The sun hung high now, a stark, golden eye glaring down at the aftermath. The cool, ethereal glow of the night had burned away, replaced by a heavy, humid heat that made the scent of copper and charred earth cling to skin, clothes—everything. I wiped a bead of sweat from my forehead with the back of a blood‑stained hand, my breath steadying into shallow, controlled cycles. I was stationed at the edge of the clearing where the grass was still green, working out of a makeshift infirmary built from canvas tents and salvaged tables.
The air here was a frantic symphony—clipped orders, the rustle of bandages, the low groans of the wounded. To my left, Mira—seasoned, unshakable—pack nurse stitched a gash along a young warrior's shoulder with calm, practiced precision. At the entrance of the triage zone stood Kael, one of the lead sentinels. His voice cut through the chaos like a blade, directing the flow of incoming bodies. "Mira, puncture wound on the right!" he barked, pointing toward a stretcher. Then his gaze snapped to mine. "Luna, this one! Internal hemorrhage—he's fading fast!"
I didn't hesitate. The moment the warriors lowered the stretcher onto my table, I felt a familiar golden warmth unfurled through my chest, spreading down my arms to my fingertips in a bright, crackling pulse of energy—gentle, yet undeniably powerful. I didn't need to see the injury to know how dire it was; the man's life‑force flickered beneath my palms like a candle in a storm. I pressed both hands over his shattered ribs and closed my eyes. The power flowed through my veins in steady, controlled waves, threading itself into the broken places before pouring into the soldier with a violent, beautiful speed no ordinary shifter could ever hope to match.
Beneath my fingers, I felt the jagged bone knit and the ruptured vessels seal. His breathing, once a ragged wheeze, smoothed out into a deep, steady rhythm. "He's stable," I murmured, pulling back. My head spun for a heartbeat, but my power that stems from Persephone and Demeter's blessing that was coursing through my veins steadied me—an endless well that never truly ran dry. "Next."
Further out, near the center of the blackened crater, the atmosphere shifted entirely. That was where the fallen tigers were being dealt with—and where Kayden was. Even from this distance, his presence pulled at me, dark and heavy. He wasn't just overseeing cleanup; he was commanding the finality of the war.
The tigers were being stacked in a separate, jagged heap. I watched as silver blades flashed in the morning sun—the specialized, leather‑wrapped swords used to dismember the corpses for easier transport to the massive pyre. It was a grisly, necessary tradition meant to ensure no rogue or shifter could ever rise again, and to leave no trace of the supernatural war for any wandering human to stumble upon.
Kayden moved through the center of it like a dark reaper. He didn't shy away from the gore; he directed it, his face carved into a mask of cold, lethal authority. He was the Alpha, the protector of the secret, and he was making sure the earth was purged of the poison Zander had brought into it. He paused for a moment, his silver eyes finding mine across the distance. Even through the stench of blood and the haze of exhaustion, the mate bond hummed—a low, protective vibration that told me he was still tracking my every breath. He gave a sharp, single nod, acknowledging my work before turning back to heave a fallen tiger onto the pile.
A few yards away, a heavier ritual was unfolding. The fallen wolves of our pack were being handled with a reverence that tightened my throat. Following the pack's ancient law, they were being prepared for a second pyre. To keep our secret buried from the human world and to honor the spirits of the dead, they were cleaned and laid in a neat, respectful line, each one covered in linen shrouds. The scent of pine and traditional herbs began to rise as Kayden's parents, the former Alpha and Luna, prepared the wood for the final send‑off. They worked in Kayden's place, their way of showing proper respect for the sacrifices they made to protect their pack and loved ones.
We still had far too much to do to get everyone's lives back on track. Once the immediate casualties were handled, the rest of the pack—those sent away before the battle for their own protection—would return. But before the gates opened, the bodies of the fallen had to be fully prepared. We needed to give their families a clean, respectful space to say goodbye, all while tightly controlling the flow of information. Grief could easily consume our people, and right now, we couldn't afford for operations to halt.
