A Rejected Wolf and a Court of Ash (Eden and Azriel) novel Chapter 104

Axel

We set up the camp in silence. There’s no forest noise here. No wind, no birds, no rustling leaves. Just the hush of another realm holding its breath.

Elvira moves slowly, dragging her limbs like they too heavy for the little muscles still left on her skinny body. I pitch the tent and she lays out the tarp, eyes dull, mouth drawn tight. She doesn’t ask for help. She doesn’t speak unless she has to.

I don’t like it.

She is too quiet. Not like the last time I saw her at school before she betrayed Eden. Back then she held her head up high with a big smile on her face. That girl is gone, replaced by someone who looks like she is being held together by the sheer will of survival alone.

I crouch by the fire pit, striking the flint I brought. Sparks catch. Flame blooms.

Elvira watches it like someone who isn’t sure if she deserves to be warm.

I sit down in front of her. We are close, but not close enough to touch.

Something inside of me goes tight, like strained rope. I’ve heard of people retreating into themselves. Like turtles choosing their shells instead of the bright sun.

Is this what it looks like when the soul has given up?

I wet my lips. “Be honest. What would you have done if I didn’t show up?”

I expect there to be a reaction, maybe a flinch.

But what I get is a flat answer. “I would have died.”

There’s no drama in her tone. No cry for sympathy.

“Quietly,” she adds after a second. “Like I deserved to.”

The fire cracks between us. My jaw tenses.

“That’s a fucked–up way to think.”

She shrugs. “It’s not thinking. It’s knowing.”

I stare at her. “That’s not knowing. That’s giving up.”

She turns her gaze to the flames. “Giving up takes energy. I didn’t even have that.”

Fucking hell, what do you even say to that? I want to argue, to shake her, to tell her that being alive is already the first step toward fixing shit. But her eyes are hollow. Not empty–just… tired. Like nothing I say would matter, because she already decided it wouldn’t before I opened my mouth.

“I don’t get it,” I say eventually. “You survived. You got out. Why act like you still lost?”

She wraps her arms around her legs. Shrinks in a little. “Because surviving doesn’t undo anything. I still betrayed Eden. And now… now you’ve brought me here. To the one place she might be. You didn’t just save me, Axel. You delivered me to the part where I have to face what I did.”

I run a hand through my hair, biting back another response.

Because what do say? She isn’t dealing with trauma alone. This isn’t just guilt, but fear of what comes next. Of who might be waiting and in this case, that person is Eden. And Elvira? She doesn’t want to be seen by the person who meant everything before she threw it all away.

And I get it, in a way. But I still think she is wrong.

But I wouldn’t help the situation to argue with her so I give her a canteen instead.

She takes it with surprised eyes and when our fingers brush, she flinches Not like she is afraid, but like she forgot people could touch her gently. Blinks at me like she wasn’t expecting anything at all.

“Thanks,” she murmurs.

“No need to thank me.”

Her lips twitch, but she doesn’t speak another world.

I’m okay with that.

We sit there. No more words. Just the fire.

She curls up beside the tent and rests her head on her arms. Her eyes are half–lidded, still watching me like she doesn’t know what I am yet. Not her enemy. Not her ally. Something in–between.

I don’t ask if she is okay because I already know the answer.

She isn’t.

But she didn’t run, either. She didn’t disappear back into silence or death or guilt.

She stayed:

And now I sit alone by the fire after she’s fallen asleep, legs stretched out, watching the flames dance like they know how to say what I can’t.

I don’t understand her. Not fully. She doesn’t want saving. Not yet.

But moon goddess help me, I still want to stay.

She is still asleep when I wake.

It’s not full morning, not that mornings mean much here. The fae fealm doesn’t follow normal rules. The sky is still aúsky, but there’s a softness to the air, like the forest’s holding its breath a little less tightly.

I stretch, shift into wolf form, and pad silently toward the stream I remember nearby. We used to train in these woods. I know where the trout nest under the mossy rocks.

It only takes one pounce. Two splashes. One proud catch,

I stalk back to camp with the fish in my jaws, tail high, paws silent.

She is still curled under the blanket when I approach. Her face is turned toward the embers. Hair a mess. Shoulders twitching like she is half–dreaming.

I drop the fish in front of her with a satisfying plop/

Her eyes open slowly. She blinks at the offering. Then at me. Then back at the fish.

I take a proud step back. You’re welcome, my look says.

She stares. Then her face scrunches like she has just been offered roadkill.

“Did you seriously drop a dead fish on me?” she rasps.

I tilt my head. What?

She sits up, looks at the fish, then at me. “Was this in your mouth?”

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