The Matchmaker - The Arrax Saga Book 1 Chapter 225

The first light of dawn crept through the shutters, soft and pale, brushing the stone walls with gold. The pack was quiet, hushed in the aftermath of grief, as though even the air itself was holding its breath.

Saphira stirred slowly, her body heavy, her eyes swollen from the night’s tears. For a moment she didn’t move, she simply lay still, listening. The steady rhythm of Nikolas’s heartbeat thudded beneath her ear, his chest rising and falling against her cheek. His arm was wrapped around her.

She blinked, her throat tight, but the sobs didn’t come this time. Only the ache remained, sharp, but quieter, like a wound beginning to scar.

Nikolas shifted slightly, his hand brushing her hair back from her face. His voice was low, warm with sleep. “You’re awake.”

Saphira swallowed hard. “I thought… if I closed my eyes, I’d see her again.” Her voice trembled, but she forced herself to continue. “But I didn’t. Just darkness. And you.”

He pressed his forehead lightly to hers, his breath steady. “Then let me be what you see when you wake. At least for now.”

Her chest tightened, her breath catching. “I don’t know how to do this,” she whispered. “How to keep moving when it feels like everything inside me is broken.”

Nikolas’s thumb traced slow circles against her hand. “One step at a time,” he said gently. “You don’t have to be whole today. Just breathe. Just rise. That’s enough.”

Her eyes closed again, letting his words settle into the cracks of her grief. She felt the warmth of him, the steadiness of his presence, and for the first time since the burial, she allowed herself to believe she wasn’t carrying it alone.

Her voice was barely a whisper. “Then… I’ll try. For her. For us.”

Nikolas kissed her temple, lingering, his arms tightening around her. “That’s all she would ask.”

“You know, it’s strange, even after everything Lupus did to me, yesterday I still lost both my parents, and that’s just another thing to navigate through,” Saphira said.

Nikolas’ grip tightened on her. “Just take it one step at a time, these things take time. And I will be with you along the way.”

Saphira nodded as she drew her first fragile step toward healing, not joy, not yet, but the faintest flicker of hope, held safe in Nikolas’s embrace.

Saphira rose slowly, her body heavy, Nikolas was still beside her, his hand brushed hers, a quiet reminder that she wasn’t alone. She drew a breath, shaky but deliberate, and pushed herself upright.

It was time.

The pack needed her.

Together, she and Nikolas stepped into the courtyard, a tent was setup overnight. The healers moved among the wounded, their hands glowing with soft magic, their voices low and soothing. The air was thick with the scent of herbs and smoke, the quiet hum of recovery.

Saphira walked among her pack, her steps careful, her heart aching with every face she passed. The injured looked up as she approached, some with tears shining in their eyes, others with weary smiles that tried to reassure her.

One young wolf, his arm bound in a sling, bowed his head. “I’m sorry for your loss,” he murmured. “Anastasia was… she was everything to us. Like our bonus mum.”

Saphira’s throat tightened, but she crouched beside him, her hand resting lightly on his shoulder. “She was everything to me too,” she said softly. “But you’re here. You survived. That matters. She would want us to keep going.”

Another witch, her robes singed and her hands trembling, reached for Saphira’s hand. “We’ll carry her memory,” she whispered. “Every spell, every fight, we’ll carry her with us.”

Saphira squeezed her fingers, her chest aching. “Then we’ll make her proud. Together.”

Nikolas stayed close, but he let her lead. He watched as she moved from one injured comrade to the next, offering words, gestures, touches that stitched the pack together as surely as the healers’ magic.

Jasper approached Saphira, his arm bandaged, his expression solemn. “They’re looking to you,” he said quietly. “Even now. Especially now.”

Saphira’s gaze swept the pack members, the bowed heads, the weary smiles, the eyes that followed her. Grief pressed heavy against her ribs, but beneath it, something steadier stirred.

She straightened, her voice carrying across the courtyard. “We paid a high price,” she said, her words trembling but strong. “But we won. And we will honour Anastasia, not by breaking, not by falling apart, but by living. By healing. By standing together.”

The pack lifted their heads. Some nodded. Some whispered her name.

Nikolas’s hand brushed hers. “You’re leading them,” he murmured. “Even through this. Through everything you are going through.”

Saphira drew a breath, her chest tight. She was still grieving, still raw, but she was standing. And the pack was standing with her.

By nightfall, the pack had gathered again, not for battle, not for mourning rites, but for something gentler.

They sat in a wide circle, blankets draped over shoulders, cups of warm broth in hand. Saphira sat near the centre, Nikolas beside her. She felt the ache in her chest still, sharp and unyielding, but here, surrounded by her people, it softened.

It began with Asher. His voice was quiet. “She used to scold me for sharpening my blade too much,” he said, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “Said I’d wear it down to nothing. Then she’d take it from me and sharpen it herself, better than I ever could.”

A ripple of laughter moved through the circle.

Raven leaned forward, her eyes glinting. “She once caught me sneaking food from the kitchens. Didn’t say a word. Just sat down beside me and ate half of it. Then told me if I was going to steal, I should at least share.”

More laughter, warmer this time.

Jasper’s voice was rough, but his smile was genuine. “She taught me how to track in the snow. Said the trick wasn’t in the footprints, it was in the silence between them. I’ll never forget that.”

One by one, the stories came. Small moments, sharp memories, fragments of Anastasia woven into the lives she had touched.

Saphira listened, her throat tight, her eyes burning. She wanted to speak, but for a long time, the words wouldn’t come.

Nikolas’s hand brushed hers. “Say it,” he murmured softly. “Whatever you’re holding.”

She drew a breath, shaky but deliberate. “She called me stubborn,” Saphira whispered. “Said I had fire in me that would burn the world if I wasn’t careful. I thought she was warning me. But now… I think she was proud.”

Her voice broke, but she pressed on. “I didn’t have enough time with her. But I’ll carry her forward. We all will.”

The pack bowed their heads.

For the first time since the burial, Saphira felt the ache shift, not gone, but lighter. The grief was still there, sharp and unyielding, but beneath it, something fragile stirred.

Hope.

She leaned into Nikolas, her voice barely a whisper. “We’re going to be okay.”

He pressed a kiss to her hair, his arm tightening around her. “Yes,” he said softly. “Together.”