The line of warriors waiting for my touch stretched far beyond the tents, a reminder that my work had only just begun. Someone's hand settled on my shoulder. I didn't need to turn to know the weight of it. Amelia stood beside me, holding a chilled bottle of orange juice, condensation dripping down her fingers. She offered it out, her expression a blend of weary sympathy and a beta's firm resolve. "Drink this, Ari," she ordered softly. "And don't even think about telling me you're too busy. This isn't a suggestion; it's an intervention." I started to shake my head. "I can't—"
"You can," she said, her tone sharpening like a blade drawn across stone as she crossed her arms over her soot‑stained tactical vest. "And you will." She jerked her chin toward the center of the crater where Kayden was still silhouetted against the rising smoke of the enemy pyre. "I was sent by your mate. He's playing the merciless Alpha right now, but he spent the last ten minutes burning holes in the back of my head until I agreed to come check on you. He's worried you're going to hit a wall, and frankly, so am I."
I glanced toward Kayden. Even from here, the mate bond tugged at me, humming with his quiet, protective anxiety. With a sigh, I took the bottle from her hand. Amelia watched the slight tremor in my fingers as I gripped it. I hadn't eaten or drunk anything since before the battle even started—and with the stress of the days leading up to the confrontation, it had been far longer than that since I'd had a real meal. "He told me to make sure you didn't overdo it," Amelia said, her voice softening. "You've been at this for hours without a break. Take five minutes. Drink the juice. The doctors can hold the line while you breathe."
I cracked the seal and took a long swallow. The cold hit my stomach like a stone, sending a wave of nausea rolling through me. I leaned back against the edge of the healing table, letting the chaos of the infirmary fade into a dull hum for a moment. The sugar surged through my system like a physical jolt, slowly steadying the tremors in my hands. I drew a few deep breaths, fighting the nausea down. "He's never going to let me hear the end of it if I overexert myself, is he?" I murmured, my voice rough.
I gripped the bottle, waiting for the nausea to pass. Even with the strength of my tiger and my own power humming in my veins, a shifter's body still demanded fuel—especially after days of neglect and a battle that had pushed every limit. Amelia offered a small, tired smirk, her eyes tracking the color slowly returning to my face. "He'll probably forbid you from leaving the bedroom for a month. For everyone's sake, just keep drinking. I'd rather not have to deal with a frantic Alpha breathing down my neck because his mate looks like she is on the verge of collapsing."
I managed a sharp smile and took another cautious sip. The cold liquid was finally starting to feel less like a shock and more like a lifeline, settling the tremors in my hands. I wasn't about to drop, but the sugar was a necessary edge I'd been missing. I looked past her, toward the perimeter where the forest began to thicken. A retort about her and Kayden's overprotectiveness sat on the tip of my tongue—but the words died before I could speak. A jagged, panicked shout tore through the steady hum of the infirmary, coming from just outside the tent flaps. "Help! We need a medic out here, now!"
My instincts flared instantly. I pushed off the table, my hand already reaching for a fresh roll of gauze, but Amelia's hand clamped down on my shoulder before I could take a single step. A firm, grounding weight. "Stay," she commanded, her voice steady. "Let the doctors handle it, Artemis. You've stabilized the worst of them. They can take care of whoever just rolled in without you needing to exhaust yourself further." I looked at her, ready to argue—but the sheer exhaustion in my limbs made me hesitate.
I glanced toward the tent entrance, then back at Amelia, and for a fleeting second, I was actually going to listen. I was going to admit defeat, sit back down, and let someone else carry the burden for once. But then a second voice—a sharp, horrified gasp—echoed from the triage line. "Oh no... it's Mrs. Chambers!" The air in the tent vanished. Amelia went rigid beside me, her fingers digging into my shoulder for a completely different reason now. My eyes widened, a cold pit forming in my stomach. I didn't wait for her to release me. I wrenched myself free, fatigue forgotten as a fresh surge of adrenaline spiked through my veins. Amelia didn't try to stop me—she was right on my heels, her professional calm shattered by the name.
