I head straight for Thorn’s quarters. The way I left him, with no explanation, gnaws at me. It wasn’t fair. He deserves more. He deserves everything.
My hand pauses before the door. On the run back, I’d rehearsed a dozen ways to tell him. To somehow explain and to beg him to understand. But as my fingers hover inches from the wood, every word vanishes.
Still, I knock anyway.
Silence.
I knock again, harder. “Thorn, it’s me. I just want to talk.”
Nothing.
I pace the hallway twice, back and forth like I’m being haunted by my own choices, before I can’t stand it anymore. My hand wraps around the knob. It gives beneath my touch.
The door creaks open.
“Thorn?” My voice trembles as I push it wide.
It slams against the wall, revealing only…emptiness.
The room is bare, stripped of life. I step inside, my heartsinking with every step until I reach the three windows at the far wall.
Glass shards glitter the stone like broken ice. Wind whips in through a gaping hole where one of the windows used to be. I move closer, my bare feet crunching over the glass.
And then I see him.
Down in the valley below, a pack of wolves run across the open field, climbing the far hill. Thorn’s massive white wolf ahead of them, his pace punishing, impossible to match even with a slight limp.
I press a hand to the cold stone windowsill, my throat closing.
He’s gone.
Back to Alaska.
I never got to explain. I never got to beg forgiveness. Worst of all, I never got to say goodbye.
Chapter 31
THORN
Afew hours earlier…
The trees blur past me, but I can’t outrun it. Not the sound of her voice. Not the look in her eyes.
I’d rather take a thousand claws to the gut than see her bloody, tear-streaked face so anguished again. I sprint harder, paws tearing at the dirt, until my lungs burn and my ankle throbs. It’s still not enough. The earth feels hollow beneath me, the forest feels impossibly empty. I wanted to win her, claim her, keep her — and instead, she chose nothing at all.
When my ankle finally gives, I collapse at the base of an oak. My blood-soaked white coat heaves with every breath, my fur sticky with my own blood. I throw back my head and let out a howl, raw and broken, so deep it rattles the branches above me. The sound carries far into the night, a sound of loss no Alpha should ever make.
Then I stop and collect myself.
Because an Alpha doesn’t wallow. An Alpha doesn’t mope about being heartbroken. No, they must always remain strong and lead.
I shift back to human form, pressing my forehead to my knees. I sit there in silence, allowing my wounds (internal and external) to heal. For a moment — just a moment — I allow myself to feel the hollow ache where Ember should be. To feel the sting of betrayal, though I know she thought she was protecting someone else. I still feel like less of a man, less of an Alpha, because the gods themselves handed me a mate...and she turned me away.
When dawn’s first light stains the horizon, I rise.
The temple grounds are buzzing when I return, wolves crowd the main entrance, some still rubbing sleep from their eyes, others strutting proudly with fresh mates at their side. The air smells of sex, victory, and futures decided.
The line of newly mated pairs gathers at the steps, waiting for my acknowledgement. My role as Alpha demands it.