Chapter 134 His linker
Bukasvad’s POV
Claire, the head witch stands at the end of the hall, her arms folded tight. Her black hair falls around a pale face, black eyes staring without blinking. The rain beats against the tall windows behind her, each gust rattling the glass with a restless, almost violent insistence.
She keeps her sharp gaze fixed on me, speaking before I can fully step into the room.
“She has been sitting out there in the rain for hours,” she says, her tone displeased. “Are you still convinced that whatever existed between her and that commander meant nothing?”
I draw in a slow breath, steadying myself before answering. “It could not have been anything more. Ira left that place for a reason. Whatever connection there was ended the moment she chose to walk away.”
Her expression tightens, her lips curling faintly with disdain. “Perhaps it is time you stop clinging to illusions about your childhood friend. She is no different from the sempyrs who came before her. They destroyed families without hesitation, burned entire villages, and left nothing but grief behind them.”
A quiet heat rises in my chest as I step closer. But I ensure my voice is kept low. “You know the truth as well as I do. Most of them had no choice. They were bound, manipulated, turned into weapons. It is easy to blame the blade, but the hand that wields it is where the fault lies.”
Her eyes narrow, and she leans forward slightly. “So you defend Ezra for killing your father while you stood there and watched? You make excuses for the one who took everything from you?”
The memory comes without warning, sharp and vivid. I remember how steady my father's voice had been, urging Sir Ezra to act quickly.
I remember the way Ira's father had wailed, I remember the silence that followed.
I force the image back, locking it away before it can take hold of my emotions.
“My father chose that end,” I say, my voice rough despite my effort to control it. “It saved the children trapped in that fire. The true enemy has always been the werewolves who forced that moment, not the sempyr who was manipulated into carrying it out.”
She lets out a harsh, humorless laugh. “The sempyrs deserve their share of blame. Their weakness allowed themselves to be used. If they had been stronger, they would not have become tools for those beasts. Their failures cost countless lives.”
I could argue, but the futility settles in quickly. Nothing I say tonight will shift her belief.
The rain outside grows louder, feeling me with worry for Ira.
“I am going to her,” I say simply. “She should not be alone.”
Claire says nothing, but her clenched jaw echoes her disapproval.
Halfway down, I hear small footsteps approaching. Yona appears, his curls damp against his forehead from the humid air inside.
Without hesitation, he takes my hand, his fingers cool and steady.
I pause, looking down at him.
“What is it?” He asks, studying my face with quiet intensity.
“I know you are trying to master this shift but… can you be your true self for a moment?”
The request seems to catch her off guard, but she nods. Quickly she shifts before my eyes, her form lengthening and changing until she's standing in her true shape.
Tall and slender, her skin dark and smooth, with faint shadows resting beneath her eyes. Weariness clings to her from the hours she's spent in the shape of a little boy.
“Are you all right?” she asks softly, looking worried.
The simplicity of the question breaks through the tension I have been holding. I pull her into my arms without answering, holding her close.
Yona fits against me as she always has, her warmth steady and familiar. I breathe in slowly, letting the moment anchor me.
“I needed this,” I murmur.
She rests her head briefly against my shoulder before pulling back. “I heard everything,” she says. “Buk, the council will not trust Ira easily. You are asking Claire to accept something she has spent years fearing.”
“I know,” I admit. “But I cannot leave her out there. She is already hurting, and this will only make it worse.”
“Then go to her,” Yona replies gently. “I will handle what comes after.”
Gratitude settles in my chest. “Thank you, for understanding.”
A small smile touches her lips, playful but sincere. “You owe me your time later. I have been working on something new.”
I raise an eyebrow. “What kind of something?”
Her expression turns knowing. “A new shift. You will like it.”
Despite everything, a faint warmth stirs within me and I lean down, my lips syncing with hers as I kiss her slowly, passing a quiet promise.
When I pull away, a soft flush colors her face.
“I will come find you,” I say. “Show me everything.”
She nods shyly, stepping aside.
The moment I push open the outer door, the rain hits me with force. Cold water soaks through my clothes within seconds, running down my skin in steady streams.
I ignore it, my attention fixed ahead.
Ira sits on the low stone wall near the herb garden, her knees drawn close to her chest, her arms wrapped tightly around them as the rain pours over her, soaking her hair.
She looks small against the storm, fragile in a way that tightens something deep in my chest.
I cross the wet ground and sit beside her without speaking. The stone beneath us is cold, but it does not matter. I position myself close enough that she can feel my presence, but not so close that I take away her choice.
She does not look at me, her gaze remaining fixed on the distance, where the forest fades into a blur beneath the falling rain.
And I wonder if she's silently waiting for commander Ruel.
Shouldn't she be over him by now? I mean he was certainly just a fling right?
Werewolves hardly mourn anyone who isn't their mate this deeply. Or perhaps the idea of him dying hurts because she still feels guilty for leaving.
“If Ruel truly told the king about me, then why is he the one facing death?...” Ira mutters brokenly and a cold shiver runs up my spine.