We reached the entrance just as a pair of soot‑covered warriors hurried toward us, carrying a slumped figure between them. They moved with frantic, desperate speed, and as they crossed the threshold into the tent's light, my breath hitched. Her chestnut‑brown hair had fallen from its usual neat tie, and her honey‑amber eyes—the ones that always held such a soothing quality—were snapped shut in pain. Beneath the stench of carnage outside, that faint, heartbreaking scent of warm bread and sugar still clung to her clothes, making the sight of her bloodied form feel like a personal insult.
"Get her on the table!" I commanded, my voice cold and sharp as I stepped into their path. "Now!" The warriors lowered Ms. Chambers onto the table with a jarring thud that made me wince. I moved in immediately, my hands reaching for the raw, visceral carnage of her shoulder. The wound was horrific. These weren't clean cuts—they were jagged, deep‑trenched marks of tiger claws. The tiger who inflicted the wound had aimed for her throat and caught her shoulder and chest instead, tearing through muscle and dragging downward with enough force to reveal the white gleam of bone. It was a kill‑strike, and only her old guard instincts had kept her from being gutted entirely.
Beside me, Amelia's breath hitched. "It's too deep, Artemis. The tigers wore silver‑bladed caps over their claws. The silver... it's stalling her healing." I didn't answer. I pressed my palms directly into the shredded tissue, warm crimson slicking my skin and dripping onto the table. I felt the familiar hum of my power rise — frantic, volatile — fueled by the image of little Hope waiting for a mother who might never come home to her beautiful little girl.
Ms. Chambers's honey‑amber eyes flickered open, hazy and unfocused. She gasped, a wet, rattling sound. Her hand, calloused from years of kneading dough and wielding a blade, reached out and weakly caught my forearm, her grip trembling. "Artemis..." she wheezed, her voice a broken thread. Every syllable was a battle. "Hope... I need... you to ta‑take... care..." I shook my head sharply, refusing to let her finish. I pressed my palms harder against the jagged edges of the wound, emerald‑golden‑white light flaring with sudden, violent intensity, spilling between my fingers like molten radiance. "Don't you dare finish that sentence. You are going live and take care of her yourself. So don't talk like that. I won't let you die like this."
I closed my eyes, pouring everything I had into her, but a cold dread began to seep into my chest. I could feel her life force—not just flickering, but receding, slipping through my fingers like water. I didn't have much time, and the power I was using wasn't enough. I needed more. I reached deeper, trying to tear more light from the core of my soul, pushing past the burning exhaustion in my muscles and the screaming protest of my mind. Suddenly, the world tilted. The emerald‑golden‑white light sputtered, and my knees buckled. Before I could hit the blood‑slicked floor, Amelia's strong arms caught me, her body acting as a pillar to steady mine. "Artemis, stop!" Amelia hissed, her voice thick with worry. "I knew you were overdoing it."
"I need to save her," I gasped, my voice raw as I struggled against Amelia's hold. "Hope needs her mother. I can't let her lose her, Amelia. I can't." Amelia gripped my shoulders, her eyes brimming with a pained, stark honesty. "Ari, look at her. There is nothing more you can do. You've given her everything." I wrenched myself away, fueled by a final, desperate burst of adrenaline. "No!" I turned back to the table, my hands trembling as I reached for the wounds again. But before my skin could touch hers, a cold, calloused hand reached up and caught my wrist.
Ms. Chambers looked at me. The agony that had been carved into her features had smoothed away, replaced by a gentle, serene smile that looked painfully out of place amidst the carnage. She shook her head weakly. "No..." she whispered, her voice surprisingly clear. "Don't, dear." Tears burned behind my eyes, blurring the edges of her face. "I can save you. I can fix this. Hope needs you," I pleaded. "It's my time," she said softly, her honey‑amber eyes glowing with quiet peace. "I'm tired, Artemis. I'm finally going to be with my husband and my boys again. I've missed them so much."
The doctors and nurses in the tent stopped what they were doing. A heavy, suffocating sadness filled the air. Mira, the head nurse, covered her mouth to stifle a sob, and Kael lowered his head, his shoulders shaking. Ms. Chambers beckoned me closer, her grip on my wrist pulling me down. I leaned in, my ear inches from her lips so only I could hear her final, ragged breath. "In my room..." she breathed, the words barely more than a ghost against my ear. "Behind the wardrobe... a hidden safe. Promise me, Ari. Promise me you'll look after my Hope... and when she's ready, you will tell her the truth in my place..."
