Chapter 24
Eda, loving as ever, had secured horses for Alaric and Cillian, along with a few more to carry extra supplies and ease the burden on the elders if the journey grew too hard, though no wolf would ever admit to such a need.
The packs were stocked carefully for the road south: food, spare clothes, medicine, and whatever else might be needed for a long passage through a changing season.
Once everything was loaded, Eda hugged them all goodbye, tied her apron back into place, and marched off shouting for her husband to bring her dough so she could start more bread.
The sight of it made Evelyne smile. They had not changed, and she dearly hoped they never would.
Autumn was gentler here in Centaro. The air lacked the savage bite of Nerathar’s winds, which could cut to the bone even in summer.
Even so, Evelyne found herself drawn to the edges of the Sunmere Stretch, where the trees had begun to turn in shades of amber and rust. The days were clear and cool, and the nights calm enough for orderly camps and steady patrols as the packs continued south together.
Evelyne volunteered for watch once. Kaldrek dismissed the idea at once.
“Absolutely not,” he said with a laugh. “You’ll be in my tent every night, where I know you’re safe.”
She told herself she ought to bristle at that. She never did. The truth was, she loved the fierce way he guarded her, and the safety she felt in his care. Whenever he was not scouting, she stole what quiet moments she could with him.
Each morning broke beneath a clear blue sky, with a soft breeze rolling over the open grasslands.
The weather allowed for longer training sessions, and with them came steady progress in her fighting and defensive skills.
Alaric had grown strong enough to join them again, and watching him move freely each morning filled her with such relief it almost hurt.
The healthy color returning to his skin made it easier to believe that, against all odds, they might truly stand a chance against the monsters hunting them.
Cillian trained as well, though not with blades or sparring.
His focus was magic. More often than not, Evelyne found him reading: Selene’s books, Lorena’s notes, anything the packs carried that might offer insight.
It was entirely in keeping with who he was.
He was not gaining strength the way the warriors of Moonshade, Glaciermaw, and Ironwolf did, but his strength had never lived in muscle.
It lived in his mind, in his intelligence, his quiet courage, and that relentless optimism that refused to leave him.
Watching him push himself still frightened her.
Yet she could see it now: he was becoming himself again.
And if he never chose to shift, that was all right.
Strangest of all, Holden had continued helping him master his impulses.
Evelyne liked Holden well enough, but she had never imagined him in the role of mentor.
Still, he met with Cillian nearly every day.
When she finally asked about it, her brother only laughed.
“He’s probably the only friend I’ve made here,” Cillian said.
A friend. The most arrogant, stubborn, unfiltered male in the Ironwolf pack, Kaldrek’s own second, no less, had somehow become Cillian’s closest companion.
An unlikely match, perhaps, yet Evelyne could not help wondering whether Holden needed Cillian just as much.
Someone to temper his temper. Someone to slow him down.
“Honestly,” Cillian had told her, “it’s nice speaking to another male who isn’t obsessed with estates, wealth, or debutantes. He’s just… real.”
That, Evelyne understood. It was much the same with Heidara.
“Well,” she had teased, “just do not let his more appalling habits rub off on you.”
Cillian had only grinned.
For once, Evelyne let herself believe that this road, difficult as it was, was shaping them all into something stronger. Kaldrek included.
He had taken to practicing his magic in short, stubborn bursts.
The results remained small and unreliable, but Evelyne found herself absurdly proud of him for trying at all.
Kaldrek was not a male built for patience, and it pleased her more than it should have to catch those brief flashes of irritation whenever a flame ignored him or the ground refused to answer.
“This is ridiculous,” he’d mutter, scowling at the soil as though it had personally betrayed him.
She would bite the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing and offer encouragement instead. Sometimes she practiced her dagger work nearby while he read, occasionally glancing over with the same expression he wore when prey slipped just out of reach.
“You’ve practiced for all of five minutes,” she told him once. “You may not see improvement for quite some time.”
A low grunt answered her, followed by the sharp thud of a book snapping shut. “These instructions are infuriatingly vague,” he growled. “I swear I can feel a blood vessel in my head threatening mutiny.”
She was mid-maneuver when he rose and stepped behind her, nudging her boot into position and adjusting her wrist with firm, practiced hands.
“You’re supposed to be practicing,” she said without looking at him. “Not helping me.”
“Then stop looking so teachable,” he replied. “And fix your stance.”
Evelyne rolled her eyes. She knew her form was correct. But she also knew he needed the distraction, so she let him guide her through a few new movements he hadn’t shown her before.
This, he murmured through the bond, this is what I’m meant to do. Not magic.
You can be meant for both, she answered gently. You are meant for both. It will come.
I’m meant to fight. To protect. To hunt for my pack. He paused briefly. And I’m meant to thoroughly distract you.
She smiled and pressed a kiss to his cheek. “You know that isn’t all you want. Your body is telling you there’s more—and it’s all right not to have mastered it yet.”
Just like I’m learning to be a wolf, she added softly down the bond. We can stumble through this together.
