Rejected and Pregnant I Fled The Pack novel Chapter 81

Chapter 81

Evelyn pov

I lay in bed long after I should have already fallen asleep, staring at the ceiling, replaying the sound of Damon’s voice saying those two words.

*My love.*

My heart had actually raced hearing it, an embarrassingly immediate, visceral reaction that caught me off guard even as I sat there at the kitchen table, exhausted and barely able to keep my eyes open. Something in the easy, unguarded way he’d said it—not performing, not calculating, just simple and true-had cracked something open in my chest that I’d spent eight months carefully sealing shut.

I missed him. That was the uncomfortable truth sitting beneath everything else, the thing I’d been avoiding admitting even to myself for weeks now. Not just missing the idea of a partner, not just the practical exhaustion of managing everything alone finally easing now that he was actually present, actually helping. I missed *him*, specifically-his laugh, the particular way he used to look at me before any of this happened, the version of us that existed before Marissa, before the betrayal that had unraveled everything I thought I understood about my

own life.

*I miss us,* I thought, staring at the shadows shifting across the ceiling. *God, I miss what we used to be.*

But he hurt me. That truth sat right alongside the missing, inseparable from it, refusing to simply dissolve just because he’d spent the last several weeks demonstrating genuine, consistent effort to become someone better. I could still remember, with perfect, unwelcome clarity, exactly how it felt to walk in on him and Marissa. Still remember the flat, dismissive way he’d told me I should have expected it. Still remember the parking lot, his ultimatum, the desperate, manufactured lie about pregnancy he’d thrown at me trying to force me to stay.

Those memories didn’t simply evaporate because he now called me his love with genuine warmth in his voice, because he’d stood between enforcers and my hospital bed, because he’d given up succession rather than force me back against my will, because he’d extended real compassion to Marissa tonight despite every reason to simply turn her away.

*I want to move past this,* I thought, closing my eyes against the confusing tangle of emotion. *I want to just let myself trust this, let myself fall back into loving him the way I clearly still do somewhere underneath all this careful guarding. But I keep holding back.*

*He needs to prove himself more,* my wolf offered quietly, some old, protective instinct surfacing alongside the exhausted vulnerability of the late hour. *Not because what he’s done so far doesn’t matter. It matters. But weeks aren’t years, and words aren’t the same as time.*

I turned onto my side, pulling the blanket tighter around myself, thinking about everything my wolf’s caution actually represented-not simple stubbornness, not refusing to acknowledge genuine change, but a hard-won protectiveness born from eight months of surviving entirely alone, of learning the difference between comfortable words and actual, demonstrated trustworthiness.

I thought about Charlotte’s call, about the sanctuary offer still sitting quietly in my back pocket, about the fact that some part of me had apparently needed that safety net even now, weeks into Damon’s genuine, consistent effort to rebuild what he’d broken. Did that mean I didn’t actually trust any of this progress? Or did it simply mean I’d learned, the hard way, that trust required backup plans until it proved itself thoroughly enough to stand entirely on its own?

I didn’t have a clean answer. I lay there in the quiet darkness, listening faintly to the sound of Damon moving around in the other room, settling into the armchair near Willow’s crib exactly as he’d promised, keeping watch

1/2

+15 Bonus

so I could actually rest.

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