Exchanging Vows: The Swapped Wife Is a Top Shaman novel Chapter 13

Chapter 13: Chapter 13

Ivy’s Point of View

A top shaman.

The words still echoed in my mind, even after all these years.

My father had held my hands that day, his grip tight enough to leave bruises. His face was pale despite his recovery. Not from weakness. From fear.

"Ivy, listen to me carefully." His voice had been low, urgent. "You must never tell anyone what you are. Not a single soul. Do you understand?"

"But Father, if I can heal people—"

"That’s exactly the problem." He’d pulled me closer, his eyes boring into mine. "Do you know what would happen if your uncle found out? If Alpha Roland learned that his brother’s daughter was a top shaman?"

I’d shaken my head, confused.

"He would use you." My father’s voice turned bitter. "He would chain you to the pack like a prized dog. Every war, every skirmish, every foolish injury caused by his reckless decisions. You would be there to fix it all. To bring back the dying. To clean up his messes."

"Would that be so bad? Helping people?"

"You almost died saving me, Ivy." His grip tightened. "The Soul Anchor nearly killed you. And that was just one person. Imagine being forced to do that over and over again. For people who don’t care about you. Who see you as nothing but a tool."

The weight of his words had settled on my shoulders like a stone.

"Your uncle is not a good man," my father continued. "He’s spent his entire life suppressing me, taking everything I had, making sure I never rose above my station. If he knew what you were capable of, he would do the same to you. Worse."

"So I just... hide it?"

"Yes." He’d cupped my face in his hands, his expression fierce. "You hide it. You pretend to be ordinary. You let them underestimate you. And when the time comes, when you’re free from this pack and safe from your uncle’s reach, then you can decide how to use your gifts."

From that day forward, I became invisible.

Not just meek. Not just weak. But completely unremarkable. A Beta’s daughter with no talents, no ambitions, no value. I stopped visiting the library. Stopped asking questions about healing arts. Stopped everything that might draw attention to what I really was.

It was suffocating. Like holding my breath for years on end.

But I survived. And now, looking down at Dominic Ashford’s pale face, I was grateful for every moment of that suffocation.

Because no one in the Silvermoon Pack knew what I could do. No one suspected. No one would think twice about the quiet, unremarkable bride who had been dumped on the dying heir’s bed.

I closed my eyes and began to chant.

The words were soft, barely above a whisper. Ancient syllables that vibrated in my chest and spread through my fingertips. My hands hovered over Dominic’s head, not quite touching.

"Show me," I murmured. "Show me what’s broken."

The world behind my eyelids shifted. Colors bloomed in the darkness. Shapes formed. I could see Dominic’s body laid out before me like a map. His bones glowing white. His blood flowing red. His organs pulsing with faint light.

And there, in his skull, I found it.

Blood clots. Dark masses pressing against the delicate tissue of his brain. And worse, fragments of bone. Tiny shards that had broken off during the impact and lodged themselves against his nerves.

That was why he wouldn’t wake up. The pressure on his brain was too great. His body had shut down to protect itself, retreating into unconsciousness rather than facing the damage.

I moved my focus downward, scanning the rest of him.

His heart was strong. His lungs clear. His organs functioning normally. The daily massages from Marcus and Theo had done their job well. His muscles hadn’t atrophied. His circulation remained healthy.

Only his leg showed significant damage. The bone had been shattered and reset, but it had healed wrong. He would walk with a limp when he woke up.

When. Not if. When.

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