Chapter 15

Chapter Fifteen

Sera

We didn't go straight back to Dante's territory. The Council healers recommended Marcus stay under observation for at least forty-eight hours, and Elder Miriam suggested we remain nearby in case additional testimony was needed.

"There are guest quarters," she told us after the session ended. "Simple but comfortable. You're welcome to use them."

I was too exhausted to argue. The suppressant Sarah had given me was wearing off, and I could feel the pregnancy's energy demands creeping back. Not as intense as before, but present enough to remind me I was growing a life inside me at an unnatural speed.

The guest quarters were in a separate building behind the main hall, designed for visiting Alphas and their delegates. Our room had a large bed, a sitting area, and windows that overlooked the forest. It was neutral territory in every sense—no pack scents, no territorial markers, just clean emptiness.

Dante closed the door behind us and I immediately collapsed onto the bed.

"How are you feeling?" he asked, sitting beside me.

"Like I ran a marathon and then fought a war." I turned my head to look at him. "Today was supposed to answer questions. Instead I feel like I have more than ever."

"Like what?"

"Like where is Lydia? Why did she really attack Marcus? And what happens if the genetic tests somehow show he has a biological connection to this baby?" I pressed my hand to my stomach. "I know what Marie said, I know what the evidence shows, but what if there's something we're missing?"

Dante lay down beside me, careful not to crowd my space. "There's nothing we're missing. You're my true mate, this is our child, and the tests will prove it."

"You sound so certain."

"I am certain. I feel it through the bond, Sera. I feel that baby like it's part of both of us already." His hand covered mine on my stomach. "Can you feel it too?"

I closed my eyes and concentrated. The bond with Dante was always present, a steady hum in the background of my awareness. But now that I was focusing, I could feel something else. Something smaller and newer, like an echo of the main bond.

"Is that...?" I whispered.

"That's our daughter." Dante's voice was soft with wonder. "She's already connected to both of us through the mate bond. That doesn't happen with normal pregnancies. Only true mate children."

Tears pricked my eyes. "How do you know it's a girl?"

"I don't know for certain. Just a feeling." He pulled me closer, and I let myself sink into his warmth. "But I'm usually right about these things."

We lay there in comfortable silence for a while. Outside, the sun finished setting and the room darkened. Neither of us moved to turn on lights.

"Tell me about Catherine," I said eventually. "Your first mate. You mentioned her before, but I want to know more."

Dante was quiet for so long I thought he might not answer. Then he said, "We met when I was young. Nineteen, barely established as Alpha. She was from a neighboring pack, smart and kind and everything I thought a mate should be. We chose each other, bonded, and I genuinely believed I loved her."

"But it wasn't a true mate bond?"

"No. It was good, solid, but not... this." He gestured between us, meaning the connection we shared. "I didn't know the difference then. Thought all bonds felt the same."

"What happened to her?"

"She got pregnant about a year into our bonding. We were happy, planning for the future. She wanted to name him Alexander if it was a boy, Rose if it was a girl." His voice grew distant. "But the pregnancy was difficult from the start. She was sick all the time, weak. The healers kept saying it was normal, that some wolves just had harder pregnancies."

I waited, not interrupting.

"Labor started early. Six months instead of nine. The baby was too small, too underdeveloped. And Catherine—she bled too much. I held her hand while she died, felt the bond fade, and then watched our son take one breath and stop." He paused. "I was twenty years old and lost everything in the span of an hour."

"I'm sorry," I whispered. "That's awful."

"It was. And I blamed myself for years. Thought maybe if I'd been stronger, a better Alpha, a better mate, I could have saved them somehow." He turned to look at me in the darkness. "That's why I swore off bonding again. Why I've been alone for twenty-five years. I couldn't risk feeling that kind of loss again."

"But you bonded with me."

"I didn't have a choice. The true mate pull doesn't ask permission." His hand cupped my face gently. "And I'm terrified, Sera. Every day I'm terrified that history will repeat itself, that I'll lose you the way I lost Catherine. That this baby growing too fast is a sign that something's wrong."

My heart ached for him. "The pregnancy is different this time. I'm different from Catherine. This baby is different."

"I know that logically. But fear isn't logical." He pressed his forehead to mine. "When Marie said you could die if the pregnancy continued accelerating, I nearly lost my mind. The thought of you bleeding out, of our daughter not making it—I can't go through that again."

"Then it's good Sarah's suppressant is working." I kissed him softly. "We're going to be fine, Dante. All three of us."

"Promise me something."

"What?"

"If anything goes wrong during the birth, if the healers have to choose between you and the baby—choose yourself. Promise me you'll fight to survive."

The request caught me off guard. "I can't promise that. If our daughter needs me to—"

"No." His voice was firm. "I've already lost one child, Sera. I can survive losing another. But I can't survive losing you. Not now that I've found you."