Kaldrek didn’t answer at first. Instead, he lifted her easily and held her close against his chest. She settled into his arms without thinking. His smile was wide, and it made her chest tighten.
You are the most beautiful person I have ever known, he said.
And I am so proud to call you my mate. He pressed a kiss to the mark at her neck, lingering just long enough to make her breath hitch.
It feels as though the universe knew exactly when I needed you, he went on, his mental voice roughened by memory.
You came into my life when I was more lost than I knew how to bear. When I was afraid. Angry.
A quiet breath of laughter left him.
You know I did not need to visit you every day.
Anyone could have checked on you. But I needed to see your face.
I needed to know she had not touched you.
That my mother’s darkness had not reached you too.
I barely knew you then, and even so, the thought of her infecting you hurt more than it should have.
She swallowed. You came to see me each day? On purpose?
If only you knew the thoughts that sharp tongue inspired.
He kissed her again, one hand squeezing her just enough to make her laugh breathlessly.
I fucking love that defiant mouth of yours, he murmured.
Her body responded instantly, heat sparking between them like dry brush catching flame. She pressed closer, breathing him in, comforted and undone all at once by how deeply right it felt.
And she let the fire burn.
***
Alaric felt… calm.
After everything he had endured, the stillness of it was startling. His body was his own again. His thoughts came and went without obstruction. He was alive. Whole. And he owed that, more than he could ever repay, to Cillian.
Heidara had told him that it had nearly killed Cillian more than once.
That he had pushed beyond reason, beyond safety, to pull Alaric back from the dark.
She admitted, in a quieter voice, that when it had looked hopeless, she had begged Cillian to try again.
And she told him, too, that she could not forgive herself for missing the signs, for mistaking the change in him as grief and trauma when it had been something far darker.
She had admitted, painfully, that there were moments when she had nearly given up on him. Even saying it had clearly hurt her. Beau’s arrival had only made matters worse, stirring old wounds and leaving her tangled in feelings she did not know how to carry.
Alaric did not care for Beau. Perhaps some of that came from jealousy.
Perhaps most of it did. He noticed every glance the Moonshade male cast her way, every smirk, every look that lingered too long.
Alaric knew enough of their history to understand that Beau cared for her in his own fashion.
But he did not deserve her kindness. He did not deserve her strength, her laughter, or the softness of her mouth.
Not that Alaric had any right to think of her that way.
And yet he did.
The wanting sat heavy in his chest, and he hated himself for how easily his mind slipped toward the thought of her as his.
It was foolish. Arrogant. Dangerous. Still, some small part of him kept turning back to the signs he could not quite ignore.
She had stayed beside him through the worst of his healing.
She had not wavered. She had cried when he first spoke her name. Surely that had to mean something.
Or perhaps it meant only guilt.
Vaelora’s fall had left them all raw, marked by terror, bloodshed, and the sight of Ty torn apart by forces none of them could control. No one had wanted to believe corruption could still linger after all they had survived.
Evelyne had confessed the same doubts. She and Heidara had often spoken of what might be unraveling him from the inside, searching for a name to give the thing consuming him.
In the end, they had blamed the brutal journey home and the grief that followed it.
Alaric could not fault them for that. Even at his worst, he had felt their concern in the way they stayed near, refusing to leave him behind.
What haunted him most was not the darkness itself, but what he had done while trapped inside it.
He had hurt Heidara, and the thought still turned his stomach.
The memory of his hands on her, of fear flashing across her face when he could neither stop nor speak, was enough to make him feel sick.
She had told him she forgave him the moment he apologized.
But forgiveness did not erase what he felt when he remembered having caused her pain.
And he had hurt Evelyne’s mate. Her brother.
Now he understood why Cillian recoiled from the thought of shifting again.
Why the guilt of Ty’s death still clung so tightly, even knowing it had not truly been his fault.
Understanding did not make the burden lighter.
It only made it clearer. Alaric was grateful no life had ended by his hand, but that did not mean he knew how to forgive himself. Perhaps he never would.
Still, he could not remain buried in those thoughts. He had to look forward.
Tonight, he would take the first step. He would try to mend what lay between himself and Heidara, however clumsy the effort might be. With Evelyne’s help, which once might have felt strange but now felt entirely right, he planned the evening with care.
They were nearing the end of the Sunmere Stretch, and the night itself seemed to invite honesty.
The wind carried a hush of calm. The dirt and grass thrummed beneath his feet with a familiarity he could not explain.
Lately it had been speaking to him in sensations rather than words, in strange stirrings he did not yet understand.
But he remembered this much with certainty: whatever power had awakened in his darkest moments had frightened the demon within him.
He would not forget that.
When camp was made, Alaric washed the dust from his face and hands, combed his hair, and changed into his best leathers. The moon was not yet full, though it was close enough to cast silver across the clearing. Enough to light her face.
He imagined lying beside Heidara on a blanket with the stars above them, finally telling her the true feelings he had carried for far too long.