Chapter 29 #2
Then Daska's hand settled on her shoulder, gentle and grounding, and she turned away.
They disappeared into the trees.
The bond screamed. I don't know how long I stayed there after they vanished, watching where they had faded from view.
Long enough for the sun to start to fall.
Long enough for the pack below to drift back to their daily routines, the moment of departure already fading into memory for them.
Long enough for my body to go numb from standing motionless in the cold.
The silence was wrong. The valley felt wrong. Everything felt wrong, like the world had tilted slightly off its axis and I was the only one who could feel it.
I told myself this would pass. That the sharp edge of the bond's pain would dull with time and distance. That I would adapt, adjust, learn to function around this hollow ache in my chest the way one learned to favour an old injury.
I told myself the pack needed me here. That Karik's threat still loomed, even if he'd withdrawn for now. That my people depended on my strength, my leadership, my unwavering presence at the centre of everything they knew.
I told myself she would be happier without me. Safer. Free to return to her own world without the complication of a bond she hadn't asked for and didn't want.
I told myself I had made the right choice.
The bond pulsed again, and the pain made my breath catch.
Liar.
I sank down onto the cold stone, my legs suddenly unable to hold my weight. My hands curled into fists against my thighs as I stared out at the empty trail, trying to force logic over instinct, duty over desire.
But the bond didn't care about logic.
It just hurt.
A searing, constant pain that radiated through my chest with every heartbeat.
Steady and relentless, impossible to ignore.
A fatal wound that would never heal. The realization crept over me slowly, cold and inexorable as winter.
This wasn't temporary. This wasn't something I could grit my teeth and endure until it passed.
The bond was permanent. As long as I lived, as long as she drew breath somewhere in this world, I would feel this pain.
I could lead the pack. I could make decisions and enforce laws and stand as the unshakable foundation my people needed. But inside, I would be hollow.
A shell going through the motions. An alpha in name only, because the part of me that made me whole was walking away across the mountains, slipping further out of reach with every passing moment.
How long could I last like that? Seasons?
A lifetime? Would I slowly fade into a ghost of myself, loved and respected but never truly present?
Or would the bond's constant pull eventually drive me mad, turn me into something dangerous and unpredictable, a threat to the very pack I was trying to protect?
I'd seen it happen. Not often, but enough times to know the pattern.
Mated wolves who lost their other half didn't just grieve, they broke.
Some went feral, lashing out at anything that came near.
Others simply stopped eating, stopped sleeping, stopped caring until they faded away like smoke.
The lucky ones died quickly in battle or accidents, their broken bonds making them reckless and self-destructive.
The unlucky ones lasted a long time.
Was that what I was choosing? A slow death disguised as duty?
The pack needs you.
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 it mattered. 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?
"Rivik."
Ryke's voice cut through my thoughts, quiet but firm. I blinked and realized he'd stopped talking, was just watching me with an expression caught somewhere between concern and understanding.
"You don't have to pretend with me, brother," he said softly.
My jaw tightened. "I'm not—"
"Yes, you are." He held my gaze. "I've known you too long. You're trying to carry this alone, like you carry everything else. But this..." He gestured vaguely at the empty valley. "This is different."
I looked away, unable to meet his eyes. Because he was right. This was different. I'd borne losses before but this felt like losing a piece of my soul.
"The pack needs me here," I said, the words hollow even to my own ears.
"I know."
"Karik could come back. Or someone else could challenge our territory. We can't show weakness now."
"I know that too. I understand." Ryke's voice was gentle. "I just don’t know if I can watch you destroy yourself like this. You can't lead from an empty shell. Not forever. Eventually, there won't be anything left."
"Then I'll last as long as I can."
We sat there in silence, both looking out over the valley that had been our home for thirty two summers.
Eventually I turned and looked at Ryke. Really looked at him.
He’d been the best Second a man could ask for.
He was strong. Wise. Fair in his judgments and steady in his decisions.
The pack trusted him. The elders respected him.
He'd been leading beside me for years, handling half the daily work of governance without ever demanding recognition.
"You're a good man, Ryke," I said quietly. "You've done so much for me. For the pack. More than anyone knows." I held his gaze. "You've stood beside me through everything, taken on responsibilities that should have crushed you, given everything you had without ever asking for anything in return."
"As have you."
"I need to ask you to do one more thing for me."
Silence fell between us, heavy and absolute.
Ryke stared at me, his expression shifting from confusion to understanding to something that looked like grief. His hand shot out, gripping my forearm hard. "Brother—"
"Please," I said softly.
He didn't ask what I meant. He understood exactly what I was asking. And he understood what it would cost us both. His grip tightened until it was almost painful, and I saw him swallow as he struggled with whatever he wanted to say. But in the end, he just nodded once, sharp and final.
"When?" he asked, his voice rough.
I looked back at the empty valley, at the trail where she'd disappeared.
"Tonight."