I wanted to argue, but I saw the genuine terror in his eyes. This wasn't about being selfish or not loving our child. This was about a man who'd already been broken by loss once and couldn't bear to be broken again.

"Okay," I said quietly. "I promise I'll fight to survive. For you."

He pulled me close and just held me. I felt his heart beating against mine, felt the bond between us pulsing with emotion too complex to name.

A knock at the door interrupted the moment. Dante tensed immediately, his protective instincts flaring.

"Who is it?" he called.

"Elder Miriam. I need to speak with Sera. It's important."

Dante and I exchanged glances. He stood and opened the door cautiously. Elder Miriam stood there alone, looking even more ancient in the dim hallway lighting.

"May I come in?" she asked.

"Of course, Elder." Dante stepped aside.

I sat up, trying to look more composed than I felt. Elder Miriam moved slowly to the chair across from the bed and lowered herself into it with a small sigh.

"Long day," she said. "I'm getting too old for these complicated cases."

"Is something wrong with the ruling?" I asked.

"No, the ruling stands. But there's something I need to tell you. Something the Council decided to keep private for now." Her eyes met mine, serious and troubled. "It's about your sister."

My stomach dropped. "Did you find her?"

"In a manner of speaking. Sera, I'm sorry to tell you this, but Lydia is dead. Her body was found an hour ago at the edge of Riverside Pack territory."

The words didn't make sense at first. Dead. Lydia was dead.

"How?" I managed to ask.

"She was attacked. Multiple bite wounds, defensive injuries suggesting she fought back. The Riverside Pack scouts found her and reported it to us immediately." Elder Miriam's expression was grim. "The wounds weren't from a random rogue attack. They were calculated, meant to cause suffering before death."

"Who did it?" Dante asked, his arm coming around my shoulders.

"We don't know yet. But there are indications that she was tracked deliberately. Hunted." Elder Miriam looked at me with something like pity. "I know you two weren't on good terms, but she was still your sister. I'm sorry for your loss."

I couldn't process it. Lydia, who'd betrayed me and then tried to help me. Lydia, who'd attacked Marcus and run. Lydia, who'd been so desperate for love and approval that she'd destroyed her own life trying to get it.

"Can I see her?" The question came out before I'd thought about it.

"Are you sure that's wise?" Dante asked gently.

"She's my sister. Whatever she did, whatever happened between us—I need to see her. To say goodbye properly." I looked at Elder Miriam. "Please."

The elder nodded slowly. "I'll arrange it. But Sera, you should prepare yourself. The wounds were severe. It won't be easy to see."

After she left, I sat in silence. Dante held me, but I couldn't cry. Couldn't feel anything except a strange, hollow numbness.

"I hated her," I said finally. "For what she did with Marcus, for betraying me. I actually hated my own sister."

"That's understandable."

"Is it? Because now she's dead and all I can think about is the last thing I said to her. I told her I'd never forgive her. That she was dead to me." My voice cracked. "And now she actually is."

"Sera—"

"Someone killed her, Dante. Someone tracked her down and murdered her, and I don't even know if it was because of what she did to Marcus or what she knew or just because she was in the wrong place at the wrong time."

"We'll find out. The Council will investigate."

But I barely heard him. All I could think about was Lydia as a child, before everything went wrong between us. How she used to follow me around, wanting to do everything I did. How she'd cry when I left her behind to play with older kids.

Somewhere along the way we'd stopped being sisters and become rivals. And now I'd never get the chance to fix it.

"I want to see her now," I said, standing up. "Not tomorrow, not later. Now."

Dante looked like he wanted to argue, but he nodded. "Alright. I'll take you."

The Council had a small morgue in the medical wing. It was cold and clinical, nothing like the warm forests where Lydia had spent her life. A healer led us to a room where a sheet-covered form lay on a metal table.

"I'll give you privacy," the healer said quietly, and left.

I approached slowly, my legs feeling like they might give out. Dante stayed close but let me move at my own pace.

When I pulled back the sheet, I had to cover my mouth to keep from gasping. Elder Miriam hadn't exaggerated. The wounds were brutal, violent, personal. This hadn't been a quick death.

But underneath the damage, I could still see my sister. Her face was peaceful at least, eyes closed, expression almost serene.

"I'm sorry," I whispered. "I'm sorry I wasn't a better sister. I'm sorry I let us grow apart. I'm sorry you felt so alone that you'd do anything for someone's approval, even someone like Marcus."

Lydia didn't answer, would never answer again. I stood there looking at her broken body and felt something shift inside me. Not forgiveness exactly, but understanding. We'd both been victims in our own ways. Both trying to survive in a world that didn't value us unless we had a powerful man's protection.

"Goodbye, Lydia," I said, and covered her face again.

As Dante led me out, I made myself a silent promise. I would find out who killed my sister. And I would make sure she didn't die for nothing.