Chapter 30
The stench of death pervades the air as I step cautiously over the remnants of what was once a battlefield, now reduced to a graveyard of shattered dreams and splintered lives. The sun casts a sickly pallor on the landscape, its warmth failing to penetrate the cold grip of death.
“Look at it all,” Rogan whispers. “Look and remember.”
“Why are you doing this to me?” I demand.
“Because war is horrible.”
“War is horrible,” I echo, my own voice barely audible as I struggle to swallow the emotions that threaten to choke me. The muddy wasteland is strewn with broken weapons, discarded armor, and the lifeless bodies of men.
Again I think of how, in death, they all look alike. No red eyes of a demon, no protruding canines of a vampire, no shift of a wolf.
“Can anything good come from this?” I ask, my voice trembling.
“Only if we learn from it,” he says. “If we can prevent another war like this from happening.”
I continue walking, each step a painful reminder of the brutality and senselessness that has brought us to this place. The ground shifts beneath our feet, the ether itself seemingly eager to bury the evidence of this horror.
“Did you know any of them?” I ask Rogan.
He turns me to him, grips my shoulders, and gazes into my eyes. “Of course. They were my brothers.”
Another knot forms in my throat.
These are his friends, his companions.
But I recognize no one. I steered as clear as I could from my vampire heritage, acknowledging it only when my father called for me.
I know these fallen warriors only as bodies. Not as souls. Does it matter on which side they fought? It’s clearly over, and I’m not sure either side won.
“I don’t recognize any of them,” I say quietly. “Not a one.”
“Does it matter?” he asks, his tone bitter. “In the end, they all lost something.”
“They lost their lives,” I agree. “But who bears the true loss? You, Rogan. You knew these people. I didn’t.”
He rubs his forehead, growling. “I’m not even sure why we were fighting.”
I drop my jaw. “Then what the hell was all this about? What justified it?” Anger flares through me as I gesture to the carnage. “How do you know if your reasons were virtuous if you don’t even know what they are?”
“Sometimes it’s not about virtue,” he says gently. “Sometimes it’s simply about what each side thinks they must do to survive because of a narrative built on lies.” He grits his teeth. “It has to stop, princess. It has to stop. We need a better world for our child.”
“That’s what I’ve been saying.” I whip my hands to my hips. “I don’t even know this place. Why it exists. How it exists. But I know one thing. My child will never come here. I’ll die first.”
Rogan turns to me, fury in his beautiful eyes. He grips my hand tightly. “As long as there is breath in our bodies, there is a chance to change things, to rebuild, to create a better world for those who come after us.”
I simply nod.
I believe he means it. But I fear what will happen when his true fated mate shows up.
I look again at the results of the chaotic war—the destruction, the devastation, the death—when a sliver of color catches my eye.
I walk forward toward something half-hidden among the corpses.
I kneel and see a small fragile-looking flower, its petals stained crimson by the blood that has seeped into the earth. Despite the destruction, despite the horror of its surroundings, it managed to survive—a tiny beacon of life amidst so much death.
“Even in the darkest places, there can still be beauty,” I say softly, emotion twisting in my gut. “We just have to be willing to look for it.”
“Wise words, princess.”
I jerk to look over my shoulder. Rogan stands behind me.
“I didn’t realize you could hear me.”
“You forget I’m a wolf. I can hear almost anything.”
I’m tempted to pick the flower, save it from this horrid place, but I don’t. I don’t, because once I uproot it, death will come. If I leave it, it has a chance.
I rise and look into Rogan’s eyes. I see love there—so much love. So much love built on my father’s lies.
“Nothing will ever be the same,” I say.
He trails a finger over my lower lip. “But that doesn’t mean it can’t be better.”
I kiss the tip of his finger. “What now?”
“We find my bunker so I can get dressed. Then I figure out how to get us out of here.”
I glance back at the tiny flower, its petals trembling in the breeze but refusing to break.
Then I nod to Rogan. “Let’s go.”