Chapter Ninety-three

Chapter Ninety-three
Chapter 93

They should not have gone out alone.

Lia would think that later, in fragments, when pain came in waves and memory blurred at the edges. But at the time, the night felt deceptively calm. The path beyond the keep was quiet, moonlight spilling gently over stone and grass, the world almost peaceful enough to believe the danger had passed.

Edgar walked beside her, slower than he once had, his steps measured, controlled. The weakness still clung to him like an insult he had not yet shaken off, though his presence was steady, protective in the way only he could be. His hand rested at the small of her back, grounding, familiar.

She had insisted on the walk. She needed the air. Needed to remind herself that life continued beyond council chambers and threats whispered in shadows.

They were laughing softly at nothing in particular when the air changed.

It was subtle, too subtle for Edgar in his current state, but Lia felt it instantly. The hairs at the back of her neck rose. Her steps slowed. Her body tensed.

She didn’t have time to warn him.

Connor came out of the dark like a blade drawn from its sheath.

The first strike wasn’t aimed at Edgar.

It was aimed at her.

The impact slammed into her side, crushing breath from her lungs and sending her sprawling across the path. Pain detonated white-hot, tearing through her ribs, her shoulder, her back. She rolled instinctively, but not fast enough to avoid the second blow that clipped her leg and sent agony screaming through bone.

Edgar shouted her name.

He lunged forward, fury blazing, but Connor moved with cruel precision, intercepting him with a brutal strike to the chest. Edgar staggered, coughing, his body betraying him at the worst possible moment.

Connor laughed.

There was nothing amused about it. It was cold. Satisfied.

“Look at you,” he said, circling slowly, eyes never leaving Edgar. “The great Alpha reduced to watching.”

Lia tried to push herself up. Her arm gave out beneath her. Blood soaked into the fabric of her dress, warm and terrifying. Her vision blurred, but she forced her eyes open, forced herself to stay present.

Connor turned back to her, and this time there was no pretense. He kicked her hard in the ribs, and she felt something crack.

The sound she made was ugly, involuntary.

Edgar broke.

Whatever restraint, whatever caution had been holding him together snapped clean in two. He surged forward again, ignoring the pain, ignoring the weakness, and this time Connor did not block him easily. Edgar’s fist connected with Connor’s jaw, sending his head snapping sideways.

Connor reeled, surprised.

That was his mistake.

He recovered quickly, though, too quickly, and drove his elbow into Edgar’s side, right where the curse’s remnants had left him fragile. Edgar gasped, stumbling, and Connor seized the opening mercilessly.

“You can’t protect her,” Connor said softly, almost kindly, as he slammed Edgar into the ground. “You can’t even protect yourself.”

He turned back to Lia, already bleeding, already broken, and raised his foot.

That was when Edgar saw the blood.

Not just a smear. Not a cut. Too much. Far too much.

Something primal tore loose inside him.

The world narrowed. The weakness vanished beneath a surge of rage so violent it burned. His wolf was wounded, restrained, but not gone, howled in his bones.

Edgar rose.

Connor felt it before he saw it. He turned just in time to see Edgar coming at him with nothing human left in his eyes.

The first blow shattered Connor’s balance. The second broke a bone. Edgar didn’t slow, didn’t think, didn’t hear anything but the roar in his blood and the sight of Lia lying broken on the ground.

Connor fought back, desperately now, no longer controlled. He struck Edgar again and again, but it no longer mattered. Pain could not reach him. Fear could not touch him.

Edgar grabbed Connor by the throat and slammed him into the standing stone hard enough to crack it.

Connor choked, clawing at Edgar’s arms, eyes wide with disbelief.

“You were supposed to die weak,” he rasped.

Edgar leaned close, voice low, lethal.

“You touched what was mine.”

The kill was not clean.

It was not merciful.

Edgar broke Connor’s neck with a savage twist, felt life leave him instantly, and did not let go until the body went slack in his hands. He dropped him to the ground like something already forgotten.

Silence crashed down around them.

Edgar turned back to Lia.

The rage drained from him in a sickening rush, replaced by horror. He fell to his knees beside her, hands shaking as he gathered her carefully, terrified of hurting her more.

Blood soaked his hands. Her breath was shallow. Her skin was too pale.

He pressed his forehead to hers, whispering her name over and over, as if saying it enough times could anchor her to this world.

She was alive.

Barely.

And Connor was dead.

The night bore witness to it all, the cost, the fury, the line that had finally been crossed.

From that moment on, there would be no more shadows.

Only consequences.