Her voice hitched, a shallow, rattling intake of air that never found its way back out. I felt the vibration of her vocal cords stop, leaving the sentence hanging in the heavy air of the tent. "The truth about what?" I whispered, my heart hammering against my ribs. "Ms. Chambers?" The hand that had been gripping my wrist went limp, sliding down my arm before hitting the metal table with a dull, final thud. Her head lolled to the side, her honey‑amber eyes fixed on something far beyond the canvas walls of the infirmary.
The silence that followed was absolute—a void that drained the very air from the tent. Then the first sob broke. Mira, the seasoned nurse, turned away and buried her face in her hands. Behind me, Amelia let out a jagged, broken breath, her forehead pressing into my shoulder as she trembled with silent grief. Around us, the wounded warriors waiting for treatment bowed their heads. One by one, they struck their fists against their chests in a rhythmic, hollow thud—the final salute to a fallen guardian.
I stared at the woman who had just handed me the truth like a blade. I had promised to look after Hope, but as her words echoed through my mind, unease coiled tight in my gut. Something didn't fit. Something didn't sit right. Before I even realized I was moving, my body pulled away from Amelia and drifted toward the entrance of the tent. The canvas walls felt too close, the air too thick. "Ari... where are you going?" Amelia's voice cracked through the quiet, making me suddenly aware of myself—of the eyes on me, of the grief pressing in from all sides.
But I didn't turn around. "I need to get out of here." I heard her sniffle behind me—soft, wounded—and guilt pricked at my chest, but I couldn't stop. Not now. "Okay... but where are you going?" I finally glanced back. Her eyes were red, rimmed with tears, her expression a mixture of worry and heartbreak. My heart ached for her—Amelia, who always held everyone else together, now looking fragile in a way I wasn't used to seeing.
I shook my head, a small, helpless motion that barely felt like it belonged to me. A thin, shaky sigh slipped out. "I just... can't be here right now," I murmured, the words scraping out of me. "I need to leave. I just need to get out for a minute." Amelia's expression softened instantly, the worry in her red‑rimmed eyes shifting into something gentler, steadier. She didn't try to stop me. She didn't reach for me. She just nodded, slow and understanding. "It's okay," she said quietly, her voice still thick from crying.
"You don't have to stay. Just... breathe, alright? Give yourself a moment." I swallowed hard, my throat tight. "And Ari?" she added, taking a small step toward me but still giving me space. "Please make sure you rest. And eat something. You haven't had anything since this morning." Her voice wavered, but her concern didn't. "You can't help anyone if you fall apart." The words hit harder than I expected—not as a reprimand, but as a reminder that someone still cared enough to worry.
I nodded once, unable to trust my voice, and turned toward the tent's entrance, the cold air beyond it calling to me like a lifeline. The moment the tent flap fell shut behind me, the world felt too big and too quiet all at once. My feet moved without direction, crunching through frost‑stiff grass, weaving between tents and supply crates and warriors who barely registered my presence. I wandered.Aimless.Untethered.Lost in a storm of thoughts I couldn't outrun.
How was I supposed to face Hope now?What was I supposed to say? How could I look into her eyes knowing I could have possibly saved her mother if I just wasn't so exhausted? Or if I hadn't spent so long hiding my powers — maybe I would've built a stronger resistance, grown more accustomed to using them, noticed sooner that I was nearing my limitations. Every step felt heavier than the last. I replayed the promise I'd made to her, the one I'd spoken with absolute certainty. I would look after her. I would protect her. I would be there. But now... now everything felt fractured. Wrong. Off‑balance in a way that made my stomach twist.
By the time I realized what I was doing, the camp was far behind me. The trees parted, and I found myself standing in front of a familiar house—the very same one I had visited not even a month ago with Kayden. The memory hit me so hard I stopped breathing. The memory hit me so hard I stopped breathing. Hope's home.Ms. Chambers' warm, tidy kitchen.The smell of roasted herbs and fresh bread.The soft laughter that echoed through its walls.The moment—right there in that dining room—when I agreed to stay with him as his mate instead of running from his pack like I'd planned.
