Chairs scrape against stone. The meeting dissolves into smaller conversations—strategy, supply checks, contingency plans whispered in low tones. The elders linger, their age making them slower to rise, slower to disperse.
I remain standing at the table a moment longer than necessary, staring at the rough outline of the portal on Amos’s parchment. A tear in the world. A wound that refuses to close. And somehow, even in the midst of this looming threat, my mind drifts.
To her…
To the way she left my bed before dawn.
To the silence this morning, heavy and deliberate, words unspoken forming a dark cloud over our heads.
I told myself that giving her space was the right thing to do, that pressing her now—when she’s already trapped in a marriage she did not choose—would only push her further away.
But restraint feels suspiciously like cowardice.
“Heinrich.”
My father’s voice pulls me back into the room.
He stands near the doorway, waiting, expression terse enough to serve as a reminder of what else needs to be taken care of today. I nod once and follow him out.
We walk in silence through the eastern paths as dusk settles, the forest turning indigo around us. The graveyard lies on a small rise overlooking Silver Stone’s river, a quiet place, shielded by ancient oaks.
Fifteen years.
Just the thought of the number lands heavier than it should.
My mother’s grave is simple, as she would have wanted. A smooth slab of stone, her name carved cleanly into its face—Luna Dianna Rudolph. Beside it rests another marker—smaller, but no less significant. My former beta. The man who died protecting our border years ago, when the demons began their attacks. Alistair Clarke.
My father kneels first at Mother’s grave. I have seen Mortimer Rudolph command rooms full of alphas without so much as raising his voice. I have seen him stand unflinching in the face of blood and war. But here, before this stone, he bows his head.
I follow suit. The earth is cool beneath my fingers as I brush away fallen leaves from my mother’s name.
“I thought time would dull it,” my father says quietly. “I thought time would dull the ache I feel in my chest.”
“It doesn’t,” I answer, having heard many tales about how the remaining wolf feels after losing its mate.
My father nods, not chastising my interjection, because there’s no pretense between us here. No rank. No performance. He’s just my father, and I am his son.
“She would have liked her…” he says after a long pause, hand resting beneath Mother’s name.
The words catch me off guard because my father has only met her once. “Annika?”
He nods gently. “Your mother believed strength came in many forms. Not just claws and command. I’ve seen the girl, studied her enough to know that there is a quiet strength within her.”
The forest hums softly around us, as if Mother herself agrees with Father’s sentiment, his observation of Annika in that one, brief meeting.
“I don’t know if she’ll stay,” I admit before I can stop myself.
My father’s gaze shifts to me, sharp even in the fading light. “Do you want her to stay?”
The question feels more dangerous than any demon attacking our borders ever felt.
“Yes.” It is not a strategic answer. Not an alpha’s answer. It is simply the truth.
Mortimer studies me for a long moment, then places a hand briefly on my shoulder. “Then stop acting like a man preparing to lose her. Fight for what you want, son. Remember, you are the alpha.”
He rises, leaving me there with the graves and my own thoughts. I remain kneeling long after he walks back toward the path.
Fifteen years without my mother. Years without my beta. Years of holding Silver Stone together by force of will alone.
