Seven Months Later
I often found myself reflecting on my conversation with Beta Tommaso. He had been so understanding of my situation, and it was clear he had once stood where I was now. His words didn’t ease the pain, but they helped me grasp what lay ahead.
True happiness would always elude me-not the kind I could have known if my mate had accepted me. Leonardo carried a part of my soul with him, bound to me forever. Even if I accepted his rejection, that fragment of my soul wouldn’t return. Acceptance would only weaken the mate-bond, dulling the pain that had struck so fiercely. Yet, no matter what, that piece of me was forever lost. Once the Moon Goddess chooses two mates, they remain bound for life.
Beta Tommaso had questioned why I hadn’t fought harder for Leonardo, why I hadn’t tried something-anything-other than running. I told him the truth-I was weak, and I broke easily. Of course, he disagreed, but I knew myself better. He suggested that accepting the rejection might be for the best, but only if I did it face to face.
At night, I would whisper the words to myself, building the courage to say them if I ever saw Leonardo again.
“I, Isabella De Luca-accept your rejection, Leonardo Grimstone.”
The first hundred times, my voice would falter, and tears would flow. My heart ached for the mate it still longed for.
—
The summer had just begun in the Alps.
It was late June, and the heat was beginning to intensify. Having grown up in Sicily, the relentless sun didn’t bother me as much as it might others. I had taken Beta Tommaso’s advice to heart, trying to manage the constant pain Leonardo brought into my life. Even a thousand miles away, his presence still lingered. I would wake in the middle of the night, feeling invisible flames lick at my skin. The thought of Leonardo with someone else hurt just as deeply as it had the day I left. But now, I no longer screamed. The agony no longer contorted my face. Instead, I’d lie still, waiting for the pain to pass.
In the seven months I’d spent with my mother’s pack, I hadn’t become stronger. I was still the same Isabella-though my friends had taken to calling me Ella, a nickname I had reluctantly come to accept. Only they were allowed to use it, not that I had much say in the matter.
Sofia had begged me endlessly to start training. She claimed it was the most fun she’d ever had, which I found ironic. Sofia was the epitome of preppy-heels, skirts, handbags, and yet, she was a fierce warrior. You’d never know it by looking at her, but Sofia was one of the top fighters in the pack.
I resisted at first, insisting I wasn’t violent by nature. And I was right, at least back then. Violence is something created by the world around us, shaped by what we endure.
Eventually, Sofia gave up her pleas, but she never missed a chance to remind me that the pack needed more warriors. The Blood Moon pack was renowned for producing the best werewolf fighters, and they often sent warriors to other packs to train and protect them from rogues and vampires. Naturally, this meant our pack faced frequent rogue attacks, though they were never severe-mostly ill-prepared stragglers. As future Alpha, Carlo was always the first to respond, training alongside the other warriors, something I deeply admired.
In these months, Carlo and I had grown close, much like my mother and Beta Tommaso had. My friendship with him, though, always walked a fine line-neither of us daring to cross into something more. We shared an unspoken truth between us: I could never love Carlo the way he needed. He had a mate out there somewhere, destined to find her someday.
And as for me? I wasn’t sure I could ever be with someone other than my mate. Yet, the thought of Carlo did cross my mind. He took my breath away at times, reminding me of Leonardo. When the light hit his hair just right, I could almost mistake them for each other. Even after seven months, I struggled to shake those thoughts.
Meanwhile, my mother and Beta Tommaso had developed their own unique bond. They weren’t like most couples-lacking the physical affection that typically comes with love-but they leaned on each other for support, both having lost their mates. My mother’s mate had passed away years ago, and Beta Tommaso had been rejected in his youth. They could never fully love one another, yet the bond they shared ran deep. He never tried to replace my father, serving more as a friend than anything else.
But after seven months of routine, everything shifted.
I had always seen the world in simple terms. Bad people were bad, and good people were good. There was no gray area. Some were born strong, destined to lead. Others were weak, meant to follow. It was how I understood life, and I never questioned it.
That was until an ordinary day turned my world upside down.
After school, Carlo, our friends, and I went to a local diner. We spent the afternoon laughing and talking, as usual. Sofia complained about some of the trainees, while Enrico and Vito made their usual childish jokes, much to Chiara’s exasperation.
Of the group, only Carlo, Sofia, Enrico, and Vito were in the training program. In the Blood Moon pack, training was optional, but most chose to go through it anyway. Chiara and I, much like each other, lacked the aptitude for fighting. Her three older brothers, all top warriors, never expected her to carry on the family tradition, and she enjoyed the doting attention they gave her as their only sister.
Sofia, on the other hand, had already surpassed her twin brother in the ranks, but he didn’t mind. Enrico was never one to take things too seriously, though he was a capable warrior in his own right.
Carlo, of course, held the number one spot, as tradition dictated. Every weekend, challengers would step forward, but he remained undefeated.
After our meal, we headed to Carlo’s house, as we’d done nearly every weekend since I arrived. Despite everything, I still found comfort in my friends. They were my light in the darkness, distracting me from the weight of my rejection. Sofia and Chiara often dragged me into their fashion debates, while Enrico and Vito kept the mood light with their humor. Carlo, though, was the one who could see through it all. He knew when something was wrong and was always there when I needed someone to confide in.
They all knew my story now. Seven months had passed, and I had finally shared the truth. Even Enrico and Vito, usually quick with a joke, had grown serious when I told them. They understood the weight of rejection, but they never treated me any differently. Carlo, especially, reminded me that I wasn’t broken, no matter how shattered I felt inside.