Chapter 195: The Price of Love

Kaelen's POV

The scream shattered everything.

Seraphine's voice—raw, destroyed, barely recognizable—ripped through the courtyard with a force that shouldn't have been possible. The silver collar should have silenced her completely, but somehow she'd found strength buried deeper than pain, deeper than survival.

Every head snapped toward her. Roland's sword froze mid-thrust. Damien's knife stilled. Even the dying fires seemed to pause.

She was on her knees somehow, though the silver chains should have kept her pinned. Blood streamed from where the collar had burned deeper, metal searing fresh wounds with each movement. Her face was wet with tears but her eyes were clear. Clearer than they'd been since this nightmare started.

No. Don't. Whatever you're thinking—

"Don't—" Her voice cracked. "Please don't—"

Then her hands moved. Rising toward her throat. Toward the silver collar.

Understanding hit me like a bullet. "Seraphine, NO—"

But she wasn't listening. Her fingers closed around the cursed metal. The burn was instantaneous—smoke rising from her palms, flesh sizzling against silver. The smell hit me before the sound. Burning skin. Melting flesh. Her face twisted in agony but her grip only tightened.

She's going to kill herself. To save them. To save me from choosing.

"Stop!" Damien dropped the knife, lunging for her wrists. "What are you doing?!"

Seraphine's eyes found mine. Through tears and pain and everything breaking between us, she held my gaze. Her lips moved.

I love you. I'm sorry.

Then she pulled. Hard. Inward. Strangling herself with the silver.

The bond exploded. Pain so intense my vision went white. Every nerve ending firing at once. I felt her determination, her terror, her love wrapping around the choice to die. Everything we were condensing into this single moment.

No no no don't leave me—

Damien's hands closed over hers, trying to break her grip. They struggled—his strength against her absolute conviction. The silver burned deeper. Blood mixed with melted skin. Her breathing shortened, each gasp weaker than the last.

Stop fighting him. Let go. LIVE.

But she wouldn't. Kept pulling even as Damien yanked at her wrists. Finally he broke her grip, wrenched her hands away from her throat.

Too late.

Seraphine's body went rigid. Back arching. One final spasm. Then she collapsed like cut strings, head hitting the ground with a sickening crack.

The bond went silent.

Not severed. But silent. The constant hum of her presence—gone. Replaced by nothing. By void. By absence so vast it had no edges.

No—

"NO—!!"

The sound that came out of me wasn't human. Wasn't wolf. Just raw agony given voice. My hands clawed at my chest, tearing through shirt and skin, trying to reach the thing inside that was dying. Trying to rip out the pain that had no source.

Everything hurt. Everything was ending.

She's gone and I'm dying too but not fast enough—

My knees hit stone. One hand pressed against my chest, the other flat against ground. The wolf inside howled. Every instinct screaming that this was wrong, violated every natural law, couldn't be happening.

Through the red haze, voices. Lucian shouting. Hands on my shoulders. And another voice—destroyed by rage.

"He killed her." Roland. Sword forgotten. Eyes locked on Damien. "That bastard killed our princess."

Yes.

The word cut through chaos like a blade.

He killed her.

Didn't matter that she'd done it herself. Didn't matter about choices. All that mattered was Damien had created this. Had forced us here. Had put the knife to her throat until there were no options left.

He dies.

"KILL HIM!" Roland's roar matched mine. "For Seraphine!"

The Silverwood warriors surged forward. Wounded, bleeding, half-dead—they moved like wolves scenting prey. Grief transforming instantly into rage.

Damien went white. Stared down at Seraphine's body, at the blood pooling beneath her. His hands shaking. Covered in her blood.

"I didn't—" He looked up at the advancing warriors. "She did it herself—"

"LIAR!"

A spear flew past his head. He stumbled backward, nearly tripping over Seraphine's legs.

The thought crystallized. Cold. Focused. The rage settling into something harder.

I'm going to kill him. Make him feel everything.

Damien bolted. Shifted mid-run into grey wolf and disappeared into smoke and ruins.

The Silverwood warriors gave chase but they were too slow, too injured.

Good. He's mine.

I knelt there, one hand still pressed against my dying chest. The other reached toward Seraphine's face. So cold. Like marble.

Wake up. Please.

Cordelia appeared, dropping beside Seraphine with glowing hands. Lucian was talking but I couldn't hear him.

The bond's not completely severed. It's silent but not cut. That means—

I couldn't finish the thought. The rage demanded blood.

I rose. Lucian's hands fell away. Jason and Derek stepped back.

The shift took me mid-step. Bones reshaping, muscles expanding, white fur erupting. The agony of transformation was nothing compared to my chest. The massive white wolf stood where I'd knelt, dual-colored eyes bleeding into something darker.

I love you, her voice echoed. I'm sorry.

I know. And I'm sorry too. Sorry I'm about to become the monster.

The white wolf snarled and launched forward, tearing across the courtyard after grey fur and cowardice.

My paws barely touched ground. Each stride covering impossible distance. The Shadowmere compound was a maze of destruction but I knew every inch. Every shortcut. Every angle.

You can't run from me. Not after what you did.

Ahead, grey fur flashed through smoke. Damien glanced back, saw me closing the distance. His speed increased but he was panicking, taking wrong turns, hitting dead ends in the rubble.

Keep running. Tire yourself out.

At the north wall, he scrambled over collapsed stone. I followed three seconds behind, muscles bunching and releasing, vaulting the obstacle like it wasn't there.

Open ground now. Snow and blood and moonlight. He was fast but I was faster. Stronger. Driven by something beyond normal wolf instinct.

Grief weaponized. Love turned inside out.

Fifty yards between us. Then forty. Thirty. I could hear his ragged breathing, smell his terror spiking.

Good. Be afraid. Know what's coming.