“You shouldn’t be.” I drop to my knees beside his bed, reaching but pulling back from the black magick, compelled to help but unable to touch. “This isn’t deadly—not like this. Let me go home.” My plea is thrown at Marissa. “Please.I’ll get Mom. She might be able to help. We’ll get Twilight Grove to come today. I’ll leave sooner if it means he’ll be alright.”
Alaric coughs, earning my attention again in the same way a train wreck would. I don’t want to look, but need to. He shakes his head, and a sad but peaceful smile tinges his mouth.
Acceptance.
“I’m already…”
Marissa jumps in, wiping sweat gathered on his brow. “Alaric has been dying for a long time, and he’s always known it. It’s why he pushed the role of Alpha onto Ryder so soon; he wanted to see his son lead before passing away. The black magick only sped up what was already happening. He had a unique bond with Ryder’s mother, and when she died, so did some of his soul.”
Alaric coughs, turning his head until pain-filled eyes land on me. He stretches a weak hand across his nest, reaching for mine resting on the edge. I turn my hand, giving him as much strength as I can. This time, if he feels my magick surging from me to him, he doesn’t argue.
“Ryder told me about her,” I admit, compelled to. “He visits their spot.” It might be Ryder’s secret, but Alaric deserves to know before leaving his son forever. “It’s where we met.”
Alaric huffs, weathered eyes going to Marissa and back. “Interesting… Did he mention—nîkâkîstisbond?”
“Did he mention the term for mates chosen by fate?” I fill in and reshape his question. “Mainly that they’re rare.”
“‘Heart of the wolf’. It’s what Ryder’s mother was to me.” His sentences start lengthening, my magick giving him enough strength. “Losing her was like losing my heart. She took it with her, but left a tiny fragment behind. The fragment that’s been getting me this far, to watch over Ryder. He’s grown now, so the fragment is crumbling, reclaimed by her.”
“Does Ryder know you’re…” Finishing the question makes it real, so I don’t. “He deserves to know.”
“Have you met my boy? He’s been worrying enough.”
“If I go home, I could find a way to contact Twilight Grove.” I grip the old shifter’s hand tighter and pleading for Marissa to understand. “The deal’s been met. They’ll heal you.” Or at the very least allow him to pass into the Otherworld without the pain of Darkness.
“Don’t,” Alaric whispers. “I want to go.”
Another tear. A feeling of defeat, of being helpless. I lower myself closer to the ground.
Mortals assume having magick solves everything; no more bad hair days, no more running late to work, no more death. But magick is one of the biggest forms of unhelpfulness one can ever experience. In many ways, it’s a trap.
“Why are you telling me this?”
His mouth tightens with his next deep inhale, and a very tense ten seconds pass before Alaric answers. “So you can run, Carina. Leave us. You’re noble to remain—to be willing to go sooner—but I’ll be dead in a matter of days regardless. Takingyou will serve no purpose to anyone here, so do not sacrifice yourself.”
Without Alaric’s life on the line, I don’t have go. Volunteering myself up, against Mom’s wishes, was not only for the good of the coven, but to help the shifters. Without them needing us, the coven can regroup, keep me away from Sloane, and find another way to figure out what Twilight Grove’s endgame is.
But leaving, even with his concession, feels…wrong.
Darkness hovers, making the room stagnant. The reminder of how this shifter will meet his end. It’s not his responsibility to rejoin his mate under the weight of agony. Of a power that twists the minds and ruins lives.
“You’ll die in pain.”
“When I pass, the pain will end. Life is pain, death is peace. I mean it, Carina. Return to your coven and be safe. They will guard you with their lives.”
That’s the worrisome part.
“Ryder will attempt to follow.”
My ears must be deceiving me. “I’m sorry?”
“He’s protective. He won’t like you leaving, but he’ll let you because it’s for the best. If I’m dead, and you remain, Ryder may not let you go. At the very least, if you’re going, do so with your coven defending you, not the pack. Ryder will get people killed trying to keep you.”
“Keep me?”The question is nothing more than an awkward squeak, followed by a glance at Marissa whose expression remains passive. “Ryder will be thrilled to see me gone!”
He stares long before blinking his concession. “Maybe. Ignore an old man’s ramblings.”
I take in his words—his lie—as the truth, letting them settle into my gut until I’m breathing easier. “Good. Either way, I won’t leave until you’re gone. Because if thereissomething that can be done…”
