When my sister finally appeared with members of our pack, it was already too late. I barely registered the sound of her cries as her eyes landed on Elior’s lifeless form. The healer did everything she could, tried spell after spell, but I knew. Deep in my bones, I knew he was already gone.
All I could do was sit there.
Frozen.
Empty.
Tears slid down my cheeks, but they brought no comfort. My chest felt hollow—like someone had ripped my heart out and left an aching, endless void that nothing would ever fill.
My sister brought me back to the territory. That’s when she told me what had happened—Alpha Ronan’s men had been slaughtered. The rogues had outmatched them completely. They didn’t even have a chance.
The moment she found out, she had raced to me.
And yet, I hadn’t called her.
I had reached out to Ronan.
If I had just turned to her instead… maybe Elior would still be alive.
But I was stupid. Foolish. So blindly loyal to a man I thought would choose us. A man I thought would save his own child over someone who had once turned her back on him.
Ronan had the power to destroy every last one of those rogues. He could have torn through them without breaking a sweat.
But he didn’t.
He made a choice.
He deliberately chose her—the woman who once left him in ruins.
A full week had gone by. And now, here I was, standing in front of the grave that held my son’s body. His name etched into the cold gray stone, forever frozen in time. I hadn’t gone back to Ashfen Pack. I hadn’t answered a single call. I’d ignored every message from Ronan demanding answers, claiming we needed to talk.
Talk?
What conversation could possibly matter now?
There was nothing left to discuss.
I was nothing now. Just a broken silhouette of the woman I used to be. When my son died, he took the last part of me with him.
One morning, I lay curled up on my bed, facing the wall as silence swallowed the room. That’s when my father walked in.
His tone was calm, but the tension in his voice said everything he didn’t.
“Alpha Ronan’s on his way,” he said quietly.
I didn’t flinch. Didn’t blink.
I kept staring at the wall, wishing I could’ve taken Elior’s place.
But I was still breathing. Still here. And all I could feel was a deep, simmering rage.
Rage directed at myself.
Rage directed at Ronan.
“What does he want?” I muttered. My voice was scratchy, each syllable heavy and dry like gravel in my throat.