Prologue
Prologue
Day 1 after the Battle
Ira
Lucas lay on the ground, the gun that had been pointed at me, lying next to his outstretched hand while the ever-growing pool of blood spread underneath him.
My vision, which had already been compromised, began to blur even more, dark spots growing bigger by the second.
The last thing I saw before the dizziness became too much and I crashed to the ground, was Ronan, standing frozen on the other side of Lucas’s corpse with a gun still clutched tightly in his hand.
Tears ran down his face as he watched his mate breathe his last breath before he looked at me, his blue orbs turning blood red and a gruesome sneer spreading over his face.
“Are you happy now, Scarface? Did I repent?”
Did I repent?
Did I repent?
He kept repeating the question, his voice getting louder and louder with each step closer that he took until he was standing over me, his gun pressing between my eyes.
His finger moved, the loud bang echoing in my ears, and then there was nothing.
“No!” I screamed and sat up, my breathing labored, sweat rolling down my face as I tried to calm my rapidly beating heart.
My eyes flew over my surroundings as if expecting Ronan to be there, waiting for me to wake up so he could finish the job he’d started in my dream, but the only thing that welcomed me was an empty, hospital room.
I lay back and closed my eyes, taking in a big breath, and then another until I was sure that I’d avoided another panic attack.
The first time I woke up and was informed that what happened during the Battle was real and not just another nightmare which resulted in a huge panic attack.
It had been so bad, that my powers had unleashed, and I almost burned down the entire hospital wing before they’d managed to tie me to the bed with silver cuffs and sedate me.
The second time went a bit better, if you could call me spending hours crying and throwing everyone who dared to enter out of the room upon learning that I was pregnant, better.
This was the third time if my count was correct, and by this point, it was nighttime.
I noticed that I was no longer hooked to the machines like I’d been the previous time, making me wonder how long I’d slept.
The bloody gauze that had been wrapped around my midsection was also missing; in its place, a bright, pink scar shone from some ointment that Doc must have rubbed in while I was out. I frowned and touched it carefully, surprised by the lack of pain.
My eyes drifted from the newly healed wound to my still-flat belly, and I grimaced before pulling the shirt down and covering it.
The doctor had informed me that the baby, that I was apparently caring, was six weeks old, and that it was a miracle that it had managed to survive the shooting.
At first, I thought that the man was crazy, absolutely refusing to accept the news, but when he showed me the ultrasound, I couldn’t deny it any longer.
He told me that the baby surviving everything I’ve been through was a miracle and that me being a Kaliko was probably the only reason for this being possible, after which I threw him out of the room.
As if I needed another reminder of being different; just add a miracle pregnancy to the list.
I scooted down the bed until my feet were firmly set on the ground, the cold tiles against my flushed skin further helping to ground me and calm my fraying nerves.
I took a big breath before slowly standing up, my hand squeezing the bed frame in a tight grip as my sight blackened for a moment, before clearing up.
Once I was sure that I wouldn’t end up face-first on the ground, I let the frame go and took a few steps toward the bathroom, feeling relieved that vertigo hadn’t made a reappearance as I did so.
A few minutes later, the warm water was spraying across my skin, relaxing my muscles as I stood in the bathtub with my head against the tiled wall.
“I know love, I know you can’t. That’s the reason I love you so much, your beautiful heart. That’s why I’ll make the decision for you.”
Milo’s last words flashed through my mind, the image of him lying in the pool of his blood replaying behind my closed eyelids and I started to bawl, my knees giving up underneath me.
I crashed to the ground, slicing my arm against the tap in the process, not that I cared as I hugged my knees and wept.
After all, after Milo, nothing, absolutely nothing hurt anymore.
I stared at the cut across my underarm, the blood slowly dripping from it and mixing with the now almost cold water before going down the drain, the sight of it strangely mesmerizing.
A thought that maybe if I just stayed there, it would bleed enough and I’ll just fall asleep and never wake up, crossed my mind and a small smile spread over my face.
It was an appealing thought.
No more pain, no more suffering, just peace.
And then there were suddenly strong arms beneath mine, pulling me out of the shower. I tried to protest but it was futile, my words coming out all slurred and incoherent and by the time I noticed, I was already back in my bed, tucked beneath a pile of blankets while my hand was being treated by my savior.
