Page 171 of A Sunwoven Ascent

They were leaving for the next few weeks to explore beyond the southern borders and make certain no trace of darkness remained. Groups of Sunweavers would travel with them, Cillian among them, though only for a short while before his new duties called him home. Moonshade, Glaciermaw, and the two other packs were departing as well, each setting out to find a place of their own. Obren seemed oddly reluctant to go and promised he would return soon, if only to learn more about the southern debutantes, which he claimed was far too promising an opportunity to abandon entirely.

Beau, at least, would finally be gone. Alaric could admit the male had come to fight, and that he had saved Heidara during the battle, but gratitude did not erase what he had done to her. Civility was all Alaric could offer him, and even that had limits. Still, much as he hated to admit it, he had come to enjoy the company of Moonshade. Ravena and Coren, especially, were people he hoped he would see again. Alaric was not a wolf, but they had accepted him as their guide and treated him as one of their own. That was enough.

It was time to move onward now, and into whatever came next. A new beginning waited for him on the road ahead, and he meant to enjoy every moment of it with Heidara at his side. He almost told her about the vision that had found him that morning: Heidara’s hand laced with his, both of them aged by a long life neither of them had once dared to imagine. A quiet promise. A future already reaching back for them.

But some truths did not need to be spoken.

Alaric would keep this one for himself, and spend every year he had proving it to her.

Epilogue

Six months later

Kaldrek felt steady again. Steady as in, he no longer checked over his shoulder every other minute expecting to find some trace of Noskari darkness lingering behind him. Each morning, he still remembered it—the cold weight of that corruption moving through his veins, the cruelty of the words it had dragged from his mouth, the hurt in Evelyne’s eyes before anger had taken its place. But over the past few days, he had begun to understand something.

It was time to forgive himself.

He had endured enough. He had been dragged through darkness and still found his way back to the good side of it. He would not let his mother’s viciousness stain the rest of his life. Not when he had people worth fighting for. A life worth keeping. Friends who had stood beside him when they had every reason to turn away. Packs to protect. And, gods help him, even Obren.

The prickly Glaciermaw alpha had somehow become something dangerously close to a friend, though Kaldrek would never say so aloud. Still, he could admit to himself that he had missed the bastard’s presence. Perhaps it was Obren’s humor. Perhaps it was the added protection when their packs traveled together. Or perhaps Kaldrek had simply grown used to having another stubborn alpha nearby to argue with. Whatever the reason, Glaciermaw would be arriving any day now, if Obren’s latest letter held any truth.

Apparently, the alpha was eager for another event filled with single debutantes and southern society’s finest entertainment. Kaldrek had no idea what event Obren meant—or whether the male had invented one purely for the excuse. More likely, Callista Evermere was the true draw. Obren had never been one to resist a female with a temper and a sharp tongue, and Kaldrek had not missed the way his friend’s gaze lingered where it should not. A wicked woman like Callista would amuse him, perhaps even tempt him for a time, but Kaldrek knew better than to mistake that for anything lasting. No one would ever replace Obren’s first love. Still, he would be disappointed to learn she had since fastened herself to Wesley Bavrick.

Not long after the autumn festival, Ivan Bavrick had followed a different path entirely—out of Rosewyth, driven away by the weight of his own humiliation after admitting the story he and Callista had spun about Evelyne had never been true.

It was not the ending Kaldrek would have chosen for him. If Kaldrek had been allowed to choose, Ivan Bavrick would have left Velenshire with more than wounded pride. But Evelyne had not wanted blood. She had wanted to stand before the man who had once made her feel powerless and show him exactly who she had become. So Kaldrek had given her that. He had stood with her beneath the festival lights, his mouth at the curve of her neck, his hand settled possessively at her waist, and let every watching eye in Velenshire see the truth Bavrick had failed to understand.

Evelyne Duskwood belonged to no man who could frighten her.

She chose.

And she had chosen him.

Ivan had seen it, too. Kaldrek remembered the way the man’s face had gone pale the moment he spotted them near the market stalls. Remembered the way his eyes had darted toward Evelyne, then away again, as if the sight of her standing whole and radiant beside him was harder to endure than any blade.

Kaldrek had waited until Ivan tried to slip past them. Then he stepped into his path and extended a hand.

Ivan stopped short. His gaze dropped to Kaldrek’s hand, and some old memory of pain must have returned to him, because he drew back at once.

Kaldrek lifted a brow. “Something wrong, Lord Bavrick?”

Bavrick glanced around, clearly aware of the people drifting nearby. With visible reluctance, he placed his hand in Kaldrek’s.

Kaldrek smiled.

It was not a kind smile.

“I trust these hands have not touched an unwilling woman of late.”

Ivan’s face tightened. “I beg your pardon?”

“No need.” Kaldrek’s grip closed, just enough to make the man’s breath catch. “I am not offering forgiveness.”

He tried to pull away, but Kaldrek did not let him.

“You should leave the south,” Kaldrek said, his voice low enough that only Bavrick could hear. “Because if you stay, I may feel compelled to let every gentleman here know that his lady is never truly safe when a Bavrick stands too close.”

Bavrick’s eyes flashed. “Wesley does not deserve punishment for my—” He stopped himself, gaze flicking toward the crowd.