Chapter 110: The Confrontation

"We need to talk."

His jaw tightened. He knew that tone. He had used it himself often enough. "About what?"

I took a breath. "Nana Elle told me something today. About your past. About the wolves you..." I couldn't finish the sentence. I didn't need to.

His whole body went still. The fire crackled behind him, the only sound in the sudden silence.

"There are survivors," I continued. "Families of the wolves who died during your reign. They've been scattered for decades, nursing their grief. But now they're hearing about your redemption, about Viktor's defeat. They're starting to gather."

He stared at me for a long moment. Then he turned away, his back to me, his hands gripping the mantle of the fireplace.

"No."

The word was flat. Absolute.

I moved closer, stopping just behind him. I could feel the tension radiating from him, the walls slamming up. "Xavier—"

"I said no." He didn't turn. His voice was rough, raw. "I will not open that wound. I will not relive those days. I will not walk into a gathering of people who want me dead and offer them words that can't bring back the dead."

I reached out and placed my hand on his back. He flinched at the contact, but didn't pull away. I felt the heat of his skin, the tremble beneath the surface.

"You don't have to relive them," I said softly. "You have to face them. There's a difference."

"What difference?" He turned then, his stormy eyes blazing. "Facing them means looking into their eyes and seeing what I did. Seeing the wives I widowed, the children I orphaned, the parents I destroyed. How is that not reliving it?"

I held his gaze, refusing to look away from the pain in his eyes. "Because reliving it is carrying it alone. Facing it is letting them carry it with you."

He stared at me, confusion flickering through the anger.

"The families of those wolves," I continued, "they've been waiting decades for answers. For acknowledgment. For someone to look them in the eye and say 'I did this. I was wrong. I'm sorry.'" I stepped closer, my hand finding his. "You can give them that. Not to excuse what you did. Nothing can excuse that. But to help them heal. To give them a chance to stop carrying their grief alone."

His hands trembled in mine. I felt the tremor run through his whole body, the fear he was trying so hard to hide.

"What if they don't want healing?" His voice was barely a whisper. "What if they want blood?"

"Then we face that together." I squeezed his hands, pouring everything I felt into that single point of contact. "But running from it won't make it go away. It will just fester, like it has been for all these years. Like it's been festering in you."

He stared at me for a long moment. I saw the war in his eyes, the part of him that wanted to protect himself, to hide from the shame, battling the part that knew, deep down, that I was right.

"I can't," he whispered. "I can't face them. I can't look into their eyes and see what I did."

I rose on my toes and kissed him softly. Just a brush of lips, a promise of support. When I pulled back, his eyes were wet.

"You don't have to do it alone." I traced the line of his jaw, feeling the tension there. "I'll be with you. Every step. Every word. Every moment. You don't have to face this by yourself."

He pulled me into his arms then, crushing me against his chest. His face buried in my hair, his body shaking with emotions he couldn't name. I held him just as tightly, letting him feel my strength, my certainty, my absolute refusal to let him fall.

"How do you always know the right thing to say?" His voice was muffled against my hair.

I smiled, tears pricking my own eyes. "I don't. I just know you."

He laughed, a broken, beautiful sound. Then he pulled back just enough to look at me. His eyes were red-rimmed, his cheeks wet, but beneath the pain, I saw something else. Resolve. The same determination I had seen when he faced Viktor, when he protected the pack, when he loved me through my own darkness.

"If I do this," he said slowly, "if I face them... you'll be there?"

"Every second."

"And if it goes wrong? If they attack, if they try to kill me?"

"Then I'll be right beside you, fighting." I cupped his face, making him meet my eyes. "I'm not leaving you, Xavier. Not now. Not ever. Whatever comes, we face it together."

He kissed me then. It was not gentle. It was fierce and desperate and full of promises. His hands tangled in my hair, pulling me closer, his mouth claiming mine with a hunger that left no doubt about how much he needed me. I matched his intensity, pouring everything I felt into that kiss, my love, my faith, my absolute certainty that we could survive anything.

When we finally broke apart, both breathless, he rested his forehead against mine.

We stood there for a long moment, wrapped in each other, the fire crackling beside us. The weight of what was coming settled over us both, but beneath it, there was something else. Peace. The knowledge that whatever happened, we would face it side by side.

"One thing," he said quietly.

"What?"

"If we're doing this, we do it right. We find them all. Every family. Every survivor. We give them the chance to say what they need to say, to ask what they need to ask." He pulled back, meeting my eyes. "And we do it on neutral ground. Somewhere they feel safe. Somewhere they know they can walk away if they need to."

I nodded slowly. "I'll talk to Nana Elle. She'll know how to reach them."

He kissed my forehead, a soft, tender gesture that made my heart ache.

The fire crackled and popped, the only sound in the quiet room. Outside, the village settled into night, unaware of the storm gathering on the horizon. But in here, in this moment, there was only us. Only this.

The confrontation was coming. The old wound was about to be opened. But this time, Xavier wouldn't face it alone.

He had me. And I would never let him fall.