“Yes, thank the gods.” Stasio’s fingers curl weakly around hers.
“I’m so sorry.” Haron’s voice fractures. “Holden—”
“Yes, I felt it, my dear.” Stasio’s eyes close. When they open again, cold grief has replaced the warmth they held.
Xander straightens, his posture respectful but grim. “Elder, we had no choice. He—”
“No need to explain, Alpha.” Stasio’s tone holds steady despite the pain threading through it. “I saw everything. When he stole my magic, our connection deepened. I witnessed his ambitions. His rage.” Solemn understanding settles over his features like winter frost. “His end.”
Haron buries her sob into Stasio’s blankets.
Xander reaches into his pocket, withdrawing Holden’s charm. The pendant glints in the lamplight as he extends it toward Stasio.
“This was his.”
Haron lets out a choked whimper. Stasio’s gaze fixes on the crystal, unblinking. Then his unsteady hand reaches out, takes it, and clutches it against his chest like a lost relic.
“My boy.” His words break apart. “My foolish, angry boy.”
Haron rises from her knees, folding herself over her father in an embrace. They cling to each other, two survivors of a family torn apart by violence and hatred.
“I’m so sorry for your loss.” Xander says.
Stasio’s eyes meet his over Haron’s white hair. “He chose his path. You did what was necessary to protect all of us.” There’s a heavy pause before the Elder says, “I must thank you for that.”
I touch Xander’s arm. A silent signal. He nods, understanding.
“We’ll give you some privacy,” he says. “If you need anything—”
Stasio nods, his weathered hand smoothing over Haron’s white hair as she presses her face against his chest, soaking his blanket with her tears.
We step out, easing the door shut. The sounds of their mourning follow us into the main infirmary — muffled, but impossible to ignore.
Chapter 44 — Rhiannon
My attention shifts back to Ethan again. I cross the room to his bedside, where Olcan leans over him.
He straightens as I approach, his expression shifting from clinical curiosity to professional authority. “Commander, I need to perform a cleansing ritual. The residual contamination from Shaman magic needs to be purged before it settles into his system.”
“Okay,” I consent, but I don’t move. My feet stay rooted to the stone floor, my wolf pressing against my ribs with renewed urgency.
“No hovering, Commander.” Olcan’s tone brooks no argument. “Come back in fifteen minutes. I’ll send for you if anything unexpected happens.”
Every instinct screams against leaving. But Olcan’s gaze is steady, patient and immovable as the mountains themselves.
“Fine.” The word scrapes out. “I’ll be back in exactly fifteen minutes.”
I force myself to turn away.
“Commander.” Xander falls into step beside me. “We need to talk. Now, if you have two minutes.”
It’s not a request.
We step through the infirmary doors together. The hallway stretches before us, empty and quiet.
I stop just outside the entrance, staying close enough to see anyone approaching those doors, and to hear if Olcan calls. My wolf refuses to allow any greater distance.
The cool night air filters through the open windows, crisp and clean against my skin. I breathe deep, letting it wash away the copper-tinged air of the infirmary.