I stared at the front door, my heart thudding painfully against my ribs. I hadn't meant to come here. I hadn't even been thinking about where I was going. But somehow... my feet had brought me back to the place where everything had changed. Where I had chosen him. Where I had chosen this life. And now I had no idea how to walk through that door.
I shifted my weight from one foot to the other, unable to stand still, unable to move forward. The cold bit at my skin, but it was nothing compared to the ache twisting inside my ribs. I just stared at the door, wondering what I was supposed to do. Should I walk away?Would it be kinder if I didn't walk in at all? The longer I stood there, the more the doubt pressed in. Maybe I should leave.Maybe I wasn't the one who should be here.Maybe—
Her voice cut through the fog of my thoughts. Not in the air. Not from behind the door. But in my memory. "Please... when she's older... tell her the truth for me." The desperation in her voice replayed with perfect clarity, as if she were standing right beside me. The tremble in her hands. The way her eyes had searched mine, begging for something she couldn't bring herself to say aloud.
I swallowed hard, my throat tightening. I had promised her. I had sworn I would protect her. My fingers curled at my sides, nails biting into my palms as the weight of that promise settled over me like a shroud. I wasn't just standing in front of a door.I was standing in front of a choice. Walk away...or walk into the home where I was certain everything would change once I learned whatever this truth was — the truth she wanted me to tell Hope when she was old enough to understand it.
Despite knowing all of that—despite the dread clawing at my ribs—my body moved before my mind could catch up. I squared my shoulders, inhaled a breath that didn't quite reach my lungs, and stepped forward. One step.Then another.Then another. My hand closed around the doorknob.Cold metal.Cold air.Cold fear. And then I turned it. The latch clicked—soft but final—and I pushed the door open.
The familiar scent of the house—warm wood, herbs, something faintly sweet—washed over me like a memory I wasn't ready for. It hit with the force of a hand to the chest, dragging up moments I wasn't prepared to face. I walked inside. Not cautiously.Not hesitantly.Just... inevitably. The door swung shut behind me with a muted thud, sealing me inside the place where everything had once felt simple—and where everything was about to change.
*
*
It had been hours since I last saw my mate. The afternoon sun was now baking the blackened crater, casting long, harsh shadows over the final remnants of the cleanup. The massive pyre for the tigers had been reduced to a heap of smoldering white ash, and a tense, exhausted order was finally settling over the territory. The last time I had seen Artemis was through the haze of smoke, right when the pyres were already mostly set and ready to be lit. Our eyes had locked across the clearing—a brief, burning contact that allowed me to feel her fierce determination before she turned back to the wounded inside the tents. But that was hours ago.
A knot of unease twisted in my gut. I had sent Mia over to the triage tents a while back with strict orders to force some juice down Artemis's throat and ensure she didn't overexert herself. Movement across the clearing caught my attention. Mia was finished with the border patrol and was walking back toward my section of the crater, her posture tight and her expression unusually dark.
"Mia!" I called out, my voice cutting through the quiet chatter of the surrounding sentinels. I motioned for her to come over, stepping away from the perimeter guard I had been instructing. She snapped her head up, her jaw clenching when she saw me. As she closed the distance, the unease in my chest flared into outright worry. "Where is she?" I demanded before she could even get close enough to speak. I scanned the area past her shoulder, looking back toward the quiet infirmary. "How is Artemis doing? Tell me you actually got her to take a break."
