She’s been avoiding me.
And I’ve let her. Tolerated it, more like, even as every instinct in me fights against it. But she needs the space—to mourn, to think, or to push me away—and I force myself to give it.
The same way I did last night when she barricaded herself in her mother’s office. The locked door had shredded my patience, but I hadn’t pushed. Instead, I stayed close, eventually slumping against the opposite wall when exhaustion settled in my bones. I dozed off a few times with my arms folded and neck bent at an angle that punished me later. I hadn’t cared how uncomfortable I was and hadn’t moved from my post until it was my turn to patrol Ashvale’s borders.
By the time I return from my shift, Noa has already slipped out and disappeared to her bedroom upstairs. It scrapes against every raw nerve in me to not follow, but I manage to stay put.
The rest of the morning isn’t much easier. At breakfast, with all of us gathered around her kitchen, she is hypervigilant of my position. She strategically keeps the antique workbench they use as an island between us. Every step I take she counters silently, her movements quiet, practiced, almost graceful. And somehow, I find myself wishing she’d just raise her voice and yell at me. It’d sting less.
Once breakfast is cleared, she brushes off every argument against her braving the sanctuary’s wreckage. With new omegason the way, she is adamant about sifting through the ruin to see if anything from her inventory can be salvaged.
I don’t follow her past the glamoured entrance in the cinderblock wall of the cellar. Instead, I sit on the wooden steps just outside, close enough that if danger comes back, I can reach her before it touches her.
She doesn’t ask for any help, doesn’t ask me to stay near, but none of that matters.
Being close to her has become nonnegotiable for me. I’m not going to let what happened yesterday happen again. Those minutes when I don’t know if I would reach her in time carve years off my life. The fear that consumed me fractured something in my soul.
And that’s why if I know if she refuses to leave Ashvale like I suspect she will, that I’ll stay too. And if she decides to walk away from this place altogether, I’ll follow.
I’ve already sacrificed her once, believing it was the only way. I won’t put her through that again. From here on out, if there are sacrifices to be made, they’ll be mine.
While others spend the day gathering supplies and helping people prepare to leave, I shadow Noa. Members of my own pack arrive, and they help take care of everyone else while I focus on one woman. Part of me feels guilty for it. The other part simply doesn’t give a fuck.
Two hours before sunset, Noa and Seren leave for the High Priestess’s house in white dresses. I try to stay behind, telling myself it isn’t my place to intrude on something as sacred as preparing their dead, but I last only twenty minutes. My wolf surrenders me full control when I shift, and I track her scent through the streets until it leads me to Amara’s bungalow. I linger across the road, hidden under the pines, until they start carrying out the bodies, each one now wrapped in white gauzy fabric.
I only return to change into the white button-down Rhosyn thought to ask Yrsa to bring. She made sure everyone in my pack has something appropriate to wear to the pyre ceremony. That’s her kind of magic—always five steps ahead for the rest of us.
My pack now keeps a respectful distance between us and the grieving group as we join the procession through town. Witches and wolves walk side by side. Some carry white candles cupped in their palms while others scatter salt and rosemary across the earth. Zora whispers the meaning behind this ritual but I’m barely listening. My mind isn’t on the importance of ceremonial traditions. It’s on Noa, who walks toward the front of the crowd.
But horror strikes when I finally take notice of where the procession is leading us. Dread and familiar regret pour through me as the trees open and we enter the clearing.
The same clearing I destroyed her in.
My eyes find her instantly, and she’s already staring back, pale as death.
She looks away first.
At my side, Rhosyn senses what this place is dredging up in me. She keeps her voice low, almost apologetic. “Edie said this was the only place big enough to do this.”
I can’t argue with that logic because the center of the field now houses nine pyres. Each one is built with the same careful hand that prepared the bodies resting atop them.
To everyone surprise, it isn’t the High Priestess who leads the memorial or speaks the ceremonial words as custom usually demands. Eldrith steps forward instead, taking up the mantle. The crone stands before witches and wolves alike and honors the sacrifice of their fallen.
But Amara does eventually step forward and when she does, the entire crowd draws in a collective breath. Fire licks at her fingertips, hotter than any ordinary flame, I’ve been told. Hot enough to return the bodies to ash faster than nature ever could.One by one, she lights the pyres. She is steady for the first eight. But at the ninth, she falters. Lowri’s. The heartbreak nearly takes her to her knees, but she stays standing, her lips moving in a final whisper to her lover. Then the fire leaps, and the last pyre roars to life.
The sun has slipped below the horizon and silence has fallen with it. The nine pyres burn on, their flames casting dancing shadows on the dry grass. My pack stands with me, even Siggy, though she only left Noa’s side once the ceremony began.
Through the flames, Noa stands across the way with Seren. I chose this spot so I wouldn’t lose her in the crowd, so my eyes would find her no matter what. Her arm is looped through her best friend’s, her chin is lifted, her shoulders are tight against the weight of sorrow. She holds herself upright for everyone else, not for her own sake. I know the cost of keeping up that kind of strength. But Noa shouldn’t have to carry it alone. She should be leaning on me.
My mind drifts to the aftermath of the attack, to the quiet of her bedroom where she let me tend to her when she had every reason not to. Her hesitation gleamed in her two-toned eyes, but she hadn’t refused my touch. I hold on to this memory like a vow. Proof there’s still a path back to her if I fight for it.
“She won’t be able to do it,” Rhosyn suddenly murmurs at my side.
My eyes don’t leave Noa. “Who? Do what?”
“Oh, please. Who else could I possibly be talking about?” she scoffs. “She’s not going to let anyone stay behind for her. And she’s sure as hell not about to ship those omegas to Idaho without her. She takes it all on herself, you know that. And deep down, she knows your plan is the best shot we have at keeping everyone safe.”
Hope stirs in me, but I shove it down before it rises too high. “I won’t push her either way. I can’t force her to come home.”Home. That land is Noa’s birthright as much as it’s mine. “It has to be her choice, Rhosyn.”
