Day 14 of sanctuary life
I woke up to find a package outside the sanctuary door.
Not inside. The wards wouldn't allow that without permission. But right at the threshold, like someone had left an offering at a temple.
Which, technically, they had.
"It's from Raka," my wolf said. "I can smell him."
"Of course it is."
I opened the package carefully, half-expecting it to explode or contain something offensive.
Instead, I found jewelry.
Expensive jewelry.
A necklace with a moonstone pendant that probably cost more than everything I'd owned in my entire life. Earrings to match. And a note in sharp, angular handwriting:
"These belonged to my mother. She would have wanted you to have them. -R"
I stared at the jewelry for a long moment.
Then I walked to the sanctuary's hearth, where Ina kept a fire burning, and dropped the entire box into the flames.
"That was expensive" Sahya said.
"Good. Let him feel it burn through the bond."
"Harsh."
"He spent years telling me I didn't belong. He doesn't get to buy forgiveness with his dead mother's jewelry."
"Fair point."
I watched the box catch fire, the moonstone cracking in the heat. Somewhere outside the sanctuary, I felt Raka's presence flare with what might have been hurt or anger.
Good.
---
The next morning, there were letters.
Dozens of them.
All addressed to me in flowing, elegant script that could only belong to Rivan.
"The poet strikes," my wolf said dryly.
I picked up the first letter and opened it.
"Ayla,
The moon weeps silver tears
For the love I lost through years
Of blindness, cruelty, and fear..."
I stopped reading.
"Is this entire letter a poem?"
I opened another one.
"Your eyes hold the light of distant stars
Your strength bears the weight of ancient wars"
"They're all poems."
"Bad poems," Sahya added.
"Truly terrible poems."
I considered burning them too. But something stopped me.
Maybe it was the sheer effort. Rivan had written dozens of these. Terrible as they were, they were sincere.
Or maybe I was getting soft.
I kept them. Unread, but kept.
Somewhere outside, I felt Rivan's presence brighten with hope.
"Don't get excited," I muttered. "I just didn't want to deal with the smoke."
"Liar."
"Shut up."
---
Tama's approach was different.
He didn't send gifts or letters. Instead, I started hearing about changes in pack law.
From Ina, who had contacts in the pack.
From Elara, who visited every day.
Tama had created new protections for lower-ranked wolves. Rules against discrimination based on rank or bloodline. Consequences for abuse of power.
Everything he should have done years ago.
Everything that would have protected me.
"He's rewriting the entire pack structure," Elara told me on his daily visit. "The elders are furious. But Ardana supports him."
"Why?"
"Because Tama argued that the old ways left you vulnerable. That if pack law had been fairer, you wouldn't have suffered."
I sat with that information for a moment.
"He's doing this because he feels guilty."
"Yes. But he's also doing it because it's right. The two aren't mutually exclusive."
Damn Elara for being reasonable.
"Laws don't fix what he did," I said.
"No. But they'll protect the next person. Isn't that worth something?"
It was. I hated that it was, but it was.
---
Bima's attempts at redemption were the most unexpected.
I heard about them through pack gossip that Ina relayed with barely concealed amusement.
The Gamma warrior who'd made my life hell was apparently training younger wolves now. Teaching them combat and discipline.
But gently.
Patiently.
Nothing like how he'd trained me.
"He stops if anyone looks tired," Ina said. "Asks if they need water. Checks for injuries. The young ones don't know what to do with it."
"He's overcompensating."
"Maybe. But he's also learning. He asks the trainees how he can be better. Actually listens to feedback."
I tried to picture Bima—six-foot-five of pure muscle and rage—asking for feedback.
It was absurd.
It was also... genuine?
"I don't forgive him," I said.
"No one's asking you to. Not yet." Ina poured tea and handed me a cup. "But acknowledging effort isn't the same as forgiveness."
"When did you become a therapist?"
"When I became a Moon Speaker. It's in the job description."
---
That night, I practiced something new.
Something Ina had mentioned in passing but hadn't pushed.
Cutting bonds.
Not severing them completely. Just... testing the connection. Seeing if I could control it rather than letting it control me.
"Focus on one bond," Ina instructed. "Raka's, since it's the strongest and most volatile."
I closed my eyes and felt for the bonds. They were always there—five threads of connection pulling at me constantly. Demanding attention, completion, acceptance.
