“Stop,” I snap, voice raw. “Just stop. I can’t think straight with you near me.” Grabbing my shirt from the rock, I can’t bear to look at her like this, broken. Unbuttoning the shirt, I help her slide her arms into it, but the feathers are sharp and slice the fabric a little. Her wings are pure power; you can feel it in the looming shadow they cast. I manage to button it up sideways; it’s better than the thin gown she was wearing. But as I watch her, all I can feel is betrayal.
The gnawing, heavy feeling presses on my chest, leaving me overwhelmed by a sense of failure. I ignored the orders once more, failing to follow through. Now I must watch the repercussions unfold, again.
I can’t even look at her without that relentless, crushing sense of defeat clawing its way up my throat. I should have just stayed with my initial plan: stay far away from that little terror. And keep any chance ofwhateverthis is from staying nothing.
“I need space.”
Sammy’s gone.
He’s gone because he cared about her. Gone because of what she didn’t do. The chaos, the screams of our fallen allies. The weight of the world presses harder with every breath. Each second feels heavier than the last. I stagger back, lightheaded. Vision blurs as anger, pain, and loss mix until I can’t tell one from the other.
Hurrying to put my pants on, I try to regain control over my nerves, but it’s too much. Clutching my head, I’m desperate to clear the fog, except it’s useless.
“How could you?!” The words rip from my chest. “You let him die, Vi! He loved you. I loved you!”
She flinches.
I am a part of her broken pieces now, and that thought hurt even more than the betrayal. So I bury it deep down in the marrow of my bones.
“I loved him too,” she whispers, voice cracked and distant. “I loved him too… and I loveyou,” Avilyna repeats and sucks in a trembling breath, her whole body shaking. “I was just a kid. I didn’t know any better. I wanted to save them both… I never meant for Sam to get hurt!” The words hit like a fist to the gut, making the pain sharper. Her eyes glisten with unshed tears, and my heart breaks.
“I didn’t want this,” she says again, softer now. Like the truth itself might swallow her whole. “I didn’t want any of this. I didn’t mean for Sam to die.”
But at that last word, anger wins. Simmering thick and hot, spilling out as lava, burning everything in its wake. “That’s just so typical of you, Avilyna. Never thinking ahead, never thinking about the consequences. Just always throwing yourself headfirst into danger as if the world is supposed to bend to catch you.” I don’t stay to see how the words hurt her, turning around, I start walking away.
“That’s unfair.”
“News flash, Princess life’s unfair.”
The weight of the truth crashes down. How much I failed, how much she failed, and how none of it matters now. Nothing I say, nothing she says can bring them back. The anger, the grief…
“Let’s go. Patrol starts in twenty minutes.” I start walking, the words scraping out of me as ash. But then my lycan sensescatch something, a presence, close, and wrong. I look back and freeze. Avilyna is no longer alone.
No, she’s now held by a tall, imposing figure standing behind her. His hand knotted in a strong grip around her hair, yanking her head back. His other arm pinning her wings, fingers pressing exactly at the root, the weakpoint, he knows valkyrie anatomy.
Avilyna thrashes, fighting, but his grip twists, holding her in place as a squeak of pain leaves her. And that makes my blood turn to ice. A growl rips out from my chest, low and feral. Fury surges through me, hot and wild, drowning every thought in rage. Completely different from what I felt earlier, raw, violent. This time, there’s no fucking doubt about the goal. Rip. His. Head. Out.
But then, he speaks. His voice is smooth, too calm, and coated in poison.
“Hello, old friend.”
The words are strange and yet familiar. Slamming into me as a blow to the ribs.
I know that voice. And suddenly, the past isn't buried anymore. It claws its way to the surface as something undead.
“It’s quite frustrating,” he says smoothly, “to hear you blame my sister dearest for your loss.”
Avilyna gasps, eyes wild, brimming with tears.
“Sister?” That’s when I see it.
The resemblance, his eyes, sharp green, unmistakable. The same scattered freckles, the same mouth, but everything else is wrong. Where Avilyna is sun-kissed warmth, he’s pale and hollow. Her hair is fire; his, the black sheen of raven feathers. Netherworld has touched him, twisted him beyond repair.
“Alek?” His name falls from her lips, a hopeful curse.
He grins—wide, sharp and cruel, feeding off her hopes, and my hesitation serving as fuel.
“And he lived, surprise, surprise,” Alek drawls mockingly. “I’m sorry I can’t say the same for your brother, but… Trust me—” He leans in slightly, his voice dropping to a venomous purr. “That's for the best.” And winks.
