Where Soft Light Shines Darkness Fades From Tired Hearts by Evan Holt Crane 474

Third Person’s POV

Keeping busy is the best anesthetic for pain.

From the second she learned of Cassian’s death, Trista felt a deep, hollow ache, yet she couldn’t shed a single tear.

She became a high–precision machine, burying herself in a never–ending mountain of work.

Some might call her cold–blooded, but after twenty–seven years, her conscience was clear. She owed no

one.

As her shift neared its end, Fred called.

Trista walked out to the parking lot and saw him leaning against his car from a distance. A cigarette glowed between his fingers, and his pheromones were heavy with a dark, lingering depression.

“Fred,” she called out, walking over.

Fred opened the passenger door, his voice raspy. “Get in. Let’s talk.”

The moment the door shut, Fred handed her a bank card and a real estate deed.

Trista glanced at them but didn’t reach out.

“Cassian sent me an email a few hours before he died. I was so buried in the funeral arrangements that I didn’t see it until this morning.” Fred looked at her, his gaze unreadable. “He left these for you.”

Trista looked down, her expression cooling. “Fred, you know I won’t take anything.”

“It’s his final request,” Fred said, sounding helpless. “Just take them so I can say I did my job.”

“Whether he’s alive or dead, I’m not taking a single thing that belongs to him,” Trista replied. There was zero room for negotiation in her voice.

Fred stared at her stubborn face, seeing the ghost of another hard–headed wolf who was currently six feet under.

He sighed and shoved the deed into her hand. “Just open it and look at the address.”

Trista frowned and flipped it open.

र

When she saw the address for the old Silverlight estate with her name listed as the owner, her hand jerked.

“Look at the date of the transfer,” Fred prompted.

The date was one week before her birthday.

“When Silverlight went under, Cassian couldn’t save the house in time. He’s spent years trying to buy it back, but the owner refused to budge.”

Finished

Fred let out a self–deprecating laugh. “It wasn’t until recently, when the guy decided to move, that Cassian saw his opening and snatched it back.”

Trista gripped the folder so hard her nails sank into the leather cover.

She remembered their wedding night.

She had mentioned, almost in passing, that the Silverlight estate was the most beautiful place she’d ever lived–the only place that truly felt like home.

Cassian had been hovering over her then, his breath hot against her skin.

He told her then that he’d find a way to get it back for her.

At the time, she thought it was just pillow talk–sweet lies meant to charm her. She never imagined he’d spend the rest of his life making it a reality.

Late that night, the L.A. fog rolled in like an ominous shroud.

Trista was driving home when, as her tires rolled through a major intersection, the dim streetlights suddenly exploded with a divine, silver–white radiance.

The light wasn’t blinding, but it carried an ancient, majestic chill that pierced right through the windshield.

In that heartbeat, time froze.

Trista saw Cassian standing in the silver glow, holding a child.

He didn’t look like the broken man from the dressing room; he was draped in sacred moonlight, a shimmering shadow of the Moon Goddess herself.

“Trista…”

The name exploded in her mind, vibrating through her very marrow.

Then came the impact.

As her consciousness plunged into the abyss, Trista didn’t feel like she was hitting the pavement. She felt like she was falling into the cold, merciful eyes of the Moon Goddess.

Shards of memory streaked past her like falling stars: the bloody dressing room, the shattered crystal, Cassian’s dying wolf, and twenty–seven years of debt.

An ethereal voice whispered in the wind: “If a wolf cannot find redemption in regret, let the silver hand of time turn back to the start.”

“Would the two of you please place your hands on the Silvermoon Altar? Relax your scent glands; don’t let your pheromones interfere with the branding of the bond.”

The chanting pulled Trista back from the feeling of weightless suffocation…

Finished

Her vision snapped into focus. Directly in front of her stood a cold, shimmering statue of the Moon Goddess.

The scent of blood was gone. In its place was the smell of burning sage and the heavy, crushing pressure of a room full of Alphas.

Trista looked down. She was wearing a ceremonial gown of pure white silk. her palm was pressed against the freezing moon–patterned stone of the altar.

She whipped her head to the side.

A young Cassian sat next to her.

This version of him was in the prime of his growth. His wolf soul was vibrant and powerful, radiating a scent of cold cedar that was as sharp as a blade.

Their eyes met. Trista’s pupils shrank to pinpoints in total shock.

Her hand shook as she grabbed Cassian’s wrist, using the light of the silver candles to check the date on the altar: November 2021.

Five years ago.

The Moon Goddess had truly shown mercy. She had been thrown back to the source of the tragedy.

That was the day of the Blood Mating Ceremony.

According to the ritual, in the next second, the priest would prick their fingers to merge their blood on the altar, sealing the mating bond forever.

“Trista?” Cassian noticed her trembling.

He frowned slightly, reaching out to touch her fingers, his voice carrying a hint of concern. “Don’t be scared. It’ll be over soon.”

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.