Raka's bond was thick and dark, pulsing with frustrated need and barely controlled possessiveness.
I imagined scissors. Pictured cutting the thread.
The bond resisted.
"Don't," my wolf warned. "That hurts us too."
"I'm just testing."
I pushed harder, imagining the scissors closing.
Pain lanced through my chest. Sharp and immediate.
Outside the sanctuary, I felt Raka collapse.
The bond snapped back into place, and I gasped.
"That," Ina said calmly, "is what severing feels like. Only a thousand times worse and permanent."
"You could have warned me."
"I did. You didn't listen."
Fair.
I rubbed my chest where the pain had been. Through the bond, I could feel Raka's presence—shaken, confused, afraid.
Afraid of losing me.
"He's terrified," I said quietly.
"Yes. They all are. The bond severing, even temporarily, feels like dying." Ina sat beside me. "You have the power to do that to them. Completely. Permanently. That's what it means to be a white wolf."
"That's horrifying."
"Yes. Which is why you must choose carefully. Severing the bond would break them entirely. Leave them as shadows of themselves. It's not a punishment—it's a curse."
I thought about Raka's cruelty. His cold dismissal. Years of being told I didn't belong.
Then I thought about his mother's jewelry burning in the hearth. His presence collapsing when I'd tested the bond. The fear in our connection.
"I don't want to break them," I admitted. "I just want them to understand what they did."
"They're starting to. Whether that's enough is up to you."
---
Elara arrived during my evening training session. I'd gotten good enough to shift while talking, which was deeply weird but useful.
"Show off," he said, like always.
I shifted back to human and pulled on clothes. "You're early."
"Couldn't wait." He kissed me, soft and quick. "Also, my brothers are driving me insane."
"What did they do now?"
"Raka felt something through your bond earlier. Thought you were hurt. Nearly broke down the sanctuary wards trying to get to you."
I winced. "I was practicing."
"Practicing what?"
"Cutting bonds. Temporarily. To see if I could."
Elara's expression darkened. "Ayla..."
"I know. Ina already lectured me. It hurts them. It hurts me. I won't do it again."
"That's not what I was going to say." He pulled me close. "I was going to say that if you need to practice control, practice with my bond first. I can handle it. And I won't panic and try to break down ancient wards."
Something in my chest tightened.
"You'd let me hurt you? For practice?"
"I'd let you do whatever you need to feel in control of this situation. Even if it hurts."
"That's either really sweet or really concerning."
"Can't it be both?"
I kissed him. Long and deep and grateful.
When we broke apart, Elara smiled. "So what did you learn? From the practice?"
"That severing the bond would destroy them. Leave them as shells. Ina says it's not punishment—it's a curse."
"Do you want to sever the bonds?"
"I don't know. Part of me wants them to suffer. But part of me..." I trailed off.
"Part of you is starting to see their efforts," Elara finished. "Starting to wonder if maybe, possibly, they're genuine."
"Maybe."
"That's progress."
"Or weakness."
"Or strength. It takes more strength to consider forgiveness than to hold onto anger forever."
"When did you become so wise?"
"I've always been wise. You were just too busy being angry to notice."
I shoved him. He laughed.
"For what it's worth," Elara said, "they're trying. Really trying. Raka hasn't slept in days. Rivan's destroying himself with guilt. Tama's alienating the elders for you. Bima's becoming a completely different person."
"That doesn't erase what they did."
"No. But it's something."
I leaned against him, tired and confused and overwhelmed.
"How much longer do I stay here?" I asked.
"As long as you need. Until you're ready to face them. All of them. Not from anger or obligation, but from strength."
"What if I'm never ready?"
"Then you're not. And we figure out a different path."
He made it sound simple.
It wasn't.
But maybe it didn't have to be impossible either.
---
That night, I lay in bed and felt the bonds.
All five of them.
Elara's was warm and steady. Chosen. Mine.
The others were desperate, reaching, trying.
Raka's possessive need.
Rivan's poetic longing.
Tama's structured determination.
Bima's raw regret.
I didn't cut them. Didn't push them away.
Just felt them.
And wondered if maybe, eventually, I could feel something other than anger.
Not yet.
But someday.
Ninety-three.
Still counting.
But the numbers were getting smaller.