Chapter Twenty-Three – The Aftermath
The water had gone still.
Not silent—no, the current still whispered around their bodies—but the frenzy of the river, like the frenzy inside them, had dulled to a hum.
Cass lay half-sprawled across Alder’s chest, breath ragged, skin flushed despite the cold. Their bodies still touched. Her leg slung over his hip. Her cheek pressed to his shoulder. Steam rose in tendrils from their soaked skin.
Neither of them spoke.
Alder stared up at the sky like he hoped it would swallow him whole. His arm remained around her waist, fingers flexing slightly as if afraid she'd disappear if he let go. But she was already fading.
He felt it in the tension returning to her muscles. In the way her wolf stirred beneath her skin.
Then, slowly, Cass pushed herself up.
Alder let her go.
She rose without a word. Water dripping from her body, hair clinging to her cheeks, her expression unreadable.
He watched her, heart hammering, throat dry.
And then he said it.
"There’s something you need to know."
Cass didn’t turn.
"I’m not just any alpha," he continued. "I’m the heir to this pack. And I was promised to someone else."
Still, she said nothing.
"I don’t even know your name," he said, his voice hoarse. "I know nothing about you. Just that you’re mine."
Cass didn’t flinch. Didn’t move. But he felt the shift in her through the bond, like something inside her recoiled.
And then—she shifted. No warning. No words.
Just a blur of silver fur and a burst of wet, splashing movement. She disappeared into the woods like a ghost on fire.
Alder sat in the shallows, chest heaving, the ache of her absence more punishing than any blow.
His wolf growled inside him.
You let her go.
“I should’ve told her to stay,” Alder muttered, jaw flexing. “I should’ve made her.”
You said nothing worth hearing. You gave her no reason to stay.
“She’s a stranger. I owed her nothing.”
You owe her everything.
He sneered. “I owe her a goodbye, maybe. Not my fucking life.”
You touched her like she was yours. You chased her like she mattered.
“I chased instinct. I fucked instinct. Don’t get poetic with me.”
You don’t want her to forget you.
“Let her try,” he snapped. “Let her run and choke on the bond when she realizes it doesn’t go away.”
She ran because you broke it.
“She ran because I told the truth. Because I gave her the choice.”
You gave her your cowardice and called it honor.
Alder surged to his feet, water sluicing off his body in furious sheets. “I told her I was promised. I told her I didn’t even know her name. What else was I supposed to say? ‘Stay with me even though I’ve already been given to someone else?’”
Yes.
“I don’t beg,” Alder snarled. “I don’t chase.”
Then sit here alone and rot.
The voice inside him faded into a low snarl, retreating but restless.
He stayed there in the cold, the water rushing past him, slower now. Like even the river pitied him.
And the space she left behind didn’t stop burning.
Alder stood there for another long moment before shifting back into his wolf, his bones snapping and fur ripping through skin in a storm of frustration. He didn’t wait for thought—he just ran.
His paws tore across the forest floor, reckless and unrelenting. Trees blurred past him, branches clawed at his sides, but he didn’t stop until the familiar stone façade of the pack house loomed in the distance.
He shifted again mid-stride, breathless and panting, and stormed through the front doors.
His room was dark, but not empty.
Clara waited for him—draped across his bed like an offering, lips painted, robe half-loose. Her eyes lit up when she saw him.
“I heard you were gone,” she purred. “I thought I’d keep your sheets warm.”
He didn’t answer.
He didn’t slow.
“Out,” he growled.
Clara’s smile faltered. “Alder—”
“Now.”
She stood quickly, gathering her things in a huff, throwing him one last cutting look before sweeping out of the room.
The door slammed.
And Alder lost it.
He tore into the room like a storm—ripping down curtains, kicking over the chair by the fire, hurling a glass against the stone wall until it shattered. He knocked books from the shelf, ripped the bedsheets from the frame, and punched the mirror until it cracked under his fist.
The silence afterward was suffocating.
He stood in the middle of the wreckage, chest rising and falling, blood dripping from his knuckles, and rage simmering beneath his skin.
Because for the first time in his life, he had no idea what to do.
The door creaked open behind him.
"Alpha?"
Alder turned slowly, jaw clenched. His Beta—Rowan—stood in the doorway, eyes darting from the broken glass to the blood on Alder’s hand.
"What?" Alder snapped.
Rowan hesitated. "Is everything okay?"
Alder didn’t answer.
He crossed to the decanter on the table and poured something dark into a glass. He didn’t drink it.
"She’s my mate," he said flatly.
Rowan's brows lifted slightly. "Who?"
Alder's knuckles whitened around the glass. "I don't know her name. I don't know where she came from. All I know is I can’t breathe without feeling her absence."
He tossed the drink into the fire.
"Find her."
Rowan blinked. "You want me to—"
"Track her scent. Quietly. Don’t let the Alpha or Luna catch wind of it. Don’t say her name, don’t ask questions. Just find her."
Rowan nodded once, expression hardening with understanding. "And when I do?"
Alder looked at him, eyes wild with something he couldn’t name.
"I’ll decide then."
Rowan gave a sharp bow and slipped from the room.
Alder stood in the wreckage, alone again.
But this time, he had a direction.
And a reason not to drown.