, but this was the worst of it. The last few days, I’d blamed the exhaustion, the change in food, the stress of adjusting to this new world—but this? This was something else.

I rinsed my mouth with water from a nearby barrel, heart still pounding.

Inside the tent again, I curled into myself, trying to breathe through the queasy rolling in my gut. My hand drifted to my lower stomach without thinking, pressing gently against the ache there.

It hit me like a slow, burning dawn.

It’s been weeks.

Weeks since Zain.

Since the night I left without looking back.

A shaky breath slipped from me, and I closed my eyes, memory flashing hot and vivid—the press of his body against mine, the mark he left, the way we clung to each other like the world could end by morning.

Now, it felt like something had begun instead.

I’m not just changing because of Liora’s gift.

A quiet knock at the flap of my tent startled me.

"Violet?" Maelra’s voice, gruff but concerned. "You alright in there?"

I swallowed thickly. "Yeah. Just—something I ate."

She didn’t push. "If you’re up to it, come help with the washing later."

"Okay."

Her footsteps faded.

I lay back, staring up at the worn canvas above me. The fire outside crackled again. I felt it under my skin now—everything changing, shifting, stretching into something new.

I wasn’t ready.

But if Garrick was right... if my grandmother had seen the future...

Then maybe some part of her knew I’d carry more than her gift.

I didn’t sleep that night.

Every time I closed my eyes, my body reminded me—tightened muscles, a flutter in my stomach, waves of nausea that came and went like the tide. I blamed the food. The stress. The strange energy curling through my veins since Garrick handed me that pendant. But even in the silence, when there were no excuses left, a single thought gnawed at me.

It’s been weeks.

And the mark Zain left still hummed beneath my skin, no matter how hard I tried to forget it.

I hadn’t bled.

Not since the night I turned my back on the people I had come to accept as my family.

I stared at the ceiling of the tent until the stars faded.

By morning, the sickness had dulled, replaced by a strange hollowness in my gut and a haze behind my eyes. I moved through the camp like someone wearing their own skin too loosely.

Maelra caught me when I was carrying a basin of soaked laundry toward the fire to dry.

"Violet Stop," she said, her voice like gravel, but her hand surprisingly gentle as it closed around my wrist. "You’re shaking."

"I’m fine," I muttered, even though my knees had started to buckle. I hadn’t eaten yet, and the steam from the boiling pot was already turning my stomach again.

Her eyes narrowed. "You’re pale as bone, and you nearly dropped that basin twice. You been sleeping?"

"Not much."

"Eating?"

I hesitated. "Trying."

She stared at me for a long, measured beat. Then without a word, she took the basin from my hands and dumped it beside the fire. "Sit," she ordered.

I didn’t argue. I couldn’t.

I sank onto a flat stone, rubbing my hands over my arms, chilled even with the heat of the flames licking at my boots.

Maelra crouched in front of me, her face worn and weathered but her eyes sharp. She studied me like she was sizing up an injury.

"You sick?" she asked.

"I... don’t know."

"Fever?"

"No."

"Pain?"

"No. Just tired. Nauseous."

She didn’t say anything for a while, just watched me like she was waiting for me to say the rest. When I didn’t, she leaned back on her heels.

"Been sick more than once?" she asked.

I nodded faintly. "Twice now. Maybe three."

"Stomach?"

"Mostly in the morning."

She made a soft, thoughtful sound in the back of her throat. Not judgment. Not shock. Just understanding.

"You’ve been with a man?" she asked, blunt as ever.

The words hit like cold water.

I didn’t answer, because I didn’t need to. I have a mate which they all knew immediately I stepped foot into the camp.

"Hm," Maelra grunted. "Might be nothing. Could just be the camp food. But you should watch the days."

"I have," I whispered. "That’s the problem."

She straightened up slowly. "You need anything... herbs, tea, a midwife to talk to—just ask. We don’t turn our backs on our own here."

I swallowed hard. "But I’m not one of you."

"Could’ve fooled me." She nodded toward the fire. "Half the camp already thinks of you as one of ours. You work harder than most and complain less than all."

Her gaze softened then, just slightly.

"Even if you are carrying something," she said carefully, "you don’t need to decide what to do yet. Not today."

I felt the heat rise in my chest, not from shame—but from something more fragile. Gratitude.

"Thank you," I murmured.

Maelra waved a hand like she couldn’t be bothered with feelings. "Don’t thank me until I get you a proper tonic. And sit still for once in your life."

She marched off, calling something over her shoulder to one of the other women about fresh herbs. I stayed by the fire, hands wrapped around my knees, feeling the weight of it all settle deep in my bones.

A child.

Maybe.

Maybe not.

But even the suspicion had changed the shape of the world.

I touched the spot just below my navel and breathed out slowly.

The forest no longer felt like the only thing waking inside me.

And suddenly, Zain’s absence became unbearable.

The pull I’d felt in my chest all night—like a tether snapping taut—had a name now.

Mate.

Father.

He didn’t know. And I didn’t know how long I had before the truth demanded to be known.

Nor when he would come looking for his child.

If I was actually pregnant? If I was actually carrying Zain’s Child.

His cub.

I wasn’t sure of what I was expecting, a human, a wolf, a seer?

I’ve heard stories of hybrids but the were lost centuries ago and has never been heard of.

The thought alone made me throw up the remainant of water and acid in my belle.

What would my father say? Would he try to kill my child or take it away from me.

My motherly instinct immediately surged to the surface, anger pouring out like he was standing right in front of me.

I would rather die than watch him lay a hands on my baby.

I gripped my stomach wishing I could once here the whisper of Zain’s voice in my ear telling me that everything will be just fine.