The thought rose automatically, the same argument I'd been using to justify every decision since the moment I'd realized what Ellie was to me. The pack needed stability. Leadership. An alpha who put their needs above his own wants.
But what good was an alpha who was already dying inside?
I pressed my palms against my eyes, trying to force back the pressure building behind them. I wouldn't cry. Not here, not where anyone might see. An alpha didn't—
An alpha doesn't lose his mate and pretend it doesn't matter.
The thought came unbidden, vicious and true, and I couldn't push it away.
Footsteps crunched softly on the snow behind me.
I didn't turn. Didn't need to. I knew that gait, steady and deliberate, the way I knew the sound of my own breathing.
Ryke stopped a few paces away, close enough to be present but far enough to give me space. He didn't speak immediately. Just stood there, solid and patient, while I tried to pull myself back together.
After a long moment, he said quietly, "They're gone."
"I know." My voice came out rougher than I intended.
Another pause. Then he moved closer and lowered himself onto the stone beside me, his gaze following mine out across the empty valley. "Scouts confirmed it," he said, his tone carefully neutral. "Broken Ridge pulled back across the border. Karik and his warriors are gone. No sign of ambush or pursuit on the humans' trail."
I nodded once, the information settling into place with mechanical precision. The threat was over. I'd succeeded. I'd protected both the pack and Ellie, kept Karik from starting a war, maintained the fragile peace that kept our people safe.
I'd done everything right.
So why did it feel like I'd lost everything?
"Good," I managed.
Ryke was quiet for a moment, studying me with the careful attention of someone who'd known me long enough to read past the mask. Then he shifted slightly, his voice dropping into the practical tone he used when discussing pack business. "We'll need to organize the spring hunts soon. Food stores are lower than I'd like, and the herds will be moving through the northern pass within the week."
I listened, grateful for the distraction, the familiar rhythm of leadership pulling me back from the edge. "Take the western ridge. The snow is thinner there."
"Already planned for it." He paused. "There's also the matter of the southern boundary markers. Winter storms damaged several. We'll need to reinforce them before the spring gatherings."
"Assign it to the younger warriors. Good training."
"Done. And the trade delegation—"
"Scheduled for the new moon." I finished the thought automatically, my mind cataloguing the endless list of responsibilities that defined my existence. Territory management. Food distribution. Diplomatic relations. Training schedules. Dispute resolution. The grinding, necessary work of keeping fifty wolves alive and safe through another season.
It should have felt grounding. Purposeful.
It felt like ash in my mouth.
Ryke continued talking, detailing supply needs and patrol rotations and repair work that needed to be done before the summer heat made travel difficult. I responded when appropriate, my voice steady and measured, giving orders and making decisions with the same efficiency I always had.
But inside, I was screaming.
Because none of itmattered. Not really. Not the way she mattered. Not the way the bond mattered, pulling and aching and reminding me with every breath that I'd chosen duty over the one thing that could have made me whole.
I could do this. I could lead and plan and manage and sacrifice. I could be the alpha my pack needed, the strong and steady presence they depended on.
But I would never be more than that. Never be fully alive. Never be anything but a shell pretending to be a man, going through the motions while something essential slowly died inside me.
Was that enough? Could I live like that?
Did I have a choice?
