Chapter 21 #2
But then a cinnamon wolf sails over me and rips into Ramsey’s throat.
I watch with a swell of pride and empathy as she punctures all the way through and draws blood between her sharpened teeth.
His blood.
She releases him as he yelps. But then in a second, she’s on him again. Puncture after puncture. She wears him down. Bleeds him. Makes sure he knows how this is going to end.
I watch in awe. She’s not the most powerful.
Certainly not as strong as he is. But there’s a dominance in her wolf that makes her more stubborn than he is.
More determined. She’s been in this fight longer than anyone, and she’s the angriest thing I’ve ever seen, and Ramsey—seizing, disoriented, his own witch’s magic still tearing through him—doesn’t have anything left to give.
It’s not clean. A fight to the death never is. But eventually, her bite rips clear through a major vein. Blood leaks like a burst pipe.
It’s a fatal blow.
I see the moment Ramsey knows it.
His eyes widen like he’s shocked it’s even possible. He doesn’t make a sound. But he stops fighting and lies down in the grass, chest heaving, body finished, life ebbing away quicker than he can replenish it. Even a super alpha can’t stop something like this.
“Nooo!” Davina lets loose a blood-chilling scream.
Davina staggers back, one ruined hand pressed to her chest, the hex blade clutched in the other.
For one second, she looks at Mia with something that isn’t quite fear and isn’t quite fury.
“I will never forget this,” the witch vows. Then she turns and runs, the blade still in her grip, disappearing into the trees.
My wolf wants to follow, but Mia is bleeding, Ramsey is still breathing, and I’m not sure my insides would hold if I tried to fight again just yet. Davina can run. For now.
Mia stands over Ramsey, watching in silence as he bleeds away.
He stares up at her. I half-expect him to shift back so he can utter one last piece of nonsense at her, but in the end, he dies a wolf. Maybe that mattered more. Maybe it was easier.
Hopefully, it’s easier for her.
A long moment passes where she continues to watch him. I don’t get up or bother with trying to console her. Not yet. Not until I know she’s had her moment with her own thoughts. To make sense of this. It’s her way.
I watch as she shifts back to her human form. She’s breathing hard, standing over a dead wolf with golden fur, left arm tucked against her ribs, her hair tangled and wild and her eyes the particular shade of green they go when her wolf is still close to the surface.
Tears fall unchecked down her cheeks.
Her injured side is a bloodied mess, but the blood is dried, and from the scent, it’s not all hers.
My own injuries are another story.
Shifting to my human form, I get to my feet and cross to her, barely holding in pained grunts with every step.
When I reach her side, I don’t say anything.
She doesn’t need words right now. She needs someone to stand beside her while she finishes processing what she just did.
Who she just put down. The boy she grew up with and the enemy he chose to become and the fact that they were always, in the end, the same person.
I stand close enough that our shoulders touch.
She exhales.
Long and slow, like something she’s been holding since long before today.
A sharp chitter cuts through the somber moment. We look over.
Echo.
He’s crouched beside Violet where Davina left her crumpled in the grass, his back arched, teeth bared at the tree line like he’s personally offended the witch escaped without his permission.
I walk over and check Violet for a pulse. It’s weak, but it’s there. “She’s alive,” I say.
Echo chitters again and holds something up. Clutched in one tiny paw is a strip of black cloth.
The wrapping from the hex blade.
Mia sees it too. Her face goes slack.
“If you can find a hex witch, maybe you can use it to locate her,” I say quietly.
Mia looks at Echo. “Good boy,” she says, voice rough.
Echo places the cloth on Violet’s chest like evidence and gives us both a look that clearly says we’re welcome.
Then he curls into Violet’s side like he’s chosen her as his newest treasure.
Mia turns and looks at me—really looks, no armor, no strategy—and I see all of it move through her eyes at once. Grief and relief and fury and something else underneath all of those that she’s not ready to put words to yet.
“Thank you,” I say quietly. “For reaching me when nothing else could.”
She holds my gaze for one more second.
Then she nods, and we both look up as the first wolves start returning through the eastern gate—confused, disoriented, the compulsion breaking apart at last.
Dutch is first through. He takes one look at us. Then at Ramsey dead at our feet. Then back at us.
“What the hell did we miss?” he says.
Mia looks at me.
For the first time in weeks, something almost like a smile crosses her face.
“Some of my best work,” she says smugly, and he has the decency to look at her with open admiration as he realizes she’s the one who finished this chapter for them at last. As it always should have been.