Chapter 177: Sparks in the Dark
Albericu’s POV
"Albericus," she said, her tone cold and clipped. "Stop being a sentimental idiot and let me go. I don’t want you anymore. Honestly, I don’t even know why I ever did. We never made any sense."
Her harsh words hit hard, but I didn’t flinch. I knew better. That wasn’t her not all of her.
I dropped to my knees right in front of her, slowly reaching out to rest my hand on her leg. Even after all this time, the simple contact jolted through me like a live wire. Her body stiffened, then flinched as if trying hard to shake off the physical reaction. But it was there the spark. The bond we once shared hadn’t vanished completely.
"Aurora," I murmured, searching her face even though I couldn’t see her eyes beneath the cloth, "I know you’re still in there. I’m not giving up on you. Not now. Not ever." My voice cracked slightly, but I didn’t stop. "I know you’re still grieving Andrew. I am too. But this... this isn’t what he’d want for you. You know it. You have to fight it. Let go of the dark before it consumes you completely. You can come back from this. You just have to trust yourself again."
For a second, something in her posture faltered. Then her lips curled into a sly, almost cruel smile. She leaned forward slightly, tilting her head toward the sound of my voice.
"And what if the Aurora you loved died with Andrew?" she whispered. "What if I’ve already let go, and this... this version of me is the real one now?"
She laughed softly, a dark, bitter sound, before leaning back again as if retreating into the shadows.
I stared up at her, my heart aching deeply.
Maybe it was true. Maybe she’d crossed that invisible line long ago and never looked back. But the Aurora I knew the one who used to spend quiet afternoons bent over dried herbs, humming softly while mixing salves and tinctures, who lit up whenever Andrew giggled she would never have let the darkness win. Not even in the face of unbearable grief.
She was once a pure light witch, careful and gentle. Magic had never been a weapon for her, only a tool for healing, for nurturing. She barely used her gifts back then, always saying they were far too powerful to be played with carelessly.
But when Andrew died...
She broke. And in her wild desperation to bring him back, she turned to the very thing she’d sworn she never would dark magic.
And now here we were.
A broken man.
A broken witch.
And somewhere between us, a faint glimmer of what once was.
I just had to reach her before that last spark went out forever.
I didn’t realize what she had done until it was far too late. By the time the truth finally clicked, the black magic had already taken deep root, and any hope of bringing our son back had died along with it. I didn’t just lose my son that day I lost my mate too.
The grief I should’ve had for our son was ripped away before it could even begin. In its place, I watched helplessly as the dark magic she summoned drained the very essence of who she was. Piece by piece, the mate I once knew faded, swallowed by something cruel and unrecognizable.
And the moment her eyes opened again, I knew. The woman I loved was completely gone. In her place stood someone else entirely, wearing her face, but with none of her sweet soul. She smiled at me cold and twisted then vanished into the dark night. I spent years, decades searching. Tracking whispers and shadows across the land. But deep down, I knew the truth. She didn’t want to be found.
It wasn’t just dark magic. It was a monster. And it had her in its grip.
"That might be true," I said, my voice low, almost a whisper as I stared down at my hand resting on her leg, "but I don’t believe it."
She scoffed and leaned back in her chair, her body language screaming utter boredom and dismissal. Still, I let my thumb move gently over her skin, memorizing the subtle warmth that remained. My gaze lifted back to her face, searching for any tiny crack in her mask. She rolled her neck but refused to meet my eyes, choosing instead to stare off into the darkness, almost like she was trying to disappear all over again.
My wolf stirred beneath my skin, restless and tense. After more than twenty long years, we’d finally found her and she wanted absolutely nothing to do with us.
But I wasn’t leaving. Not again. I would drag her straight out of this nightmare if I had to.
With steady hands, I reached up for the black blindfold that covered her eyes. I was the only one allowed to remove it. As I pulled it free, her dark lashes fluttered before her eyes snapped open. Black and sharp, swirling with a dangerous power I hated. I lifted my other hand and gently gripped her chin not harshly, but firmly enough to make sure she couldn’t turn away. I needed her to look straight at me.
She did. Pure suspicion burned in those dark eyes.
I narrowed mine right back. "Enough. I want my woman back. And I want her back now."
The long days of treading carefully, hoping she’d come back to me on her own, were officially over. This wasn’t her. It couldn’t be. And I wasn’t going to let this charade go on any longer.
She had to be alive.
She was alive.
My mate couldn’t be gone couldn’t be just a distant memory.
She had to be in there somewhere.
I kept repeating it like a quiet prayer, like a heavy anchor to keep myself from sinking completely into despair.
She was alive. She had to be. I couldn’t bear the thought of being alone again.
She just had to be.