Chapter Sixteen
Kieran
I watch Daciana sleep, curled on her side in the pre-dawn darkness. She hasn’t slept much since we arrived in Silver Stone Pack territory—none of us have—but exhaustion finally claimed her an hour ago. Her face is peaceful now, a sharp contrast to the devastation I know waits for her when she wakes.
Once my mate was asleep, I combed through the entire house. Traces of magic were everywhere. I was not surprised.
I rub my hands over my face. I know the feeling of loss all too well, but I never wanted Daciana to experience it.
Light creeps through the windows, and her eyes flutter open.
“Kieran?” she mumbles softly.
“I’m here.”
She sits up, and for a moment, I see hope flicker in her eyes, like maybe it was all a nightmare. Then, her face crumbles before rebuilding itself stoically.
“They’re really gone,” she whispers.
“Yes.”
She doesn’t cry. Not yet. But I see the way her hands tremble as she dresses, the careful blankness settling over her featureslike armor. I know this kind of grief, the kind that goes too deep for tears, that hollows you out from the inside.
After I performed a conservation spell on the bodies, Lucian’s people brought them into the house and laid them respectfully in the main room. Daciana’s parents. Her two youngest brothers. All four are now wrapped in white cloths. The scent of death still clings to them despite having been buried in dirt.
Daciana stands in the doorway, frozen. I move to her side, close enough that our shoulders touch.
“How long?” she asks.
“Ten days. Maybe more.” Around the time they went missing.
Her jaw clenches. “I should have come sooner.”
“You couldn’t have known.”
“I should have felt it.” Her voice cracks. “I should have—”
“Daciana.” I turn her to face me. “This isn’t your fault.”
She doesn’t answer, just pulls away and walks toward the bodies. She kneels beside the smallest form, one of her younger brothers, and pulls back the sheet. I want to stop her, to spare her this, but she needs to see. She needs to know this is real.
I watch her touch the boy’s cold face, trace the curve of her mother’s cheek, rest her hand on her father’s chest. She’s not crying, but her heart is breaking. I can feel it fracturing in the silence.
She stands, her voice a ragged whisper. “I want to know who did this.”
“I can help with that.”
She turns to me, eyes shining with unshed tears. “How?”
“The same way I did before. When I went to the grave of the female alpha wolf and discovered that the necromancer had used her against you.” I keep my voice steady, matter of fact. “I can ask the dead what happened.”
“Is it safe?”
The question hangs between us. I could lie. I probably should lie. But I promised her: no more secrets.
“It’s forbidden magic,” I admit. “But it should be fine.”
Her eyes narrow. “Should be?”