Mia stopped a few feet away, her arms crossing over her chest. The usual sharp, witty spark in her eyes was completely gone, replaced by a heavy, hollow exhaustion that had nothing to do with physical labor. "I got her to drink the juice, Kayden," Mia said softly, her voice missing its usual bite. "But she didn't take a break. Not really, anyway." My jaw tightened. "What do you mean she didn't take a break? I told you to pull her away from the tables if you had to. She hasn't eaten since the battle ended, Mia. If she keeps pushing—"
"Kayden, listen to me," Mia interrupted, stepping closer so her voice wouldn't carry to the surrounding warriors. She swallowed hard, her throat bobbing. "A critical came in right after I gave her the drink. It's...Ms. Chambers." The name hit me like a physical blow. The unease that had been clawing at my gut turned into a cold, heavy weight. "Ms. Chambers?" Mia's eyes shined with unshed tears. "Tiger claws. Deep. It was a kill‑strike, Kayden. Artemis tried. God, she tried so hard. She pushed herself until her knees gave out, and I had to catch her before she hit the floor. She wanted to force more power out, to pour her own life into her, but..." Mia's voice broke, and she looked away toward the silent triage tents. "Ms. Chambers stopped her. She wouldn't let her finish. She said it was her time."
A suffocating silence settled over us. Ms. Chambers was the heart of our village — the one who kept the packs grounded, who fed our warriors, who raised her sweet little girl, Hope, with the fierce love of a retired guardian. To hear that she was gone... it felt like a piece of our home had been ripped away. "Artemis," I growled softly, the mate bond suddenly flaring with desperate, protective panic. "Where is she now?"
With a sad sigh, Mia ran her fingers through her blonde hair, the motion slow and weary, as if even lifting her hand took effort. She shook her head. "I'm sorry, Kayden, but I don't know where she is right now. She left right after Ms. Chambers died, and I haven't seen her since." My anger rose instantly, hot and sharp, my hands balling into fists at my sides. Before I could think to control it, my voice snapped out, louder than I intended. "And you just let her leave? What were you thinking?! Why didn't you go with her?!" Mia sighed—the kind of sigh a parent gives a child who's lashing out in pain. "Because I figured it would do her some good to get out of that tent. And it was probably the only way she was going to take a real break."
She placed her hand on my arm, her sympathetic bright green eyes locking onto mine."She is fine, Kayden. She just needed some time. I'm sure she's at the house, just resting." I pulled back from her touch, running my hand wearily down my face with a sigh. I raised an eyebrow and shook my head. "Have you met my mate? She's not the type to just rest while everyone else does the work. She's not at the house, and I guarantee that whatever she's doing, she's not actually resting like she should be." The corner of Mia's mouth quirked upward in an amused smirk. "Then I'm sure you'll have no problem figuring out where she's disappeared to. Now, will you?"
Irritation flared hot in my chest. She knew—or at least suspected—exactly where Artemis was, and instead of telling me, she let me spiral through this entire storm of panic and anger only to reach the same conclusion myself. But instead of arguing or demanding answers, I simply sighed. The breath that left me was harsh and bitter, frustration scraping raw against the exhaustion of the day. "Just make sure you and Luca handle things from here. I'm going to check on my mate—and your Luna."
Mia's lips curved into a pleased smile, and I saw that signature, playful spark glint behind her eyes again. She didn't say another word, though I could practically hear the taunting remarks sitting on the tip of her tongue. Instead, she placed her fist over her chest and bowed respectfully. "As you wish, Alpha." I rolled my eyes but didn't bother sticking around to see if she'd finally voice whatever was rolling around in that mind of hers. I walked past her immediately. Without a single look back, I began rushing deeper into the heart of my territory, leaving the outer borders where we'd been stationed all this time far behind.
I pushed my pace, transitioning into a full, effortless sprint. The scorched, ash‑laden battlefield quickly gave way to the familiar sights of the village. I tore past the residential sectors, a blur of motion against the backdrop of homes and winding stone paths I'd known for decades. The air here was cleaner, free from the acrid stench of the enemy pyres—but hauntingly quiet, with most of the pack still at the perimeter. And through that quiet, the mate bond thrummed like a taut wire, pulling me forward.
Before long, my steps slowed as I approached the familiar two‑story house—the one that looked almost like your basic American dream home, white picket fence and all. There were even faded sidewalk drawings scattered across the concrete, the kind of messy, colorful scribbles Hope must have made before we sent everyone who wouldn't be in the fight away to keep them safe. I stopped at the edge of the property, my chest rising and falling as I stared at the front porch. I had walked up those steps countless times throughout my life, but my mind instantly locked onto the memory of the very last time I was here. It had only been weeks ago, but it felt like a lifetime.
