Chapter 17
Never in Kaldrek’s life had he felt magic like that.
The moment Cillian’s hands settled over his throat, the world narrowed to sensation.
Heat, then light. Not the savage burn of battle or the cruel sting of torn flesh, but something clean and absolute, flooding through him with steady purpose.
Kaldrek felt the ruined tissue beneath the skin tighten, knit, and seal as if the pain itself were being rewritten.
Every torn edge pulled together. Every jagged line smoothed.
And somewhere beneath the healing, something else answered.
A pulse stirred deep in his blood. A spark that should have remained sleeping, ancient and buried and undeniably his. It was not something foreign, but something born with him, lying dormant as stone until the light touched it and drew it back like embers finding flame.
His magic.
As his body began to mend, exhaustion followed close behind.
His eyelids grew heavy, his limbs turning to lead.
He tried to hold himself upright, tried to stay awake long enough to be certain the wound would hold, but the effort was useless.
He had spent everything: blood, strength, will.
There was nothing left with which to fight sleep.
Even so, he could feel it. The rightness of the repair. Cillian had done it.
Kaldrek didn’t know the man well, not the way he knew Holden or Heidara, but he knew what Cillian was to Evelyne.
He knew the shape of her devotion, the way her entire world bent toward her brother like a compass needle.
And tonight Cillian had pushed himself past the brink, not for glory, but for them.
For Alaric. For Kaldrek. For the fragile safety of everyone under their protection.
Something tightened in Kaldrek’s chest. Pride, perhaps. Gratitude. Some rough-edged affection he had not expected.
Then Evelyne’s voice broke through his thoughts, cracking as she thanked her brother again and again.
Happy tears. Relief spilling from her in a way that eased the tightness in him.
He wanted to reach for her, to pull her close, to apologize for every violent, impossible thing she had been forced to endure these past days, weeks, months.
He could do none of it. His mouth would not shape the words, and his arms would not rise.
Even turning his head felt like dragging stone.
Still, her presence was enough. It soothed something deep inside him, quieted the last of his panic, and when sleep finally took him, it did so gently, like hands lowering him into dark water.
Even as his consciousness slipped, he could still feel it moving in his veins.
Magic. Not dark magic. Not the wrongness that stalked them. But his mother’s.
Stirred awake by light.
***
Dawn was still hours away, yet Wrenford already felt like a place they were meant to leave behind.
The village had gone quiet once more, lanterns burning low, and across the open stretch where the packs had made their temporary camp, everyone moved with the brisk purpose of those preparing to disappear.
Evelyne worked beside Heidara, fingers stiff with cold as she tightened straps and folded cloth.
She wasn’t graceful, not the way the wolves were, but she was stubborn and made herself useful anyway.
She rolled blankets, stacked supplies, tied knots until they held.
Anything to keep her hands busy. Because if she stopped moving, her mind would return to the tent.
To Kaldrek’s blood. To Cillian. To the way relief had hit her so hard it had left her trembling.
They were leaving at first light. That was the agreement. Kaldrek needed sleep to recover from what had been done to his throat again. The healer had warned them he would be weak for a time even with Cillian’s help, but he would live. And that was enough for now.
Heidara kept pace with Evelyne, but she moved like someone wearing too much weight.
Evelyne handed her a bundle of stakes. “If you stab anyone with those, aim for the ones who deserve it,” she said lightly.
It earned the smallest sound from Heidara that might have been a laugh if she’d remembered how. They worked in silence for a few minutes, then Heidara spoke without looking up.
“I didn’t see it,” she said, her voice raw. “I didn’t see what was happening to him.” Heidara’s hands went still on the rope. “He was right beside me. And I just… kept telling myself he was in a foul temper.” Her lips pressed into a thin line. “As if he weren’t drowning right in front of me.”
Evelyne swallowed and forced her hands to keep working. “If guilt could mend anything,” she said quietly, “the world would be spotless.”
Heidara’s eyes cut to hers, bright with grief. “I should have known.”
“So should I,” Evelyne admitted. The words turned to ash in her mouth. “He was my best friend before he was anything else, and I still failed to see it.”
Heidara let out a bitter laugh. “You missed it because you were trying to save your brother and learn an entirely new life. Learning to be a wolf. Learning to stand beside an alpha. You were surviving. But I…”
“You missed it because you were busy holding everyone else together,” Evelyne said. “What the pack experienced was traumatic. Not just for me.”
Heidara’s mouth trembled. She looked away quickly, as if emotion were something she could outrun.
“I was just starting to…” Heidara’s voice broke, then steadied again. “I was just starting to let go. I told myself he didn’t feel the same and I convinced myself it was safer to stop wanting him.”
