Chapter 169: The Reckoning
Kaelen's POV
I stood over Orion's body in the office-turned-makeshift-memorial, arrived midday after riding non-stop from Thornwick. The afternoon light slanted through the windows, harsh and unforgiving. My Gamma lay on the table, cleaned and dressed for the funeral we'd hold at dusk. But that carved message on his back—For Kaelen—it burned into my retinas every time I blinked.
Cordelia stood beside me, her hands still damp from washing his wounds. She'd been checking every injury, documenting them like she always did. Professional. Thorough. But her eyes were red.
The mate bond where Sera should have been felt like a black hole in my chest. Not pain exactly—just absence. A void where warmth used to pulse. The silver collar they'd used had severed our connection as cleanly as a blade through rope.
I reached out, touching Orion's cold forehead. "I'm sorry, Orion."
The words tasted like ash. Sorry didn't bring him back. Sorry didn't find Sera. Sorry was just another failure I'd have to carry.
---
I locked the office door behind me, needing to be alone before I did something I'd regret in front of witnesses.
The green sketchbook sat on my desk. Her tea cup, still half-full , sat beside it. The faint scent of lavender from the sachets she kept in the drawer.
She'd been here. Safe. Mine.
And I'd left her.
My fist went through the desk before I registered the impulse. Wood splintered, the sound sharp and satisfying. I swept everything off the surface—reports, pens, that fucking tea cup—and it all crashed to the floor in a symphony of destruction. The chair went next, kicked hard enough to crack against the wall. The bookshelf. The glass paperweight that shattered into a thousand glittering pieces.
I demolished everything within reach, and it still wasn't enough.
When there was nothing left to break, I slid down the wall and sat in the wreckage. Blood dripped from my knuckles, pattering on the floor in a steady rhythm. The physical pain was nothing compared to the guilt.
She called me.
The memory hit like a punch to the gut. Sera's voice on the phone, three days ago. Then again. And again. Each call more desperate than the last. I could hear it now—the progression from worry to panic to that flat, defeated tone at the end.
"I can't wait anymore."
Those were the last words she'd said to me. And I'd been too fucking busy playing detective in Thornwick, chasing shadows while the real threat circled my mate.
If I'd come back immediately. If I'd answered even one of those calls properly. If I'd trusted my instincts instead of letting paranoia guide every move.
"She trusted me," I said aloud to the empty room. "And I failed her."
---
Kaelen's POV — Three Days Ago
Zephyr's Beta met me at the border with six guards, all armed, all watching me with expressions that were just a shade too neutral. The escort into Thornwick territory felt less like an ally's welcome and more like being taken into custody.
"Alpha Zephyr is waiting in his study," the Beta said. Polite. Professional. But his hand never left his weapon.
Something was wrong. I could feel it in the air, taste it like copper on my tongue.
Zephyr's study was all dark wood and leather, books lining the walls, a fire crackling in the hearth. He stood when I entered, gestured to a chair across from his desk. The formality of it set my teeth on edge.
"Kaelen. Thank you for coming so quickly." He poured two glasses of whiskey, slid one across to me. "I wouldn't have called if it wasn't urgent."
I didn't touch the drink. "You said you found evidence of Damien."
"Yes." Zephyr opened a folder, spread photographs across the desk between us. "Eastern border, two nights ago. My patrol found tracks, fur samples, claw marks on the trees. All matching the description of Damien that you provided months ago."
I studied the photos. Deep gouges in bark at Alpha height. Massive paw prints in mud. Dark fur caught on low branches.
It looked real. Too real.
"Your scouts tracked him?" I asked, keeping my voice level.
"For about two miles before losing the trail at the river." Zephyr pulled out more documents—witness statements, soil analysis, a map with the route marked in red. "Three different guards confirmed sighting a large black wolf in the area. One got close enough to note the scar across his muzzle."
The scar I'd described. The scar the fake Damien hadn't had.
My mind raced. A week ago, I'd killed what I thought was Damien in my own territory. Ripped his throat out, burned the body to ash. But that wolf had been wrong somehow—too slow, too willing to die. I'd convinced myself it was just the element of surprise, the rage fueling my attack.
Now Zephyr was showing me evidence that Damien was alive and active in Thornwick.
Which meant either the wolf I'd killed wasn't Damien, or Zephyr was lying to me right now.
"You seem... thoughtful," Zephyr said, watching me too closely. "Not surprised. Most Alphas would be demanding immediate action if their enemy was spotted this close to allied territory."
Shit. I'd hesitated too long, let my doubt show on my face.
"I'm assessing the information," I lied. "Damien's been quiet for days. If he's suddenly active again, there's a reason."
"Indeed." Zephyr leaned back, fingers steepled. "Which is why I was hoping you could provide some context. Has Shadowmere had any recent contact with Ravencrest forces? Any attacks or sightings?"
This was it. The moment I should tell him everything. Should say: I killed someone I thought was Damien last week, but if these sightings are real, then I was fooled. We need to coordinate our intelligence and figure out what the fuck is going on.
But I couldn't make myself say the words.
Because if Zephyr was working with Damien, if this whole thing was a setup, then telling him I'd killed a decoy would reveal that Shadowmere's defenses were compromised. That I'd been played. That my mate was vulnerable.
And if Zephyr was innocent, if he was genuinely trying to help, then admitting I'd been tricked made me look weak. Incompetent. The kind of Alpha who couldn't tell a real threat from a puppet.