The last time we were here, I'd brought Artemis for dinner. Ms. Chambers had welcomed us with that fierce, maternal warmth of hers, treating us to a massive home‑cooked meal that filled the entire house with the scent of roasted meat and fresh bread. It was right here, at Ms. Chambers's dining table, where everything had changed for us. That was the night Artemis finally looked at me and agreed to stop running. She agreed to stay in my pack, to give this territory—and me—a real chance, and to finally let us get to know one another as mates. Ms. Chambers had sat there beaming, acting as the quiet anchor that truly brought us together.
Now, staring at the dark, silent house, a heavy wave of grief mixed with my anxiety. The woman who had helped foster the beginning of our future together was gone. I shook the memories from my head, my eyes narrowing as I stared at the door in front of me. I was certain Ari was here—it was the only place she would go after everything that had happened.
I stepped onto the porch, my hand gripping the brass doorknob. It was unlocked. Pushing the door open, I stepped into the shadows of the quiet home. The moment the door swung inward, my mate's scent hit my nose—warm, familiar, unmistakable. A slight smile tugged at my lips despite everything. She was here. I'd found her. Now I just had to find out where exactly in this house she was. Without a second of hesitation, I stepped deeper into the nearly vacant home. The house was eerily quiet—the only sound was the front door closing behind me with a loud thud, a sharp crack that echoed through the silence like a gunshot.
I flinched at the sound, but despite the loud thud of the door, my mate made no sound. Not even a startled inhale. Nothing to tell me where to start looking.She either wasn't startled by the noise or simply didn't care that someone had come looking for her. Maybe she'd even been expecting it. I sighed—more to myself than anything—and without dwelling on the thought, I took a step forward, leading myself deeper into the silent house.
As I walked through the halls, I glanced into each room in quick succession, searching for my mate. Only when I confirmed she wasn't inside did I move on. Eventually, I found myself at the back of the house, standing in front of a closed oak door—and immediately noticed her honey‑and‑vanilla scent was strongest here. Without a doubt, she was inside.All I needed to do was open the door and I would see her there just beyond it.
Despite knowing that, I hesitated. Instead, I raised my hand and let my knuckles rasp lightly against the wooden panel. "Ari...honey. Are you in there?" A faint rustling sounded behind the door — paper shifting, maybe. When she didn't answer, I tried again. "Ari, my love. I know you're in there. Is it alright if I come in?"
More rustling. More shuffling. But still no voice. No acknowledgment. Nothing to tell me she'd heard me at all. I sighed and let my hand slide to the cold metal of the doorknob. "Ari... I'm coming in now." When she still didn't respond, I finally twisted the knob and pushed the door open. It moved easily—unlocked, unobstructed—revealing the room beyond.
Once the door opened, I immediately realized I was standing in the master bedroom. The furniture wasn't impressive—simple, lived‑in—and the entire room was washed in shades of blue and purple. The sight pulled up a memory I didn't know was still unbridled in my mind. Before her husband and children died, I remembered overhearing Ms. Chambers telling someone that her mate had decorated their bedroom in their favorite colors. She'd laughed as she explained how he'd remembered her love for rocking chairs and had placed one by the window so she could read her novels while watching the children play outside. Even now, I could still hear that laughter—warm, soft, full of love—echoing in my mind.
My eyes drifted toward the wooden rocking chair angled toward the window, positioned perfectly to overlook the yard. A light purple throw blanket hung over the back, neatly folded. Beside it sat a small circular nightstand with a worn paperback resting on top, a black bookmark poking out from top of its pages. Just off to the side was a brown leather chair—not angled toward the window, but toward the rocking chair itself. It was well‑kept, clearly cared for, but untouched for a long time. A chair meant for someone who used to sit and watch her read. Someone who wasn't here anymore. Upon seeing that my chest tightened, guilt and sadness twisting together until it hurt to breathe. I forced my eyes away from the chairs—away from the memories they held and the people they belonged to—and from the ache that rose in my throat.