“Heidara—”
“And then,” she went on, the words coming faster now, as though once they began there was no stopping them, “Beau appears. With his pack. As if the world enjoys cruel timing.”
Evelyne’s hands stilled for the briefest moment. She had seen the way Heidara had gone rigid the first time Moonshade entered camp, the way her shoulders had drawn up as though bracing for a blow.
“He has no right,” Heidara muttered. “No right to walk back into my life and behave as though what he did was not… was not devastating.” Her jaw tightened.
“I hate his beautiful face. I hate that deep voice. I hate that I ever let myself care, and I hate even more that all those feelings came rushing back the moment I saw him.”
“And yet here he is,” Evelyne said, dry as dust as she tightened a strap until it squealed. “A man with impeccable timing and not a shred of shame. But you need not feel guilty for what stirred back to life.”
That drew a shaky breath from Heidara at last. They moved to the next pile of supplies, and Evelyne bent to gather a stack of folded canvas.
When Heidara spoke again, her voice was quieter. “I do not know how to carry all of it at once.”
“One piece at a time,” Evelyne said.
A shadow fell across the lantern light and her friend went rigid.
“Heidara,” Beau said.
Evelyne straightened slowly and turned. Beau stood a few paces away, hands open at his sides, posture careful. He looked like he’d rehearsed this approach in his mind a hundred times and still hadn’t found a way to make it painless.
“Don’t,” Heidara said immediately. “Don’t start.”
Beau flinched. “I just want to talk.”
“You want to talk now.”
Evelyne shifted subtly closer, not touching Heidara, but there. A wall at her shoulder. A witness.
Beau’s gaze flicked to Evelyne. “Could we have a moment?”
Evelyne smiled politely. It was the same smile she’d worn at court when someone said something unforgivable and expected her to swallow it.
“No.”
Beau blinked. “I’m not asking you to—”
“You are,” Evelyne cut in, still smiling. “And I’m declining.”
A muscle ticked in Beau’s cheek. “Fine,” he said, voice roughening. “Then you can both hear it.” He swallowed. “Heidara, I’m sorry.”
Heidara’s laugh was sharp. “Oh. That fixes it.”
“I was younger,” Beau said quickly. “I was stupid. I thought I was doing the right thing.”
“The right thing for who?” Heidara snapped. “You?”
Beau’s shoulders sank. “My pack was moving,” he said. “There were threats, shifting territory, orders. I didn’t know where we’d end up, or if we’d ever come back. I didn’t want to drag you into something unstable. I didn’t want to hurt you.”
“So you left,” she whispered. “And let me believe it was because you’d found your mate? You left me after telling me you loved me.”
Beau’s mouth parted, then closed again. When he spoke, his voice had gone quieter. “I know. I know I did.”
Evelyne watched Heidara’s hands tighten around the rope until her knuckles paled. The anger still held in her face, but only just. Exhaustion was beginning to wear it away.
Beau stepped closer with care. “I still…” His throat worked. “I still love you.”
Heidara’s breath caught, almost too soft to hear.
Evelyne’s eyes narrowed, not at Heidara, but at Beau. Words were easy. Men spent them like coin and expected something in return.
“You cannot simply return and say that as though it mends anything,” Heidara said, her voice fraying. “I will not forget the pain you caused me.”
“I’m not asking you to forget,” Beau replied. “Only to believe that I am sorry. That I have been sorry all this time.”
Heidara turned her face away, blinking too fast. For a fleeting moment, she looked achingly young. Wounded. Human. Not the fearless wolf who had never once apologized for existing loudly in the world.
Evelyne let her have that second of softness. Then she stepped in.
“We leave at first light,” she said, tone firm but not unkind.
“And we still have tents to pack, routes to plan, and an infected nobleman sleeping in the next lodge who could wake up wrong again.” Her gaze sharpened on Beau.
“If you want to prove anything, prove it by doing your job. Help your pack, keep watch, and stop trying to peel open old wounds in the middle of a threat.”
Beau’s eyes stayed on Heidara, though he offered no argument. Instead, he reached for her hand and pressed a gentle kiss to her knuckles, as though a single gesture might rewrite the past.
Evelyne had to fight the urge to roll her eyes.
She was honestly surprised Heidara did not strike him again.
Heidara only stared at her hand as though it belonged to someone else while Beau stepped back, turned, and disappeared into the camp.
Without a word, she wiped the back of her hand against her trousers as if trying to scrub away the memory, then bent to lift another bundle of supplies.
Evelyne said nothing. She only moved to her friend’s side, shoulder to shoulder, and kept packing.