Shattered Bonds: A Second Chance Mate - Chapter 43: Chapter 43

The candle on my nightstand had long since melted into a pool of wax, but I hadn't moved from the armchair by the window.
My sketchbook was open in my lap, though the page was still blank.
Outside, the moon hung low over the rolling hills, casting soft silver over the olive groves. The Alpha Manor was quiet. Peaceful. But inside me… everything had changed.
Anastasia had come to me.
Not in the way ghosts usually haunt stories—not with flickering lights or icy winds—but in a dream so vivid it left the scent of lavender and burnt herbs lingering in the air when I woke.
She was beautiful…
Not just in the way people describe the dead—forever youthful, glowing—but truly radiant. Tall, with dark auburn hair, piercing violet eyes, and an expression that carried centuries of sorrow.
“You’re stronger than I ever was,” she had said, voice soft like the wind through the cypress trees.
“I’m not trying to replace you,” I’d whispered in the dream.
A small smile tugged at her lips. “You’re not replacing. You’re fulfilling.”
And then… she had shown me.
Not with words, but with memories that weren’t mine. Visions that poured through me like fire and water. Her mission. Her betrayal. Her unexpected love. The moment she fell for Francesco—not as a witch with orders to deceive, but as a woman who couldn’t help herself. And the price she paid for that love when she betrayed the rogue leader who’d sent her.
She died for that betrayal.
But she never told him.
Francesco never knew she was sent to seduce him. That she was the dagger meant for his heart, wrapped in silk and spells. That he was only ever a mission—until he wasn’t.
I held my head in my hands and sighed.
What do I do with that?
The man I love—the man I’m fated to—still mourns her. He honors her memory with a sacred silence I’ve never dared break. And now I carry this truth like a hidden blade strapped to my soul.
If I told him, it would destroy him.
So I won’t.
I’ll carry it alone. Not out of fear. But out of love.
Knock.. Knock.. Knock…
A soft knock at the door pulled me back to the present.
“Luna?” It was Monica.
I stood and quickly tucked my sketchbook away. “Come in.”
Monica peeked in, still in her soft knit sweater and jeans, her brown curls falling freely over her shoulders. “Alpha Francesco’s still in the meeting with the Council. Jeremy and Audrey are downstairs. I thought you might want to take a walk.”
I nodded gratefully. “Yes, please.”
The air outside was brisk, the scent of early spring clinging to the breeze. We didn’t say much at first. Just walked the long stone path that wound through the southern gardens, past the rosemary bushes and the abandoned glass greenhouse.
“How are you really?” Monica asked gently.
I hesitated. “Tired.”
Her lips curled into a knowing smile. “You mean the kind of tired that sleep can’t fix?”
I gave a small laugh. “Something like that.”
She stopped and looked at me, her gaze serious now. “You don’t have to carry everything alone, you know.”
I wanted to believe her. But how could I?
Some truths weren’t meant to be shared.
So, I just smiled and looked up at the sky. “Sometimes we’re given burdens because we’re strong enough to carry them.”
She didn’t push further.
Just took my hand and gave it a soft squeeze.
Later that evening, Francesco returned.
He found me in the library, curled up in the window seat with a book I hadn’t really been reading.
“There’s my Luna,” he murmured, bending down to kiss my forehead.
He smelled of pine and smoke. His shirt sleeves were rolled up, revealing the tattoo on his forearm—the mark of his bloodline.
“You’re late,” I teased, closing the book.
“The Council always is. And they’re growing uneasy.”
I sat up straighter. “Because of the rogue sightings?”
He nodded and sat beside me, his golden eyes dark with worry. “They’re organizing. More coordinated than before. Moving in patterns. We suspect… leadership.”
I swallowed hard. “You think someone’s leading them again?”
His jaw tightened. “They’re looking for something. Or someone.”
I looked away quickly, masking the ripple of fear in my chest. I knew they were.
I’d seen it. In Anastasia’s memories.
“The witches…” I whispered. “Could they be involved?”
His eyes narrowed. “We haven’t ruled it out.”
I nodded, saying nothing more. I couldn’t tell him what I’d seen.
Not yet...
Instead, I rested my head against his shoulder and closed my eyes, listening to the sound of his heartbeat.
I would protect him. Even from the past.
Over the next few days, I threw myself into my studies and painting.
I even volunteered to help organize the cultural exhibition coming up at the university, pretending everything was fine.
Francesco watched me with quiet admiration and the occasional raised brow when I came home covered in paint, ink, or ancient paper dust.
But the weight never left.
The rogue movements grew bolder. The patrols were doubled. Francesco grew more restless, though he hid it well behind his calm Alpha mask.
Then, it happened again.
Another dream.
Another visit.
Anastasia came to me, this time not in soft words or gentle memories—but in warning.
‘He’s searching. The rogue leader. The one who killed me. He remembers me. And he knows something has changed.’
I looked at her across the dreamscape—the same ancient forest as before, twisted with magic and memory.
“He wants revenge?” I asked.
‘He wants control,’ she said. ‘And he thinks you are the key to it.’
“Why?”
‘Because you’re fated,’ she whispered. ‘And you don’t know it yet, but your presence is healing what was broken. He fears that.’
The dream ended with a flash of silver eyes and a shadowed figure turning toward me with a growl.
I woke up gasping.
The next morning, I requested access to the restricted section of the old university library.
Monica covered for me. Joshua helped slip me past the guards, under the pretense of researching ancient werewolf rites for my project.
In truth, I needed answers. Mika, my wolf, was stirring more and more—urging me to be ready.
The dusty tomes whispered secrets as I flipped page after page. I found mentions of soul-bonds, of second mates, and even ancient covenants between witches and Lycans.
And there—half-buried in a crumbling book—was a symbol I recognized.
The same one I’d seen in Anastasia’s dream.
It’s the sigil of the rogue witch circle that had sent her.
I traced it with my finger, dread pooling in my stomach.
They weren’t gone.
They were waking.
And they would come for Francesco.
I closed the book and sat in silence.
This was no longer just about history or heartbreak. This was war.
When I returned to the manor, Francesco was waiting for me in the study.
He stood with his back to the fireplace, arms crossed, his expression unreadable.
“Where were you, my Luna?” he asked quietly.
I hesitated. “The library.”
He tilted his head. “You didn’t tell me.”
“I didn’t think I needed to,” I replied softly.
He walked toward me slowly. “El…”
My heart ached at the way he said my name. Gentle. Tired.
“I just want to protect you,” he said. “From everything.”
I stepped into his arms and rested my head on his chest. “I know. But maybe… maybe I need to protect you too.”
He looked down at me, startled.
And I smiled up at him. A secret smile. A knowing smile.
He didn’t ask more. And I didn’t offer.
Some truths are meant to stay hidden.
For now.