Shattered Bonds: A Second Chance Mate - Chapter 83: Chapter 83

I can’t sleep again.
Not after the nightmare I had.
No matter how tightly Francesco holds me, no matter how safe his arms make me feel, the memory of blue flames crackling from my fingers and the hatred in Mika’s eyes won’t leave me. It clings to my skin like smoke, curling into my thoughts, refusing to let me forget.
My breathing is shallow, shaky. My heart hasn’t slowed since I jolted awake in a cold sweat. I’ve been lying here, curled beside him, trying to pretend that the quiet rhythm of his heartbeat could pull me back into peace.
But the image of Francesco screaming in pain because of me…
No. Sleep is no longer a place of rest. It’s a battlefield I’m too afraid to walk into again.
Sighing, I shift gently, turning to face him. Moonlight spills through the cracks in the curtains, illuminating the sharp lines of his face softened by sleep. His lashes fan across his cheeks, his lips parted just slightly. He looks… peaceful. Untouched by the horrors that clawed through my mind just moments ago.
A knot tightens in my chest.
How could I possibly tell him?
How could I ever look him in the eye and say: “In my dreams, I destroy you.”
I hold my breath as I slowly slide out from beneath the covers, careful not to wake him. His arm twitches slightly, his brow creasing for a moment as though he senses my absence, but he doesn’t stir.
My feet touch the cool marble floor as I grab the silk robe from the foot of the bed. Wrapping it tightly around me, I move to the balcony.
The glass doors creak faintly as I open them and step outside.
Night air greets me with a soft caress, brushing against my skin like a whisper. The estate is quiet. Only the distant rustle of trees and the occasional howl from far-off wolves stir the silence. Above me, the moon hangs high and full, cloaked in a haze of silver clouds.
I walk to the railing and grip it with trembling hands.
My eyes drift shut.
The nightmare replays in flashes.
Francesco falling to his knees.
My flames burning him.
Mika—my wolf—glaring at me with a rage I never imagined she could possess.
And Anastasia.
Her voice.
That mocking smile.
"A witch doesn’t belong with the light. Go away."
My stomach twists.
I don’t understand. Why now? Why that dream? Everything had felt so… whole, so right just hours ago.
So why do I feel like it’s all slipping through my fingers?
Is that because of the meeting with the council? I guess deep down their warn hit me without I realize.
I lean forward, resting my elbows against the cold stone, letting the wind tease strands of my hair loose from the braid I slept in.
I wish I could talk to Mika.
But ever since the nightmare, she’s gone quiet.
Silent.
As if she, too, don’t know the answer.
I don’t even realize I’m crying until a tear splashes against the back of my hand.
Gods, what’s wrong with me?
I’ve spent so long healing. Rebuilding. Finding myself again after being torn apart. Why does this dream—just a dream—undo me so easily?
“Ellaine?”
His voice is soft, groggy, but edged with concern.
I turn, startled.
Francesco stands at the threshold of the balcony, barefoot, shirtless, the waistband of his loose cotton pants resting low on his hips. Moonlight bathes him in silver, and for a moment, he looks more like a myth than a man. The Alpha. The Lycan. The one who chose me.
His eyes find mine. And I know I must look a mess—tear-streaked, robe clutched too tightly, body trembling.
He crosses to me in three long strides.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper, stepping back slightly. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”
“You didn’t,” he says, voice thick with sleep. “But I felt you were gone. And I can’t rest when you're not beside me.”
He reaches for my hand, his fingers brushing gently against mine, coaxing. I let him take it.
He lifts it to his lips and kisses my knuckles.
“You’re shaking,” he murmurs.
“I’m fine,” I lie.
His eyes narrow just slightly, not in anger, but in that way he does when he’s reading me too well. Like I’m a book only he knows how to hold.
“Ellaine.”
The way he says my name—low, reverent—undoes something inside me.
I bite my lip. “The nightmare...”
“I figured.” He steps closer, wrapping his arms around me from behind, pulling me into the warm curve of his chest. “Do you want to tell me about it?”
I hesitate.
Then I whisper, “I hurt you. In it. With my magic. Blue fire—my hands—” My breath hitches. “You were screaming. Mika was there. But she hated me. They both did. And… Anastasia was with them.”
He’s silent.
I can feel his heartbeat against my back. Strong. Steady.
“I know it was just a dream,” I continue, voice breaking, “but it felt so real. And the things she said—about witches and white moon wolves. About me not belonging to the light. I—”
He turns me gently in his arms.
“Look at me.”
I do.
“I don’t care what dream-Anastasia said. Or what some twisted nightmare version of Mika made you feel. I’m here. I’m real. And I love you.”
His thumbs brush away the tears from my cheeks.
“Whatever this power is inside you… we’ll face it together. You hear me?”
“But what if I hurt you?” My voice is a whisper, a terrified breath. “What if I can’t control it?”
“Then we learn. We train. We figure it out. I’ve fought wars, Ellaine. Faced enemies with blades and teeth and bloodlust. But this—you—you’re not my enemy. You’re my mate, Ellaine.”
My heart twists.
He leans forward, his forehead pressing to mine.
“I don’t fear your power. I revere it. Because it’s part of you.”
A sob escapes me.
And he holds me tighter.
We stand like that under the moonlight, wrapped in silence and each other.
Eventually, he guides us back inside, his arm around my waist, never letting go. He sits on the bed and pulls me into his lap, wrapping the blankets around us both like a cocoon.
“I want to tell you something,” he says softly. “Something I’ve never told anyone.”
I glance up at him, surprised. His tone is serious, almost heavy.
“When Anastasia died…” He pauses, searching for the words. “Everyone thought it broke me. And it did. But what they don’t know is—she knew. She knew she wouldn’t survive it. She saw it in a vision weeks before. But she didn’t tell me until the night before.”
I hold my breath.
“She said she saw a child of power being born. One that would shake the roots of every prophecy, every law. A girl born under sorrow, yet destined to rise. She said I would find her—not immediately—but when the world needed her most.”
My breath catches.
“She said, ‘When you meet her, you’ll know. Not by her blood, not by her gift—but by the way your soul aches.’”
My lips part, but I can’t speak.
Francesco gently cups my face.
“I didn’t understand it then, I thught she's delirious, not knowing that she was a witch. I thought she meant our daughter. But when I met you…”
He swallows.
“My soul hasn’t stopped aching since.”
Tears spill down my cheeks again—hot, silent.
“You think your power will drive you mad?” he murmurs. “Then let me be your anchor. Let me carry it with you.”
I press my forehead to his chest, letting the rhythm of his heartbeat ground me.
“Francesco,” I whisper. “I’m scared.”
“I know,” he says. “But you’re not alone.”
We fall into silence again, softer this time. There’s no tension in the air—only stillness.
The storm inside me settles.
Later, I drift off in his arms. Not into nightmares this time, but into the warmth of his body wrapped around mine, and the echo of a promise whispered under the moonlight.
You’re not alone.