When I finally tore my gaze from those chairs, that's when I saw her. My mate was kneeling on the floor near the bed. She was still wearing the emergency clothing we keep scattered around the pack for anyone shifting back from their animal forms—the same gray baseball shorts and black tank Mia had given her after the battle, before she'd thrown herself into caring for the wounded. Papers were scattered haphazardly across the floor in front of her. Beside her, four deep marks were carved into the carpet—the kind left behind by something heavy that had sat there for years before being moved. My eyes followed the indentations upward, and that's when I saw it: a black safe embedded in the wall, its door hanging wide open as if waiting for the slightest gust of wind to decide its fate. A strong enough draft could slam it shut or send it crashing into the wall, depending on the direction. Just beyond it sat a large rounded wooden wardrobe, positioned off to the side of the safe like it had always belonged there.
I sighed and looked back down at my mate. She was still kneeling, still silent, her eyes glued to the papers and newspaper clippings spread out before her. She hadn't looked at me once since I entered the room. I stepped toward her slowly, and when I reached her, I crouched down in front of her. "Ari," I said softly. "Come on. We should get out of here and go back home." I reached out to take her arms, to help her up—but before my hands could touch her, she suddenly looked up at me. Something in her eyes stopped me cold, locking me in place where I knelt. Maybe it was the grief.Maybe the skepticism.Or maybe it was something else entirely—something I couldn't name, something that stopped me cold. Whatever it was, I couldn't move.
It was her words that finally shattered the trance I'd been in. "You knew." She didn't ask it. She stated it—flat, emotionless, like the words were scraped clean of anything that might soften them. My eyebrows knit together in confusion. "I knew what? What is it that I know—" My voice cut off as my gaze dropped to the papers scattered across the floor. The moment I saw them, I knew exactly what she meant. Even after all these years, I recognized them instantly. As I sat back on my heels, Ari's deep sapphire eyes tracked every movement, never wavering from mine. I dragged my fingers through my hair—now longer than it had been before the journey to the Underworld, though I'd been too busy to notice until now.
I pushed the stray thought aside and stood with a sigh. Then I held out my hand to her. She stayed kneeling among the scattered papers, looking up at me with expectant, knowing eyes. She glanced down at my hand, debating for the briefest moment, before reluctantly placing hers in mine. "Yes, I knew," I said as I helped her to her feet. "Of course I knew. I was the Alpha when it happened." She looked up at me, and without hesitation asked, "Then why didn't you tell me?" I rubbed the back of my neck and groaned. "It never felt like the right time. It's not like I was hiding it from you — it just... didn't come up yet."
She planted her hands on her hips, narrowing her eyes. "That's not true. You could have told me that night—after we left this house—when we were walking and talking about Hope and Ms. Chambers." I looked toward the wall, unable to meet her heated gaze. I could feel it burning into the side of my face even as I turned away. "I did tell you," I muttered. "Somewhat." She scoffed. "No. You barely hinted at the truth. You only said everything changed once she brought Hope home."
"See? I did tell the truth." Her eyes widened in shock before snapping into anger. "No, you did not! Saying it like that could mean anything. Most people would assume she came home after giving birth to her child—not that she found a baby abandoned in the woods and later adopted her!" Her chest rose and fell with sharp, furious breaths, and one look at her face told me we were about to have a long conversation ahead. I sighed and crouched down, gathering the scattered papers off the floor. Ari crossed her arms over her chest, glaring down at me. "What are you doing?"
I picked up the last sheet just as her words finished. Standing, I met her eyes. "This isn't going to be a simple conversation we can finish in a few sentences. And there's no point having it on the floor or standing around this room. We should move somewhere we can sit comfortably. And considering neither of us has eaten since early this morning, we should get food and something to drink while we talk." I held out my free hand toward her. She looked down at it skeptically, then raised an eyebrow at me. I sighed and let a small smile tug at my lips. "Come on. Let's go." This time, she sighed—long, frustrated—before finally giving in. "Fine. You win. Let's go." A pleased smile pulled at my mouth at her words. Without hesitation, I tightened my grip on her hand and started toward the door. Artemis fell into step beside me instantly.