Cathal McNamara died with the fighters he dragged into this conflict, and whatever empire he believed he was building collapsed the moment his guts spilled out at my paws. What remains of his pack is not a threat to mine. The young. The old. The omegas who were never trained to fight. Last I heard, no one has stepped forward to lead them. I can’t blame them.Inheriting Cathal’s legacy would mean inheriting his sins, and there’s nothing there worth salvaging.
I’ve wondered whether I would have taken on the mantle of Alpha, a title my bloodline insisted was mine, had I known the full truth of who my father was, or what he was slowly turning this territory into.
It’s easy to say no, to claim I would have walked away years ago and never looked back. But if I had, I wouldn’t be here now. I wouldn’t have crossed paths with my mate again after years of being kept apart. And I wouldn’t be here to lead the people still standing—good people worth protecting—forward.
Walking away wouldn’t have spared them. It would have condemned them.
I ended my father’s legacy the only way it deserved to end, and I’ll spend the rest of my life building something better in its place.
Some legacies were never going to become anything else. Their endings were set by the way they were raised.
Talis McNamara was tossed back over the northern border yesterday once she stopped screaming in pain from her self-inflicted injuries and was healed enough to stand on her own. Unceremoniously. No speeches. No negotiations. Just dropped on the wrong side of the line and left there. It was Noa’s call to spare her life. My mate’s mercy still intact even after everything. I agreed, but with conditions because my heart isn’t as tender as my sweet girl’s.
Talis didn’t escape unscathed. She lost her father. She lost her looks. She lost most, if not all, of her eyesight. We spared her life, but we left her blind and alone beyond our borders with nothing but the clothes on her back. I consider that giving her a fighting chance. More than she ever would have offered Noa if the roles had been reversed.
More than anything, Tanith’s coven remains the biggest unknown. We don’t know the limits of her reach or how many remain loyal to her, but the number of witches killed three nights ago was enough to matter. Enough to slow her down, to force her to take stock, to sit in the absence of what she lost.
What we do know is that Evara, the compeller, wasn’t among the dead when we finished collecting bodies across the territory. That single fact was enough to drain the color from Noa’s face when she heard it. No one knows how Evara managed to avoid being taken under by Noa’s fear spell. All we found is the Escalade abandoned near the southern border. From there, she ran through dense woods until her tracks vanished at a road. The assumption is that another vehicle picked her up. Or she compelled someone to drive her wherever she needed to go.
Whatever that means for what’s to come, I couldn’t tell you.
I just know we’re not finished with this fight.
I have to decide where we go from here. How to rebuild. How to reinforce the walls that failed us once already. I hope it will be easier now that the rot inside our ranks has been cut out. We’ve spent the last two days making sure of that.
Every pack member over the age of fifteen was questioned. The same questions. Over and over. Zora used her gift to listen for lies. Seren tracked the emotions bleeding off them whether they wanted them seen or not. Noa went deeper still, into the thoughts people were actively trying not to think about—which only meant they thought about it more, making it easy for Noa to catch the deceit.
It was slow. Exhausting. Necessary.
Noa sat through every single interview. Every denial that turned into a confession once they realized lying was futile in a room full of gifted charmers.
Between sessions, I noticed the way her shoulders would slump, the way her expression would fall when she thought noone was paying attention. The grief never stayed buried for long, and the guilt was never far behind. She’s only admitted that part to me, the weight she carries for Rhosyn, for the fact that Rhosyn stepped into the path of a spear meant for her.
I told Noa the truth. That Rhosyn didn’t hesitate because Noa wouldn’t have either. That kind of sacrifice is written so deep into her bones, that it overrides reason and fear. I love her for it, her selfless heart a rare gift in this word. But I hate it just as much.
Noa had agreed, quietly, but understanding the why doesn’t make the grief any easier to carry.
I close the distance between us and kneel beside the bed on the side Noa’s claimed. She’s curled up tight on her side with the white down comforter pulled nearly to her nose. She chose the bed last night instead of the nest, though I doubt that it mattered to her. We finished the final interview last night, found the remaining bit of corruption, and then cut out the rot, quietly and effectively. And by the time we got home, she was barely upright, tired in a way that wasn’t just due to lack of sleep.
Even if I didn’t get enough of it, sleep came easier last night than it has since before the first round of traitors were exposed. Knowing what’s left of my pack is solid matters. We’re smaller now, enough that the strain will show when it comes time to cover territory with the people we have. But what matters more is loyalty. The last of my father’s network has been dragged into the light and dealt with.
The official addition of Lowri’s she-wolves has added not only muscle, but skill that reinforces our ranks. Cerys showed during the fight exactly what kind of force she is, and what kind of leader she could become. I’m watching her close. I think she’ll strengthen this pack in ways I wouldn’t have anticipated. Between her, the other she-wolves, and what remains of myenforcers, we have enough fighters to stand our ground while we figure out just where this is all going.
I want to see more of Noa’s face.
I lower the comforter slowly, careful not to wake her. She frowns in her sleep, brows pinching together, a quiet sound of complaint escaping before she relaxes again and curls tighter around the pillow held to her chest. Mine. The one she claimed for herself after I slipped out of bed.
Something tight grips behind my sternum, close enough to pain that I have to slow my breathing around it. For years, I believed this kind of love wasn’t meant for me. The kind that cuts you open, makes a home inside the wound, and stays. The kind that leaves a jagged scar and still leaves you grateful for the proof.
At the edge of the bed, I rest my chin on my forearm and reach for her without thinking. The need to feel the warmth of her skin against mine, even in this insignificant way, too strong to ignore. My finger traces the line of her cheek, tucks loose strands of dark hair behind her ear, then moves in slow circles around her eyes before following the bridge of her nose. I’m just starting to trace her pouting mouth when she stirs, a soft sound catching in her throat, and I stay right where I am. I don’t pull away.
Her eyes flutter open slowly, lashes brushing her cheeks as she blinks herself awake. I freeze. I don’t mean to, but it happens every morning now, my body locking in place as I wait to see what I’ll find looking back at me. In the last couple of mornings since the attack, the moment her eyes opened they filled almost immediately, the grief hitting her fresh and unguarded as the reality of Rhosyn’s death settles back in. I’ve been learning to brace for it.
This morning is different.
Her gaze clears as it finds mine, more present, brighter somehow. There’s still sadness there, I’m not foolish enough to think it’ll ease its grip overnight, but it isn’t swallowing her whole. The burden looks lighter. I stare at her, a thousand thoughts crashing together in my skill. She watches me back, quiet and unblinking, like she’s taking her own inventory of what she sees written across my face.
I’ve been staying strong for Noa, helping her move through this because she shouldn’t have to do it alone. But that doesn’t mean I’m not carrying my own grief—the loss of Rhosyn, who walked into this pack and claimed a place in my life as a sister I didn’t know I needed. Wild hair, loud with no filter to speak of, sharp edge in her affection, and fearless enough to call me on my bullshit when no one else would dare. The world feels thinner without her.
