We sat in stunned silence as Angel spoke about the Cariboo, the packs being decimated, their alphas killed. I was shaking over the details: a vampire pinned to the wall, ravaged by crows. The alphas beside him. Amal saying she was righting a wrong.
Skinning them—the way Mosbach bragged about skinning rabbits.
I flinched at the twisting sting beneath my skin. I’d been rubbing the ruined wolf rune. The dread lord’s sigil that hadn’t twitched in weeks.
The vampires cut through it to null the magic that once questioned if I’d deserved protection. And I thought of Grayson, the sigil I’d tried to give him so many times. He said no, he wouldn’t obligate me with a pledge of protection no matter how often I asked.
Except that I’d promised him a thousand times, etched that promise on my heart.
“What can we do?” I asked. Not really a question, because we had to fight her. Evil, like Amal’s evil, couldn’t be ignored with the hope it would go away on its own. Smacking down her hairy pigs and scuttling crabs when she sent them wasn’t a strategy for success. No more than hiding behind wards and magic—which was Anson’s current plan. At least, that’s how it appeared to me. Setting his wards against intruders.
Against Grayson.
“Cooperate with Anson,” Fallon said.
“Because he’s Alpha, and this is his territory? We don’t have to stay here.”
“The women from Azul do, Noa,” Fallon said firmly. “Like it or not, the attacks destroyed their lives, not just their homes and sense of security. They feel safe in Westvale. The pups are safe. The men are off fighting with Gray, and the settlements are less secure and already over capacity. Anson is the only protection right now.”
“Okay.” I was wise enough to feel ashamed. “I get it, your position in this, needing to protect them. Tell me how to help.”
“By not pissing Anson off every time you challenge him. Grayson wants you here, Noa. Please, trust him.”
Trust the mate bond. Trust in the instinct I’d had, that I needed to leave him to save him. Perhaps my purpose had to play out here, in Westvale. Whatever that was, and however I fought Amal.
My stomach churned. Between the alcohol and all the walking today, exhaustion was a painful throb in my back. Laura had grown silent. Angel braced her head against the chair back. Her uncovered eye was closed while small lines creased the edges of her mouth.
Fallon stood and walked to the girl with the violin. She murmured a request, since the girl nodded. Reset her bow.
Music floated into the cooling night. Haunting. Poignant. Then Fallon began to sing. Not words, but a vocalized melody that was soft and angelic.
Her clear soprano voice sent chills across my skin. Slowly, I breathed, understanding the sorrow in the minor key harmonies with the violin. The balm in the pure melody.
“It’s the lament,” Laura whispered. “An ancient prayer for wolves. The alphas would sing for the lost, the dead. Honor them.”
The clang of cutlery faded. Conversations ended. People drifted from the nearby cafes to gather in a circle. Those passing by halted and turned. Crowds gathered in the open doorways from the shops that were still open.
My heartbeat slowed.
The music was enchanting, gentle as Fallon whispered the words… love… peace… compassion… mercy…
Her voice rose on a call that floated, plaintive. The violin wept with each countering note. The sky had taken on a bruised aura, while Fallon’s eyes had closed. Her raised hands became a graceful entreaty as she began the sequence again.
And a male’s tenor voice answered her call as, slowly, deliberately, Anson Salas stepped through the parting crowd. As he sang, his attention was fully on Fallon, as if afraid to shatter the spell they wove together. His voice filled with mourning and regret. Fallon’s overflowed with pain and sorrow. Two people with hearts breaking, engaged in a sacred ritual, angels tethered to this life and crying at the loss.
More wolves gathered. Some held candles guttering like evening stars. To witness this… Anson, the Alpha of Carmag, and Fallon, an Alpha of Sentinel Falls, coming together to honor the dead.
Laura’s expression was desolate.
I swiped at my face. My fingers dampened. The duet continued, each round growing more complex. Anson’s voice lowered as Fallon’s soared, and the forgotten beauty and grace in their grief had my body vibrating.
I forced the breath past a thickening in my throat. From somewhere, a drum joined in with a tribal beat. The music rose on emotional wings, filled with remembrance, elegance, hope, and no less sacred than sitting in a glorious cathedral.
Fallon was staring at Anson now. His hands were reaching toward hers. She folded her palms against his heart. He did the same for her as the melody drifted on lingering notes, the call and answer—as if two souls drifted farther and farther apart.
Offering the last goodbyes…
The violin flowed through the repeating melody, softer and softer until the last notes weakened into a silence that… left me adrift.
