Epilogue
Halley
Death, it seems, is rather peaceful.
Floating, drifting, blissfully existing in sweet nothingness.
Instead of crushing grief, my death brings a sense of reflection and blunts my emotions.
How did I live my life? Was I good? Could I have made different choices? Did I love hard enough?
I drift.
And drift.
And... ouch!
Frack, that hurts!
My back is on fire with intense, stabbing pain.
Ah, mother-fracker. My neck!
Agony floods my body as sharp memories slice through my clouded mind. I recall there was a gun pointed at my head, a knife at my back, and the scent of blood in the air. And Maddie... she was going to...
There was blood everywhere.
And the Pack.
Oh, my Pack!
In equal measure with the pain, desperation floods through me.
Knox and Shade were holding rags to my wounds. They were screaming, crying, begging me not to leave them.
And I didn’t want to. I wasn’t ready to go, not yet. I had so much left to do.
The bond burns like four hot pokers pressed into my very soul. Searing and piercing and so very angry.
Emotions well within me, deep and rife with guilt.
I left them. Again.
I broke my promise. I swore I wouldn’t desert them ever again, but I did.
I wasn’t strong enough. Why didn’t I try harder to use my Omega Command earlier? Why didn’t I use it from the moment I met the band of survivors?
Guilt and grief claw at my heart. The pain that my mates are feeling is my fault.
If this is the afterlife, I must be in a bad, bad place, because I do not feel peaceful or ready to accept my fate.
I don’t want to leave them like this. It doesn’t feel right. It’s not my time. Not yet.
The bond sears white-hot as power surges up from the pit of me, raw and untamed. My Command erupts in a single, absolute truth:
“Live.”
The word doesn’t come from my throat. It rips from somewhere deeper — vibrating through bone and blood, echoing into the endless black aether.
My heart jolts once. Hard. Thunderous. Then again. And again.
Agony follows. I scream into the void as my body is torn apart, cell by burning cell, only to be stitched back together in fire and fury.
Resurrection, it seems, is a brutal affair.