Chapter 18
They walked. They ran. They hunted. They trained until their muscles remembered and slept until their bones stopped shaking.
They ate on the move and learned to move as one, three packs braided into a single force with two shared truths at the center of it: the Noskari had to die, and they had to continue their journey south.
The plan for what came after reaching Cindermoor should have been simple.
It was anything but. They all wanted the same end, but not the same path.
Obren argued for the southwest, certain other packs would still be hiding there.
Ravena pressed for the eastern edge, convinced some may have drifted in that direction.
Kaldrek insisted they go first to Caltheris, Evelyne’s home, because he would not ask her to keep walking without knowing her family was safe.
And Evelyne could not help thinking the witch covens of Velenshire might prove just as important.
So each day the alphas met with their most trusted scouts over maps, distances, and impossible choices.
And each day Kaldrek gave her the same quiet promise: they would not leave behind what mattered most to her.
Evelyne understood why no plan felt right.
They were all carrying losses of their own, along with separate duties and unfinished grief.
Though they were stronger together, she could not ignore the truth that sooner or later they might have to divide if they hoped to cover enough ground.
The thought unsettled her. United, they were safer.
But the world was wide, and time was not waiting for them.
What steadied her was Kaldrek himself. Whole again. Maybe stronger than before, fueled by near-death and the fury of being hunted. He moved like a male who had decided he would not be caught off guard again, and if anger sharpened him, Evelyne would not be the one to dull it.
Alaric was scarcely walking now, carried more often than left to his own feet.
Lorena kept him under heavy tonics after Cillian’s second attempt at cleansing sent him into unconsciousness for long, frightening minutes.
The effort had achieved almost nothing, save for the brief moment Alaric rasped, Too loud, just as the camp broke into panicked shouting, before sleep dragged him under once more.
Lorena fed him broth through a makeshift straw to keep him alive.
Each day, Heidara washed his face and hands.
Evelyne helped when she could, though she could not miss Heidara’s devotion to the task, as if tending to Alaric was the only thing keeping hope from breaking.
When the road allowed it, Evelyne read to him in a low voice from the book Kaldrek had given her for her birthday.
She did not know whether Alaric could hear, but it felt like a tether all the same, a small kindness offered into the dark, and a reminder that he was still one of theirs.
The truth was, Cillian needed help learning to call on his power.
Lorena stayed close and kept him steady, but even with her guidance he could manage only small, careful pulls of darkness from Alaric’s body.
It was not enough. Not yet. And the one person who might truly know how to help him was Selene, the witch of Cindermoor.
Kaldrek mentioned her once. Then again. Then a third time, with a certainty that made Evelyne bristle. He was too insistent, too sure of her, and Evelyne could not decide whether that confidence should have comforted her or made her uneasy.
Instead, it stirred something far worse.
Jealousy.
And she hated it the moment she felt it.
Selene was young and striking, from what Evelyne remembered, with rich dark skin and a crown of curls that looked like it belonged in a painting.
Kaldrek was well known in Cindermoor, spoken of there with familiarity, as if the place had once been his in some quiet way.
If she wasn’t careful, her mind would run straight into a ridiculous thought.
What if Selene had been more than a contact? What if she’d been a—
Evelyne clenched her jaw and stamped the thought out before it could bloom.
She was being absurd. Kaldrek was her mate.
If he could hear what she was thinking, he’d scold her for it until she wanted to throw something at him.
Still, the unease hovered as they traveled on, Cindermoor drawing closer with every mile.
Part of Evelyne longed for the strange comfort of returning to something known, while another part wanted to take a different road entirely and never look upon that place again.
Cindermoor was where her father had died.
No, not died. Been murdered. And the moment the thought surfaced, memory followed in a rush: screams tearing through the night, blood staining the ground, terror thick in the air, the helpless shock of loss.
Then the morning after. The burning of bodies. Her father’s burial.
And tangled through that horror were memories she still did not know how to hold. Her birthday. Kaldrek’s gift. Their first kiss. The first time his hands touched her, as though the world could be ruined and beautiful in the very same breath.
Cindermoor held all of it. Grief and tenderness. Terror and love. Something awful, and something precious. The thought of returning left Evelyne aching with a confusion she could not untangle.
***
When they reached Cindermoor, dusk was already settling, with only a few last slivers of sun clinging to the hills.
Eda, baker and longtime friend to the Ironwolf, did not pause for so much as a breath.
She swept forward to greet Kaldrek and the packs, then immediately began ushering them toward her husband’s tavern as though she had known all along they would come.
Garek’s face lit the instant Holden stepped through the door.
Holden crossed the room in two long strides and pulled the older man into a crushing embrace, earning a startled laugh and an equally fierce squeeze in return.
And then the town began to gather.
One by one, people spilled into the street to welcome the packs as they once had, calling names, clasping shoulders, offering food, warmth, and room by the fire.
For a fleeting moment, it almost seemed as though Cindermoor had stitched itself whole again, as though the attack had never torn through it at all.
Evelyne knew better, of course. Still, she could not help admiring their strength.
The choice to rebuild. The refusal to be silenced in a world that had tried so hard to break them.
So she let herself smile. Let herself be gathered into their warmth.
And that night, held in Kaldrek’s arms, she slept more soundly than she had in days.