And now—she is his.
A tearing, splitting sensation rips through my chest. I cannot breathe. This must be what she felt under that damned avalanche. There is no air without her. No light, without her. Only darkness and death.
The storm howls in my ears, wind shrieking through the ravine. I do not know if it is the land’s fury or my own. Perhaps they are one and the same. The world narrows to a knife’s edge. Snow churns around us, a vortex of white and shadow like the maelstrom of my heart.
The pain erupts out of me in a primal scream that threatensto bring down the mountain itself. She turns to me, those damned blue-violet eyes reminding me of everything I’ve lost, again. I see her lips move, forming around the gift I foolishly offered. Not just the sounds that make my name, but myself, my very soul.
My name on her lips had once been sacred, but now it is a curse I cannot bear to hear again. I will not let her speak it.
I stop her, but instead of shame or regret, instead of the fear that should be flashing in her eyes, instead I see acceptance. Resolve. A steely determination that has her eyes blazing brighter than the stars. A look that has the smallest voice inside of me daring to whisper, maybe I am wrong.
Because I have seen this look in the eyes of a mate before. And the only thing strong enough for this level of commitment in the face of loss, is love.
Before I can listen to the quiet whisper, before I can let hope think about blossoming in this land of ice and snow, a click draws both of our attention, spinning us back to face the one they call Ben.
He holds a gun raised directly towards me, his finger tightly curled around the trigger. His eyes are as dead as his heart. Before I can move, before I can sweep my Winter Star behind the shield of my body, she proves that small voice right and runs towards the looming danger.
Her legs churn, snow kicking up in her wake as she launches herself directly into the path between me and death.
No.
NO!
The shot cracks through the air. The storm stills as the mountain holds its breath with me. The whole world waits in silence as Dahlia’s shoulder takes the impact and she slams to her knees before her body falls. And so do the stars. The very earth stops spinning. Not even a single snowflake dares to break the stillness of the moment.
Too late, I understand.
Her words had never been a betrayal. They had been a sacrifice. A deception. She was never his. She was never theirs. She was always mine.
And now—she is dying for it.
The earth roars.
No, it’s me. It detonates from my chest, the fury of centuries unleashed. It is not a sound meant for human ears. It is the voice of the wild, of the storm, of the earth itself crying out in wrath.
The ground beneath me cracks. The cliffs tremble. Snow cascades from the ledges above, the mountain itself answering my rage.
I am moving though I do not remember choosing to move. My body surges forward, but she is already still. Silent. Gone is the flush from her beautiful face, gone is the light from her eyes. This great loss demands justice, and I will rain down the punishment and revel in it.
The world stops in the space between my heartbeats. The space where she will live for all eternity, but only one beat more is all the longer any of them will live before I tear this world apart. Starting with them.
The first man barely has time to scream as I hit him like a landslide, claws rending flesh, bone, sinew. Red sprays hot against the snow, steaming in the cold. His weapon clatters uselessly to the ground. His body crumples, and something in me twists.
She did this for me.
I grab the next man by the throat, lifting him from the ground as he claws at my wrist. His eyes bulge. His mouth gapes, gasping for air that will not come.
This is for the words she choked on to keep me safe.
I squeeze. His neck gives way with a wet crunch, and I toss him aside like he is nothing more than kindling. Anotherturns, raising his rifle. My heart beats a staccato rhythm of guilt.
I should have been faster. Moved faster. Understood faster.
I rip the gun from his hands and with it the arms from his body. He barely has time to register the pain before I send him sprawling over the cliff’s edge, the mountain swallowing his screams.
Her hands had trembled when she gave the soapberry to Sita.
I see it now—her plan, her quiet defiance. The beast inside me demands more sacrifice, more carnage. More revenge. But there will never be enough blood to sacrifice in her name.
