Shattered Bonds: A Second Chance Mate - Chapter 49: Chapter 49

When I woke up, my body felt like it had been trampled by a dozen warriors.
Every muscle screamed. My back, shoulders, legs, even my fingers ached. Just the act of turning my head felt like lifting a mountain.
I groaned and curled deeper into the warmth of the sheets, trying not to whimper like a wounded pup. Goddess, what kind of man made her love train like that?
But of course, Francesco wasn’t just any man.
Almost like he’d anticipated the pain I’d be in, I found a tray waiting for me by the side table—fragrant, warm, and filled with the kind of nourishment only a pack mother could create. Maria’s signature touch. Warm honey oat porridge with berries, soft herbal bread, bone broth tea.
I barely sat up before Francesco walked in, carrying a soft bundle of clothes and a mischievous smile.
"Good morning, amore mio," he said, leaning down to kiss my forehead gently. "You’re not moving today, are you?"
I gave him a pitiful, grumpy stare in response. He chuckled.
"Come on, let me help you dress. Maria went all out for your breakfast. She even made jam from those berries you liked."
I didn’t argue. I couldn’t. Every limb felt like it was filled with molten lead. He helped me sit up, held the shirt open so I could slip my arms in, and even brushed my hair back with gentle fingers.
Spoiled.
That’s what this was.
And I let him.
“You need to rest for two, maybe three days,” he murmured as he buttoned up the front of my shirt. “Your body needs time to recover. It will get better, I promise.”
I opened my mouth to protest, but he was already stroking my cheek with his knuckles.
"Don't be sad," he whispered, reading my silence like a book. "You’ll be stronger when you’re better. Trust me."
His lips brushed mine—soft at first, then deepening until I forgot the ache in my body. His hand cradled my neck, the other curled at my waist, holding me steady like I was something precious.
He’d changed.
Since I told him the truth—that I wanted Mika back, that my wolf who had been weakened by rejection—he’d changed.
I thought he might feel pity. Or guilt.
Instead… he stood taller. Firmer. Fiercer in the way he looked at me, like I was becoming something worth guarding with his life.
Even my weak connection to the pack mind-link trembled with voices. Cheering me on. Wishing me well. They weren’t clear—my wolf still wasn’t strong enough—but I felt them.
Their support. Hope. Loyalty.
It’s all for me…
And I vowed, right then, not to let any of them down.
The next two days passed in a quiet blur. Francesco made sure I ate every meal. He sat beside me while I napped. Sometimes, he held me in silence while I lay curled against his chest, his heartbeat my lullaby.
He delegated his Alpha duties to Beta Alfonso, who I was sure was grumbling through every meeting. But somehow, everyone still supported Francesco’s decision. The warriors smiled at me when I passed. Even the omegas offered extra help.
And in that peace, I found time.
Time to open the sketchbook I hadn’t touched in days.
The pages smelled faintly of charcoal and old dreams. I stared at the blank sheet for a long while before picking up my pencil.
Then, with trembling hands, I began to draw.
Lucas came first—majestic, broad, proud. Francesco’s Lycan wolf had this ancient, powerful aura that always made the air crackle when he stood nearby.
And then… Mika.
My beautiful, elusive white wolf. It had been so long since I’d seen her, but I remembered her eyes. Silver like moonlight, rimmed in frost. Her coat shimmered like winter snow under the stars. She’d always looked out of place in Blackpine, like something too wild and rare for such a cold-hearted place.
I painted them both—Lucas howling into the night, and Mika, standing beside him, silent but unbowed, as if waiting for her time to rise again.
Third Party Point of View :
In the crumbling remains of an abandoned monastery deep in the mountains, the rogues regrouped, their eyes burning with frustration and disbelief. The air reeked of old blood, fear, and failure.
The last attack should’ve been simple. Quick. The girl had no pack, no formal training. The campus was supposed to be an easy target—full of humans, fragile and unaware.
But instead… she had burned them.
Not with fire. Not with claws.
With magic.
“She shouldn’t have that kind of power,” one of the rogues spat, his voice hoarse as he clutched a singed arm that still pulsed with residual pain. “She didn’t even shift—but she threw me back like a damn child.”
“I saw her eyes,” another muttered, his expression unreadable. “They glowed… silver. Not a wolf’s glow. Witchlight. Like—”
“Don’t say it.” The rogue leader stepped into the room like a shadow, his voice sharp and cold.
But it was already too late. The name had taken root in every mind in the room.
Anastasia.
The last known witch to ever stand beside the Lycans. A Luna. A legend. A woman whose power was said to have died with her in the fire of betrayal and grief.
“Tell me again,” the leader said, narrowing his eyes as he paced before them. “What exactly did she do?”
One of the scouts stepped forward, hesitation thick in his voice. “When we cornered her… she didn’t run. She didn’t scream. She closed her eyes. Whispered something I couldn’t hear. And then it hit me—the force. Like a wall. My wolf whimpered before I even touched her.”
Another added, “I saw sparks. Like lightning—but silver. She didn’t look like a wolf. She looked like…” He hesitated. “Like her. Like Anastasia.”
The room fell into stunned silence.
The leader’s face darkened. “That’s impossible. Anastasia died. Her power should’ve died with her.”
"Then how the hell does this girl have it?”
No one answered.
They only knew what they saw—and what they felt. And fear, real and ancient, had begun to settle in.
The leader stared into the fire pit, silent for a moment, then said with a hiss, “If that girl carries Anastasia’s magic, she’s not just powerful… she’s dangerous.”
A low murmur of agreement rippled through the room.
“But she’s untrained,” one rogue said. “Raw. I could smell the fear on her. She didn’t know what she was doing.”
“Exactly,” the leader replied, turning back with a smirk. “She doesn’t understand what she has. That gives us time. A window.”
“To do what?” another growled.
“To get close. To find out what she is, how she inherited Anastasia’s gift. And most of all…” He leaned in, his voice dropping like venom. “How we can take it.”
They all stilled.
“If the Luna of the Lycan has inherited that magic,” the leader continued, “she could destroy everything we’ve built. But if we claim her power—”
“—we rule.”
The plan began to form, dark and silent.
“We send someone in,” the leader said. “A new student. Someone harmless. She’s surrounded by humans. Easy to blend in.”
“Remember, She’s the mate of the Lycan Alpha,” someone reminded him.
A dark chuckle followed. “Even better. He’ll be distracted watching her. He won’t see who we plant right under her nose. We get her, we also get the Lycan power under us”
The firelight flickered, casting jagged shadows across the map spread on the table. On it, the Lycan’s territory was marked with red.
But now, they circled a new name in black ink: Ellaine Rollin.
The rogue with witchfire.
The girl who wasn’t supposed to matter.
Now, their obsession.