Chapter 112
Chloe's POV
"Ivan!"
I saw his final strike against the witch—that searing white lightning tore through Morena's defenses and drained every ounce of his strength.
The moment the magical barrier collapsed, his body fell backward like a puppet with its strings cut.
I didn't have time to think. My wolf form vanished instantly as I lunged forward and caught his falling body.
"Ivan! Wake up! You can't die!"
Tears blurred my vision as I held him tight, feeling his shallow breaths. His skin was burning hot, covered everywhere with scorch marks from dark magic, but at least—at least he was still alive.
"Don't leave me..." I choked out.
The mate bond felt like an invisible thread, violently wrenching at my soul. The pain nearly suffocated me—not physical pain, but a tearing sensation from the very depths of my soul.
I could feel his life force slipping away, each second like someone dragging a knife across my heart.
Lightning drifted weakly to our side, its once-brilliant silver-blue glow now dimmed almost to nothing. It used its last trace of strength to stabilize the residual electricity coursing through Ivan's body, and those violent currents gradually calmed under its soothing touch.
The evil taint of dark magic was purified completely in that pure elemental energy...
"Thank you..." I whispered to Lightning, reaching out to gently stroke its translucent form.
Footsteps approached from the distance.
Connor and Derek arrived, leading the surviving warriors.
I looked up to see Connor standing not far away, his gaze fixed on Ivan and me. His eyes held shock, confusion, and perhaps a hint of loneliness buried deep.
Lightning suddenly howled toward the sky beside my ear, its cry mournful and drawn-out.
The thunderclouds that had perpetually circled Thunder Canyon seemed to heed its call, beginning to slowly disperse.
The clouds parted, revealing a clear, bright passage. Sunlight poured through the gaps in the cloud cover, illuminating the devastated battlefield.
Beyond the passage stood the Lightning Wolf Pack members who had been waiting anxiously.
I saw my father—Alpha Tyler—at the front, his face etched with shock.
His gaze swept over the fallen warriors, over the bodies and blood scattered everywhere, before finally settling on me.
Connor, carrying his trophy—the bear's head—staggered alone toward our father.
He knelt reverently, raising the head that symbolized a warrior's glory with both hands. But Alpha Tyler didn't show the satisfaction Connor must have expected. He only stared blankly at the space behind Connor.
Connor turned his head and realized no one stood behind him.
I was supporting the unconscious Ivan, surrounded by warriors helping me. Even Derek was helping me hold Ivan up as we slowly walked out of Thunder Canyon together.
I didn't look at Connor. I didn't look at my father.
Right now, Ivan's safety was all I cared about.
Lightning howled once more before soaring into the thunderclouds.
The surviving warriors slowly made their way toward their loved ones, who rushed forward to embrace them. Cries, cheers, and sobs mingled together, echoing through the canyon.
I spotted Frank in the crowd, his expression more anxious than anyone else's.
Frank rushed straight to Ivan, his hand trembling as he reached for his son's pulse. I watched him close his eyes, his lips quivering slightly as if in prayer.
"He's alive..." Frank opened his eyes, his voice hoarse. "The pulse is weak, but it's there."
He saw the wounds covering Ivan's body, and his eyes immediately reddened.
The skin burned by dark magic, the lacerations from thorny vines—each injury cut him like a blade.
"We need to get him back to the gym immediately," Frank said, lifting Ivan into his arms. "I have herbs there."
"I'm coming with you," I said at once.
Frank nodded and turned to leave.
"Chloe."
My father's voice came from behind me.
I stopped but didn't turn around.
Frank glanced at me and tactfully waited to the side.
I took a deep breath, turned, and walked over to Alpha Tyler.
He looked much older, as if he'd aged ten years overnight. He opened his mouth as if to speak, but his pride wouldn't allow him to lower his head.
I looked at Connor and the bloody trophy in his hands.
The bear's head gleamed harshly in the sunlight, but I no longer cared about such so-called glory.
"I'm sorry, Father," I said calmly. "I didn't bring back any trophy."
My father's brow furrowed. He was about to speak when I continued:
"But I have completed my own trial."
I turned and followed Frank away.
Behind me, my father's voice trailed off, but I didn't stop.
Connor's trophy, my father's expectations—none of it mattered to me anymore.
In this battle, I had found something far more precious than glory—my wolf spirit, my mate, and my own path forward.
I looked down at Ivan, unconscious in Frank's arms, and gently squeezed his hand.
"Hang on," I told him silently. "We still have a long road ahead of us."