The remaining wolves break.
They run.
Bad choice.
The twins hunt them down with ruthless precision. Callen and Mayla flank, hemming them in. Melanie takes down two trying to escape, dragging one back by the leg and finishing him slowly.
I barely register the bodies hitting the ground.
Barely hear the screams taper into wet, choking silence.
My ears are ringing. My chest feels hollowed out. Victory tastes like ash.
Emma stands in the center of the clearing, chest heaving, fur soaked crimson that isn't hers.
She lifts her head and howls.
Not victory.
Not triumph.
Grief.
The sound splits my soul.
It isn't just a howl—it's a mourning cry so raw it vibrates through bone and marrow, through the bond, through the land itself. Wolves freeze where they stand. Even the forest seems to bow beneath it, branches sagging, leaves trembling like they can't bear to listen.
Silence falls heavy and absolute.
Jered looks pale.
Silvester stares in horror.
Seraphina backs away, finally realizing she has backed the wrong monsters.
I step forward.
Blood drips from my hands.
I don't wipe it away.
"This ends," I say, voice cold enough to freeze the ground beneath us.
Emma turns toward them.
And for the first time since this began—
They understand.
The Queen is not merciful tonight.
And neither am I.
That's when we feel it.
Not a sound.
Not an impact.
A wrongness.
A sudden, horrifying emptiness where something vital had been.
How could we have not noticed it? We were so entranced by the fighting, by our grief, by the blood and rage and vengeance, we did not see what was happening.
Sam shifts back quickly.
The snap echoes through the bond like a tendon tearing.
Seraphina, Jered, and Silvester take the opportunity to flee.
None of us move to stop them.
We all already felt it.
The break.
I turn slowly, dread sinking its claws into my spine, and I know—I know—what I will find.
This is what is going to break her.
"Cam?" It is Samantha who speaks first.
Her voice is small.
Too small for the Queen who just tore the night apart.
Everyone was already shifted with terrified looks on their faces.
F*ck.
I wasn't paying attention.
None of us were.
So engrossed in the fighting we didn't realize Cameran was still laying on top of Enoch.
Unmoving.
No breath.
No stir.
Samantha slowly takes a step forward.
Voice breaking, like glass under pressure.
"Cam? Sweetie, get up for me."
The words aren't a command.
They're a plea.
I see Melanie cover her mouth, shoulders shaking as she tries—and fails—to stop a sob. Mayla is frozen, eyes wide, skin gone pale like she's already halfway to collapse.
"Cam, please look at me," Sam tries again.
Her knees buckle.
I go to her.
Put one hand under her shoulder trying to stabilize her.
"Cam! F*ck*ng move!"
Her voice cracks on the last word.
She goes to take another step—but I feel it.
I feel her breaking.
Not loud.
Not dramatic.
Something inside Samantha fractures so deeply it doesn't even make a sound.
Emma is there—
or she isn't.
The bond goes numb.
Hollow.
A dead space where a heartbeat should be.
Cade whines loudly in my head.
"Cam!"
I grab Sam by the waist as she drops to her knees, a curling screech choking out of her—
"CAMERAN!"
The sound is animal.
Primal.
It shreds what's left of my composure.
Sam bites my arm—hard—forcing me to release her.
She crawls to Cam's body.
We all already felt the pack bond snap.
We felt when she took her last breath.
The air itself seems to collapse inward.
'Some bonds don't let go,' Cade whispers, voice wrecked, reverent.
'Even death has to negotiate.'
Sam grabs Cam's body, pulling her into her lap.
Hugging her.
Rocking.
Screaming her name over and over like repetition might undo reality.
We can't bear to watch.
She scratches at Cameran's clothes, her hair, her shoulders—desperate, frantic—trying to wake her, to call her back, to undo the universe.
I feel Samantha reaching for her power.
Lumen.
Silver fire pours from her hands as she presses them to Cam's chest.
Healing.
Purifying.
Commanding life itself to return.
But she's too late.
The mate bond took her.
Fated mates.
Never meant to be separated.
Their love was just that strong.
"What is happening?" Dirge says, voice hollow as realization dawns. "What's happening?"
"The mate bond took her," I say, my voice breaking. "They were never meant to be separated."
"What?" Dirge shakes his head violently. "No! That's not possible. I lost Ginny and I didn't die."
Growling, it's Callen who answers—over Samantha's sobbed pleas to the Moon Goddess.
"They were fated mates," he snaps. "Their bond was stronger than yours and Ginny's ever was."
His voice cracks.
"They loved each other fiercely."
"No—no," Dirge whispers. "She's stronger than that."
"She was never meant to be strong without him," Melanie sobs.
Another guttural scream rips from Samantha as she buries her face into her childhood friend's neck.
"Please," she begs. "Please, Cameran—please!"
Her fingers clutch at nothing.
"I can't do this without you!"
Dirge stumbles toward them.
"NO!" Samantha screams, spinning on him with murder in her eyes.
"You did this!" she snarls. "You killed your own daughter out of false vengeance!"
"I didn't know!" he sobs, collapsing. "I didn't mean to! Ginny—Ginny, what have I done to our baby girl?"
"Aunt Ginny would hate you," Samantha says, her voice deadly calm. "If she's seeing this now, just know—when you die…"
Her eyes burn.
"And you will—by my hands—Ginny will be glad to know you're burning in hell."
"Samant—"
"F*CK YOU!" she screams.
The ground begins to vibrate.
Not tremble.
Vibrate.
Trees shudder.
The air thickens, heavy with pressure so dense it steals breath.
That's when I see her.
Samantha.
Her eyes are no longer silver.
They are red-hot fire.
Gone is the moonlight.
Gone is Emma's rage.
This is something else.
This is the wrath of a Queen who has lost the one thing she never learned how to live without.
This is Samatha's rage.
She lets go of Cameran's body.
Slowly, Samantha's entire form begins to glow—not in light.
But fire.
Her hands shake.
The earth cracks.
The forest screams.
This is the moment she breaks.
And when she does—
An all-consuming blast of fire erupts from her.
It does not discriminate.
It does not spare.
Every inch of forest, wolf, and creature is swallowed by her grief.
And I realize, too late—
We are no longer fighting a war.
We are witnessing the birth of devastation.