Chapter 460 - Fated To The Alpha (Complete Fated Series collection)

Katya

The chill of the night seeps into my bones as we search for Dominic through the paths of the city cemetery. My mates walking alongside me, their presence a source of both comfort and protectiveness. So much has happened recently that our bond has been placed on the back burner. We are always so busy catering to everyone else, I have almost forgotten what it was like when it was just us in our little bubble. So, even if the reasoning behind us being all in one place is horrid, I don't take it for granted.

The air is thick with unease, and somewhere deep in my heart, I can sense Dominic's torment like a storm on the horizon. The way he stormed out of the penthouse apartment, I could tell he was furious, his aura magnificent like all Octavian's, yet I could sense the heartbreak radiating from him loud and clear.

“There,” Ezra points up the back. I had forced myself into Dominic's head earlier, demanding where he was, and finally, we found him.

We find him in the dark, a silhouette against the backdrop of disturbed earth and open graves. He's digging furiously, muttering to himself in disbelief and anger. His once pristine suit is covered in mud, his clawed fingers and hands relentless against the soil.

Ezra jumps into the next grave, where Dominic is maniacally excavating Dior Shivani's resting place.

“Dominic, enough,” he says firmly, but it's like he's speaking to the wind. Ezra tries to grab his shoulders but is shoved back, and I feel Maddox press forward, his temper just as quick as a click of his fingers these days. I shake my head, reminding Maddox Dominic is a friend, not an enemy, and Ezra's eyes flicker.

“I killed them, I killed them, I saw them die, but why aren't they here!” Dominic's voice is a snarl, his eyes wild with desperation as he resumes digging.

Ezra looks back at Mateo, and me, confusion and concern mirrored in our eyes. The sight of Lorelei's empty grave beside Dior's slices through me, proof of the horrors Dominic thought he had buried.

The sound of wood splintering under Dominic's relentless efforts breaks the tension. Ezra growls, Maddox close to the surface, and he rips the casket lid off to reveal nothing but bones.

“He wasn't a reaper wolf,” I gasp, the implications dizzying.

“No, he was a reaper wolf,” Dominic insists, his voice tinged with hysteria.

“Reaper wolves can't die, Dominic. We've established this,” I counter, but the certainty in my voice is a brittle thing.

Dominic looks between the graves, his mind struggling to reconcile the impossible. He moves to Lorelei's empty resting place, and it's there that his façade crumbles. “I promised I'd make them pay. I failed her; I failed Kyan,” he sobs, the sound tearing at my heart.

“You killed Dior. You killed him; he was the main one,” Ezra tries to comfort him, his voice a steady anchor in the tumult of Dominic's unhinged emotions.

“The main one that hurt her, yes, but not the one pulling the strings… that bitch is the one that kidnapped her. Let him do that to her,” Dominic states.

I exchange a haunted look with Mateo and Ezra; Dominic's past, his wife's suffering, it's a dark chapter we've never fully learned about, and we never pried too much about her, knowing it was a sore spot for Dominic. His confession paints a vivid picture of vengeance and wrath, a cycle of violence we're all too familiar with after meeting Sage, so I can only imagine the horrors his wife endured.

“I carved him up like he did her… I made sure he paid,” Dominic's words are almost lost under the weight of his anguish.

“Maybe Dior was just an ordinary werewolf,” I suggest, my voice barely a whisper as I contemplate the skeletal remains of him. But the rest of these graves are empty, torn apart coffins, just like Kyan described; they'd clawed themselves out of the grave.

“Come on, let's get you home and cleaned up while we work this out,”

“No, he was definitely a reaper wolf, he healed like her, he wasn't human, also not just a typical wolf, he was a savage, no remorse, nothing, an empty unfeeling vessel like the rest of them,” Dominic urges.

“But if he is a reaper wolf, how would you have managed to kill him but not the others?” I question, and he glares at Lorelei's empty grave. “I don't know, but I made her watch; I made her beg for his life before I made her watch me end him. She watched every cut, and slice, watched me remove his limbs, and I made sure she heard and witnessed every scream as I removed each limb and then carved the same thing into his chest as he did her with the dagger.…” Dominic's brows furrow.

“Carved what into his chest?” Mateo asks, but Dominic is glancing between both graves, a confused look on his face. “The dagger,” he murmurs softly.

“The what?” Ezra asks when a sudden, agonizing pressure clenches my stomach, and I double over, gasping; I feel like I'm choking, choking for air. The moon goddess realm is calling me; it's a summons I've fought against countless times.

The air around me feels heavy, charged with the energy of being called home, a home I wish wasn't mine.

“Not another one,” I groaned, fighting the pull of the other realm. Sweat beads on my skin, my vision tinges gold as I resist.

“No, I am needed here. I don't want to go back,” I plead to the unseen forces that bind me to an eternal duty.

Mateo's hands are on me then, his touch both soothing and restraining. “Go, deal with it. We'll handle Dom,” he whispers, his voice laced with the pain of separation.

My protests are a murmur, “I should be here,” but the pull is insistent, remorseless.

“You have a responsibility much bigger than just us. Go, we'll see you soon,” Mateo's words are a gentle command, and with a last, reluctant glance at the surrounding chaos, I let go.

The transition is swift, and I find myself in the familiar, echoing expanse of the fountains' room. My voice is sharp with fear and frustration. “Who was born or died?” I demand, scanning the fountains for an answer I'm terrified to receive.

Bane's face is a grim omen, and my heart drops like a stone into the abyss. “Is it Marabella?” The name escapes me in a whisper of dread as I rush to the fountain.

“There is nothing you can do,” Bain attempts to anchor me to reality, his voice a mix of reason and regret as he grabs me before I can see who it is.

“Who! Who is it?” I shriek, the fabric of my restraint tearing me apart as I fight against tossing him aside.

His arms are a vise, holding me back from the fountains. “Kat, you can't meddle, you could make things worse!” Bain's warning is a tide trying to hold back the storm of my grief I know is coming; he wouldn't be pulling me away unless it was someone close.

But then I see him—Donnie—in the fountain, and my world narrows to a single, devastating point. “Donnie?” My voice breaks, a frail sound against the roar of my heart.

Bain's grip is iron, unyielding, as he wrestles me away from the edge. “No! No! Andrei!” I scream, my soul fracturing under the strain of his name, my heart splintering into a million pieces.

Even as we fall, Bain's resolve does not waver. “I will rip you to pieces if you try to stop me,” I vow, a promise of wrath and ruin.

“Then do it. I'm not letting go. Feel free to put me out of my misery,” Bain's challenge is steeped in the pain of understanding. “Every goddess has interfered, and each time it made things worse. You create the bonds; you don't meddle. Has history taught you nothing, Katya?”

“He's my brother,” I wail, my plea a blade against the stone of his will.

Bane speaks, his voice soft next to my ear. “Kora is my daughter, yet she is trapped in the fountain, detached from her vessel; I never once asked you to pull her out and to let Marabella go. She'll be free when Marabella dies. You think I don't want my daughter out of that fountain? Do you believe I didn't wish her home?” Bain speaks of the cruel tapestry of fate and consequence. His words are a chain, binding me to an unbearable truth neither of us wish we were burdened.

The realization crashes into me with the force of a storm—my burden is a crucible, one that I bear so that others may be spared the agony of choice, the terror of loss.