“You should have just let me drown,” I whispered and looked away, as Ronan finished bandaging the cut.
He remained quiet, completely ignoring my remark as he picked up the first aid kit and walked back into the bathroom.
When he returned, he sat on a chair next to my bed, his eyes focused on mine so intensely that I thought that he was trying to read my mind.
“The thing is; it wouldn’t be just you, doing the drowning. Or am I wrong, Ira?” he said quietly after a few silent minutes, one of his eyebrows raised and his mouth pulled into a stern line.
I scoffed and looked away, before turning completely away from him, but what he said had cut deeply into me, my hand unconsciously lowering down to my belly.
“Go away,” I said before closing my eyes again.
One week after the Battle
“The Pack council sentences you to death. The punishment will be dealt with during the next full moon.”
The crowd gathered around the high table broke into excited whispers, their voices rising in volume before they all started to shout and throw rocks at the group of shackled men standing in front of the council.
“Traitors! Dirt!” the crowd yelled, trying to get closer to the prisoners until the Pack Warriors stepped in and stopped them.
I tuned them out as my eyes flew over the sneering prisoners, unrepentant even in their failure until they paused on a smaller figure at the end of the row.
Rafa.
He was the only one refusing to look at anyone and just staring at the forest as tears slowly ran down his face.
I moved around in my seat, suddenly uncomfortable at the sight of the kid that I’d saved what seemed like a lifetime ago, now being stoned before my eyes.
“This is bullshit. The kid is obviously innocent, they are only doing this because of his brother.”
I heard a quiet voice behind me and glanced to the side to see Ronan looking at Rafa while shaking his head in poorly hidden anger.
I remained quiet, my hand firmly planted over my belly, and watched as the crowd finally started to disperse as the prisoners were led into the cells.
I heard Ronan sigh in frustration before he walked away when I said nothing, as I continued to stare at the now empty spot Rafa had been standing in.
Two weeks after the Battle
I watched as the council members argued, their anger obvious as they shouted and blamed each other.
“Rafael couldn’t have just disappeared, someone obviously helped him.” the newly appointed Alpha said in a calm voice, cutting out their shouts.
She was a former Head Warrior and an extraordinary woman in my opinion, and a small part of me, a part that still had some feelings left, was happy to see her filling out Milo’s position.
My eyes connected with Ronan’s, and he shook his head with a frown, but I chose to ignore it as I stood up and faced the council.
“It was me,” I said and raised my hands to cut off their protests.
“Before you say anything, I’ll remind you that at the time I was still a Luna of this pack and by the laws, I was in my right.”
I could see that they all wanted to protest but it would be futile, I was right, and they couldn’t do anything about it.
Ronan was still shaking his head in frustration as I turned around and walked away, but I ignored him.
I didn’t care.
I just didn’t care any longer.
One month after the Battle
“Are you sure about this, Ira?” Ronan asked for the fifth time that morning and I just nodded, rolling my eyes in the process.
“Yes,” I said as I threw my bag into the back of the pickup truck.
“I could come with you?” he said, making me sigh. I turned around to look at him, abandoning the packing for a moment.
“No, you can’t. Your life is here, Ronan. You like it here and you have a job in the infirmary.”
He looked away and frowned and I could see that he was still against my decision, so I stepped closer and took one of his hands into mine.
“Everyone here hates me now. In their eyes, I am a traitor and that’s what I’ll always be. But you are not, and I am glad. You deserve a family and a normal life, Ronan, and you can get that here, with these people. Because they are good people, they are just angry and hurt at the moment, but after enough time has passed, they will come around.”
“But I am not good, Ira. You, of all people, should know that by now,” he said, his blue eyes swimming in tears.
I just smiled a little, the motion feeling strange after not having smiled for so long, the muscles in my jaw stiff and aching, as I laid his hand over my scarred cheek.
“I forgave you the moment you saved my child and me from myself. Now, the only one who has to forgive you, is you, Ronan.”
We stayed quiet for a long time, staring at each other until I eventually stepped back and got into my truck.
“Where will you go?” he asked, and I shook my head and smiled.
“Goodbye, Ronan.”
