Where Soft Light Shines Darkness Fades From Tired Hearts by Evan Holt Crane 464
Third Person’s POV
Early the next morning, Trista arrived at the Shadowfangs.
Finished
Hearing that Bluestar had officially signed off on dropping the investigation felt like a massive weight being lifted off her chest.
Before she left, Alistair handed her a single button from a man’s dress shirt.
His narrow eyes were fixed on her, tracking every micro–expression. “Found this on Vincent’s hospital bed.”
Ten minutes later, Trista pulled her car over to the curb.
She opened her palm and stared at the button.
It was from the shirt Cassian had worn the night before–the one she had picked out for him herself. She couldn’t possibly mistake it.
She sat in silence for a long time before finally calling Alaina.
She told her she’d be waiting for Cassian in her office at 2:00 PM.
At 2:00 PM sharp, Trista sat at her desk.
Ulva, worried about her, had come by to check on her.
“Trista, your dad and I overheard a bit of your talk with Mr. Manwaring yesterday…” Ulva said, her face etched with worry. “If Cassian really went that far for you… would you ever consider forgiving him?”
Trista didn’t hesitate. She gave a slow, deliberate shake of her head.
She could walk toward any unknown future, but she would never, ever look back.
“You were mates before,” Ulva sighed. “Even if you don’t go back, for Alaina’s sake, it might be good to help him pull himself together.”
Trista’s eyes turned a faint, watery red as she looked at her mother. “Mom, I spent over twenty years growing up with him. We were mated for three. Only I know how much I loved him, how much I leaned on him.”
“And how did he answer me? With manipulation, betrayal, and a cold, systematic crushing of my spirit. During those days when I felt like I was dying, I picked up a knife, I ran red lights, I stood on rooftops… back then, did he ever once look back to throw me a lifeline?”
Ulva covered her face, weeping for her daughter.
The old Trista died at his hands a long time ago,” she said, her voice hollow. “Along with the child that never got to be born. Cassian owes me two lives. He couldn’t pay that debt if he had a thousand years.”
1:05 pm
Outside the office.
Finished
Cassian stood frozen in the shadows of the hallway. The appointment slip in his hand drifted soundlessly to the floor near his feet.
His eyes were bloodshot, looking like they were weeping blood, and his fingertips were shaking violently at his sides.
He thought he was clearing obstacles for her. He realized now that he had personally strangled every bit of her hope years ago.
The appointment time came and went, but Cassian never showed.
When Trista finally opened her door, the hallway was empty.
Looking down, she noticed a crumpled, stepped–on slip of paper. She picked it up. It was his appointment form.
Trista stood in the doorway, her expression a mess of conflicting emotions as she scanned both ends of the hall. The familiar silhouette was gone.
After a long silence, she turned back into her office.
She didn’t call Alaina again. And Cassian didn’t appear in her line of sight for days.
Two days later, Vincent was buried. Bluestar kept it incredibly quiet, sending out no public notices.
After the funeral, Cassian and Alistair personally visited the Bluestar territory to deliver a massive settlement.
They played the game of “diplomatic peace” to perfection.
Soon, the Lunar Festival arrived.
Trista accompanied her parents, Attwater, and Isaiah to a high–end private club for dinner.
As they reached the entrance to the semi–private booths, they ran straight into the Ironthorns.
The two groups met in the corridor.
The air crackled as the pheromones of the different families clashed in a subtle, silent power struggle.
Trista kept it classy. She gave Alaina a calm nod of acknowledgement before guiding her family into their
reserved area.
Wynn looked at her brother with concern, seeing Cassian staring blankly at the spot where Trista had just
vanished.
“Cassian, our table is this way,” Wynn whispered.
Cassian pulled his gaze back without a word and followed her in.
The two booths were adjacent, separated only by a heavy, soundproof acoustic curtain. The proximity-
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1:05 pm
separated only by a thin line of status and history–made the atmosphere suffocating.
Finished
Before the food arrived, Isaiah tried to break the ice. “Trista, your birthday is coming up. Tell me what you want. I’ll start getting it ready.”
Trista looked at Isaiah’s handsome, exotic face and teased, “If you really want to make me happy, find a decent mate and bring her to see me on my birthday.”
Isaiah immediately looked at Ulva. “Ulva, can you help me out? Find me someone?”
Ulva laughed, waving him off. “I only know ordinary she–wolves, Isaiah. They wouldn’t be a match for your bloodline.”
Attwater chimed in from the side. “Don’t worry, man. When I get back to the academy, I’ll bring you back someone elite!”
“What the hell do you know?” Isaiah scoffed. “You don’t just ‘bring‘ a mate home. You think they’re just rogue wolves you pick up off the street?”
Isaiah’s bluntness drew a round of laughter from the group, and Trista felt her nerves finally start to uncoil.
But on the other side of the curtain, the silence was deafening.
Cassian knew the air was frozen because of him.
He stood up slowly, pushing back his chair. “I’m going out for a smoke.”
He walked to the terrace at the end of the long gallery. He was about to put a cigarette to his lips when he saw Trista standing by the railing, talking on her phone. He froze, slowly lowering the unlit cigarette from his mouth.
Sara Lili
Sara Lili is a daring romance writer who turns icy landscapes into scenes of fiery passion. She loves crafting hot love stories while embracing the chill of Iceland’s breathtaking cold.