Chapter 9
“Yes!” Anya screamed, eyes unhinged. “Why do your parents get to live and mine die? I wanted all of you buried with them!”
She laughed, a shrill, jagged sound. “From the start, it was a setup. That ‘scent‘ you caught from me? I stole Seraphina’s spent balm, cut it with fragrance oil, and shoved it inside my body.”
Triumph flashed across her face. “And you, idiot that you are, actually believed it. Look at you now, half–dead–that’s so satisfying.”
Blood webbed Atticus’s eyes.
He drove his fist into her, again and again, then slammed her head against the wall by the hair. “Vile woman! You played me? Let’s see you laugh now.”
He was merciless. In moments Anya was limp, dragged away by warriors, a line of blood dotting the stone.
Before satisfaction could register, his chest seized.
Blood surged up and he crumpled, his breath tearing in ragged bursts, eyes rimmed in red.
He looked up at me with terror and pleadin
I sifted papers, my voice calm to the pointed
tangled together.
of cruelty.
“You smashed my instruments. Your wolf i
gone. No one can save you.”
“And I’m Thornclaw Pack’s witch now. Our craft has rules. We serve one pack at a time. Unless I break my contract, I can’t keep you alive.”
I paused, smiled a little, cold as winter. ”
won’t live to see that day.”
I turned to Liam. “It’s time to renew the Moonbinding incense for your mother. Let’s go.”
I didn’t look back as I walked out.
Atticus watched my back recede.
Regret rose like a tide and swallowed him.
Tears slid from the corners of his eyes. Then the dark took him.
He woke on a hospital bed, white as paper.
The healer shook his head and gave him twenty–four hours at most.
Atticus’s hands trembled as he pulled a wrinkled photo from his pocket–our wedding picture from eight years ago. My smile was bright. His was young and certain.
He stared until his throat closed.
He remembered me keeping vigil through the night to make incense, while he held Anya and said the smell made him sick.
He remembered me praying for him in the Moon Temple, while he shamed me in public until I could not lift my head in Nightfall Pack.
He remembered the heirlooms I guarded smashed to dust, and Milo skinned for a rug, while he watched like stone.
Shame and sorrow drowned him.
He forced the words out, voice thready “Transter everything I own to Seraphina.”
A warrior tried the passcodes, then looked up, helpless. “Alpha… Ms. Lark has you blocked. We can’t push the transter through.”
Light guttered out in Atticus’s eyes.
He reached for the photo, but strength failed him.
Chapter 9
Galatea
100.00%
His breathing hitched. His chest rose and fell, shallow, and he whispered, over and over, “I’m sorry… I’m sorry…”
Before the last apology finished, his eyes slid shut for good.
I was across town, blending a year’s supply of incense for Thornclaw’s elder Luna.
From that day on, I had my freedom.
I could leave whenever I wished–head north to watch the snow, or drift through a seaside town and taste the wind.
The road stretched wide. The view went on forever.
Nightfall Pack–and Atticus—lay buried with the past, scattered on the wind.
