Rage explodes in my chest at the mention of her, white-hot and consuming. How dare he speak of her now, how dare he use her memory as a weapon against me when he knows, he knows, how much I loved her, how much her loss nearly destroyed us both.
I knock his blade aside with a strike that reverberates through both our arms and ram my knee into his ribs with bone-crushing force. He gasps, the air driven from his lungs, and staggers. My sword slashes across his shoulder, parting armor like parchment, and he falls back against one of the standing stones with a grunt of pain.
I don’t hesitate. I can’t afford to.
With a cry torn from the very depths of my soul, a sound that encompasses every moment of betrayal, every sleepless night wondering how it all went so wrong, I drive my sword clean through his chest. The blade punches through his breastplate like it’s made of paper, through flesh and bone and out the other side to scrape against stone.
He chokes, his eyes meeting mine, wide with shock and sudden, terrible understanding. For a moment that stretches like eternity, there’s nothing but silence between us, father and son, teacher and student, locked together in this final, irreversible act.
Then I pull the blade free, the suction audible, and blood blooms across his chest like a dark flower. I raise my sword one last time and swing with all the strength left in my body. His head separates from his shoulders with barely a whisper of resistance and falls to the moss-covered ground with a soft, final thud.
It rolls once. Twice. Then stills, and I feel absolutely nothing where once there might have been grief or regret or even satisfaction. Just. . .emptiness. The forest itself seems to exhale in satisfaction, as if accepting this ultimate offering, this final payment for all the blood that has been spilled in its depths.
Almost immediately, thick vines begin to slither from the earth like awakening serpents, coiling around his headless body with purposeful intent. More vines emerge to embrace the corpses of the fallen soldiers scattered throughout the forest. Roots pierce through gaps in armor with the patience of centuries, while broad leaves unfurl to shroud the dead like burial wrappings. One by one, they sink into the hungry earth, drawn down into the forest’s eternal embrace until they’re gone completely, as if they had never existed at all.
I drop to my knees on the soft moss, suddenly exhausted beyond measure but also profoundly relieved. The weight thathas been pressing down on my shoulders for months, the constant tension of knowing this confrontation was inevitable, finally lifts. It’s over. This chapter of blood and betrayal is finally, truly over.
Behind me, I hear the soft sound of footsteps as Rue trudges into the clearing, his usually immaculate clothing now blood-slicked and torn. He’s breathing hard from his own battles, but his eyes are bright with fierce satisfaction.
“Well,” he says, surveying the scene where the vines are now receding back into the earth, leaving no trace of what transpired here. “That was. . .horrifyingly poetic. Very you, actually. Brooding and dramatic and environmentally conscious all at once.”
“I’ll burn every last one who threatens her,” I say quietly, my voice carrying across the suddenly peaceful clearing like a vow spoken before the gods themselves. “This kingdom. That throne. Her. I’ll protect them all until my dying breath, and beyond if the fates allow it.”
Rue steps closer, his usual theatrical energy spent but his spirit still as fierce as ever. He claps a blood-sticky hand on my shoulder, the gesture both comforting and grounding.
“I’m with you to the end,” he says, and for once there’s no mockery in his voice, no flourish or clever quip. Just simple, absolute truth. “To the very end, brother. Through whatever comes next.”
Then, as if the weight of sincerity is too much for him to bear, he groans dramatically and flops onto a fallen log with exaggerated exhaustion, dragging a torn sleeve across his face to wipe away the worst of the blood and forest debris.
“At least two days,” he announces to the canopy above. “That’s how long I plan to sleep. Possibly three, if I can manage it. God knows, my bed is calling to me like a siren’s song. That’s assuming I don’t collapse in the corridor first and haveto be carried to my chambers like some swooning maiden, or strapping courtier.”
Despite everything, the blood, the death, the finality of what I’ve just done, I snort with something that might be laughter. Half amusement, half an exhale of pure disbelief that we’re still here, still breathing, still whole after everything we’ve been through.
After everything we’ve seen, everything we’ve fought, everything we’ve lost and gained and lost again, I might just sleep for days too. Preferably with the woman I love safe in my arms and that ridiculous wolf of hers sprawled across the foot of the bed like a furry guardian. Yes, I believe what I feel truly is love. Not just the desperate need born of a magical bond, but something deeper, something that has grown in the spaces between crisis and comfort. I love Esme with every fiber of my being, and I give my soul to this extraordinary woman, now and forever, in whatever form our future takes.
We’re not done yet, far from it. There will be other threats, other battles, other moments when everything we hold dear hangs in the balance. But tonight, for the first time in longer than I can remember, we’ve earned our rest.
Looking up at the shifting patterns of light and shadow dancing through the ancient canopy, feeling the ancient forest’s approval settling around us like a benediction, I have a feeling our journey together has only just begun.
CHAPTER THIRTY
ESME
The first thing I register is warmth. A slow, languid heat that wraps around me like an embrace, seeping into my bones and melting the tension in my muscles. I drift in this hazy, golden sensation, not yet fully awake but aware of the way my body responds to the touch. My hips shift slightly, a soft gasp escaping my lips as two slick fingers press deeper into me.
The smell of night jasmine and pine fills my nostrils, grounding me in the present. Locke.
Holding my breath, sinking in the sensation he is giving me. It’s not just the physical sensation, it’s the intimacy of it, the way he’s taking his time, preparing me with deliberate care. It’s been days since I’ve felt anything but fear, frost, and fire. This, this is warmth. This is being wanted. This is feeling alive. My body remembers what it means to feel pleasure instead of pain, to be cherished rather than hunted.
The constant vigilance I’ve maintained like armor begins to crack and fall away beneath Locke’s careful ministrations. His touch maps me like uncharted territory worth exploring, worth claiming. Each brush of his fingers against my sensitive fleshtells stories my voice couldn’t form if I tried, stories of survival, of hunger, of need so deep it frightens me.
Between the softness of the sheets against my back and the hardness of their bodies bracketing mine, I find myself anchored in the present for the first time in what feels like forever. No visions pulling me away, no prophecies to fulfill, just this moment, just us three, just the sweet ache building inside me that promises to wash everything else away.
Sam isn’t idle either, his warm mouth wraps around my nipple and begins to suck. I moan as he switches breasts, feeding the same attention to each.
He teases my nipple with his teeth and I gasp involuntarily.
“She’s awake wolf.” Locke chuckles as he flicks my clit with his tongue.
