Chapter 138

Dane

There was a long moment of silence from Waylon Reed. Then he said, “Fine. But remember, I have this place surrounded, which means even though that big wolf is holding those children, they are in my power.” He released me. The skin of my neck stung and burned from where he’d pressed the silver dagger. He’d been forcing it back so hard, the muscles ached. Breathing had been hard, so I inhaled deeply.

The lycan holding Aurora let her go, and she fell to her knees and crawled the few feet to me. The wolves holding my arms released me, and I wrapped them around her.

Maybe I should have refused this. It would have been easier on all of us to get it over with, like ripping off a Band-Aid. But there were things I had to tell Aurora. Words I needed her to hear before I left this world forever. Words I’d like to say to my children if I got the chance.

Aurora rose and pulled me to my feet. Broken Forest wolves moved out of her way as she led me toward the woods.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Esther Reed’s shrill voice cut through the night.

Aurora looked to the sky. “We have half an hour before the moon is fully at its peak. I’m taking 25 minutes.”

“Not one second longer,” Waylon growled, “Or you will return to find your children’s blood spilled to feed the stone.”

Her hand clutched convulsively in mine, and she looked toward the cluster of Blue Ridge wolves on the other side of the massive stone. The kids weren’t visible, but from the minds of my wolves, I knew they were standing in a circle around them with Trajan at the center.

If Waylon Reed wanted to spill the blood of my children, he’d have to make it through half of my pack and Aurora’s massive bodyguard first.

It felt wrong to take this moment. Wrong to walk away. But a night that was supposed to be my greatest triumph had suddenly become my last night on earth.

“Not one second longer,” I growled. “And remember this, Reed. If you kill them, you lose the only thing you have that is stopping me from killing you.”

Chapter 138

Aurora led me into the woods, to a space by a stream beneath the overhanging branches of a willow tree. I sharpened my senses, scanning for Reed’s spies. I scented wolves prowling, but it was faint. For the moment, we had at least a sliver of privacy.

As soon as we were alone, she threw herself into my arms. “Dane, I’m so sorry. This is all my fault. I didn’t see the missing page. I didn’t know.”

I pulled her close. “Shh. It doesn’t matter. I don’t want to waste the time we have.”

Her head fell against my chest, and I cradled it there, burying my fingers in the soft, silken strands of her pale hair. I leaned my head against the top of her head and breathed her in. She still smelled like lilacs, just like the first time I’d met her.

Goddess damn me, we could have had so many years together. We should have. Instead, our past was eight years riddled with loneliness, and we had no future at all.

As if she could sense my thoughts, she squeezed her arms around me. But I didn’t want to spend this whole time wallowing in regrets.

I put my fingers beneath her chin and tilted her head up, forcing her to look at me. “There are things to say before I go.”

“Go?” she laughed bitterly, “Go. Like you’re running to Atlanta for work or headed to the store for groceries. You’re not running an errand, Dane, you’re about to—”

She blinked rapidly and tried to pull away so she could escape my grasp. I wouldn’t let her.

“Die.” I finished the sentence for her. “I’m about to die, you stubborn woman, and I have things to say before I do. The least you can do is hear me out.”

Tears leaked from the corners of her eyes. I smoothed them from her cheeks with my thumb. “Can you do that for me?”

“I don’t know, Dane. I’m afraid of what you’re going to say.”

“You’re afraid?”

She swallowed, then nodded. “There’s something I want to hear from you, but as much as I want to hear it, I fear it. Because what’s it worth, knowing that someone—” her breath caught, “knowing how they feel, if they just die right after. Then I know how you felt, but we never have a chance to actually do anything about it, and all I’m left with is the memory of your words and the hollow dreams of what could have been.”

“I understand,” I said, my voice rough. I released her.

But as soon as I did, she grabbed my wrists. “No. Goddess, I’m so selfish. I’m sorry. Say it. Please. What do you want to tell me?”