Where was my sister? Sera had to be here if Mama was.
“Your army is ready,” the woman with short hair said. “The only thing left is my payment.”
My stomach hollowed. I realized this must be Shayla. The witch who’d killed Bastien’s friend, Hector, and sent his severed head to him in a box. Why was Mama with Shayla?
Shayla tossed a dead rabbit onto the ground, and the wolves lunged at the carcass. Fighting and clawing to be the one to gobble it up. I covered my mouth with a hand, while tears pricked in my eyes.
Was this what life looked like for the wolf I’d killed? Locked in a fort, awaiting orders? Ready to do whatever it took to survive?
Carefully, minding my balance, I removed the small shell from my pocket and held it between my fingers. The energy Gorrath had imbued it with thrummed against my skin.
Before I’d seen them, before I’d seen the village and the children, I’d intended on spreading my rot to all of them. But now, knowing everything I knew, it felt less like justice and more like murder. How could I kill all of them for the lies of people like Shayla and Mama, theonly people who benefited from a system that kept people outraged and afraid. Who were desperate enough to become thesethings.
I couldn’t do it, not even for a drop of Mama’s blood, because that could be me, standing down there. Easily.
Sadness sat heavy in my heart. My chest. It lived behind my eyes. I wanted to cry for them, for me, and for all the people who were just trying to do the right thing.
Slowly, I went to put the shell back in my pocket, unable to do what I’d come to do, but a gust of wind slammed against me, and the shell slipped between my fingers and tumbled downward.
“No!” I silently screamed. Watching as it hit branches and bounced off tree trunks, gaining momentum as it fell. Until it ricocheted toward the army of werewolves and landed in the mud between two snarling bodies.
My breath was caged in my chest. I hoped and prayed that no one would notice it. Shayla and Mama were laughing as they watched another group of wolves fight over a dead rabbit. Shayla froze, like a predator who’d caught scent of their prey.
Chapter 38
Le Choix
BASTIEN
They took her.
My wife. My mate.My Claire.
It was my worst nightmare come to life. I’d been made to protect her. To shield her from pain. If I’d possessed a scrap of humility, I would have taken her back to Château Corbin when news of werewolves first reached me. I should’ve swallowed my pride. I should’ve chosen caution over conquest. But no. I hadn’t.
And now my pride had led me here. To this.
Gorrath, dead.
Devlinn, dead.
Warriors—good citizens of Roselyn—dead.
Her heartbeat was the only reassurance I had that she was still alive.
I surveyed the devastation and made a decision. I wouldn’t ask anyone else to follow me. Not again. Not anymore. Blood ran warm down the side of my face, and I wiped it away.
Stepping over bodies I had known by name, men who hadtoasted at my table and laughed in my halls, I made for the twisting corridors that led toward the stables. “I need a horse.”
Natalia planted herself in front of me and pressed her hand flat against my chest. As if she could physically restrain what I was about to do. “I know what you’re planning,” she said. “And youcan’t.”
I shoved her hand away and kept walking. “Collect the dead. Take everyone else home.”
“No.” She circled in front of me again, forcing me to stop. “I’m coming with you.”
I snarled. “I thought you hated Claire.”
“I do.” Her throat worked. “I don’t.” She shook her head, almost angry at the confession. “Where you go, I follow. How else will I clean up your mess?”
