The morning air was thick with mist, the faint drizzle of rain turning the stone at my feet slick. The dawn had come far too soon, and with it, the weight of the end pressing down on me. I stood in the doorway of the temple, my back against the cold stone, my fingers gripping the edge of the frame. The pack had already fled, leaving me behind. Alone like I'd asked Fred, alone to stand against the full wrath of the 11th house for as long as possible.
Bricent, their leader, would be here soon. An invading force at the very heart of everything I'd sworn to protect.
The sound of paws against wet stone echoed through the damp morning air, growing louder, closer. My heart hammered in my chest, but I couldn't move. I had to buy time. I had to keep him talking, keep him distracted. Even if it was only for a few more moments. My father's name was on the wind, swirling around me, and I couldn't let this be how it ended—not without knowing the truth. I would take that with me into the trials.
I swallowed hard, trying to ignore the chill creeping up my spine. The rain drizzled down, soft but persistent, as if nature itself was weeping for what was to come. A sharp breath, and I steeled myself. I had to face him. The truth would have to come now, whether I wanted it or not. I gripped the knife in my palm like a lifeline in a storm.
The wolves arrived first, their heavy footfalls reverberating off the stone as they moved into position. And then, he appeared—Bricent. His towering form emerged from the mist, his pale eyes gleaming coldly in the dull light of the early morning. He was flanked by his pack, their movements synchronized and deliberate as they advanced on the entrance to the temple, their wet fur clinging to their massive frames.
He stopped just short of the sacred boundary, and his gaze locked on mine. There was a cruel satisfaction in his expression, like he had been waiting for this moment for a long time.
"Elsbeth," he called to me, his voice cutting through the quiet of the morning like a blade. "The last of the cursed. You should have left when you had the chance."
I didn't flinch, this was the first time we'd come face to face since he rejected our chosen bond. I couldn't afford to show him any weakness, not now. My heart ached, but I wouldn't let it break me in front of him. The light filtered through the rain-slicked trees behind him, casting eerie shadows across his face, but there was no warmth in it. My wolf, Annika, whimpered in my mind.
I forced myself to stand tall. I had no choice now but to face him. "And have you chase me forever?" I say to him, my laugh sounding hollow even to my own ears.
"Stop, Bricent," I continued, my voice steadier than I felt. "You don't have to do this. You don't have to destroy everything." How had I loved this man once?
He smirked, his lips curling up at the corners. "Oh, but I do. You're the last thread holding this pack together. Your father made sure of that. And now... now I'm here to finish what he started."
He takes a few more steps towards me, his fingers elongating into talons. "Come any closer and I'll slit my own throat Bricent, you'll never get your kill." I should and he roars in anger but stops where he stands. I flick open the blade, holding the hilt firmly in my hand. The light reflects against the silver. Bricent's gaze fixates on the blade for half a second, his face contorted with anger.
I held my ground, barely keeping myself from shaking. I needed time. I needed something. "Show me the evidence," I demanded, my voice more forceful than I expected. "If you're so sure he did it, then show me everything. I want to see it all. I want to see what you have on him. If you do that, I won't slit my own throat."
His eyes flickered with interest, and I could see the cruel delight in them. He wasn't surprised by my demand—no, he'd been expecting it. "Fine. You still don't believe it, do you?" He stepped back slightly, and nodded to one of his wolves, a smaller omega. She moved forward with a wooden box, handing it to Bricent without a word, her head bowed in deference.
He grinned at me, taking the box into his hands and slowly lifting the lid. "You're about to understand, Elsbeth," he said, his tone dripping with satisfaction. "What your father did—what he became—will shatter you."
I didn't flinch, though my insides churned with dread. He opened the box slowly, deliberately, as if savouring the moment. Savouring the clear upset and anxiety written in the lines on my face. The first item he pulled out was a leather-wrapped knife, its blade still stained with dried blood. The sight of it made my stomach turn, but I couldn't look away.
"This," Bricent said, his voice thick with venom, "is the knife that killed her. My sister. The queen. We found it in your father's quarters, covered in her blood. Do you still want to deny it?"
I stared at the bloodied blade, my mind racing. The words caught in my throat. I wanted to scream that it wasn't true—that it couldn't be—but there was something in his gaze, something cold and certain, that made me hesitate. The knife itself was a twisted thing, there was a strangeness to the shape of the handle, the balance of the blade. The way the grip was put together it would slice the palm of the wielder with every cut. Drawing blood to elicit pain from others. This was a blade made to take something from the wielder.
"Fingerprints can be transferred," I said, though the words tasted hollow in my mouth. "He could have touched it before it was used to hurt her."
Bricent didn't flinch. Instead, he dropped the knife back into the box with a loud clink and reached for something else—an envelope, yellowed with age. He unfolded it with care, his fingers trailing over the paper as if he knew every crease and fold.
"This letter," he said, holding it up, "was written by your father himself. His confession." He spat the word as if it was poison. "He says in it that the goddess herself ordered him to kill my sister. That the pack's bloodline needed to be purified. That her reign would bring nothing but chaos."
I felt my knees buckle slightly. My father... he had always been so proud, so sure of his decisions. But this? He couldn't have thought it was right. This had to be a lie. My father had been many things, but he wasn't a murderer. Not this way.
Bricent held up the yellowed page so I could see the handwriting. His eyes glinted with something darker, something malicious.
"I'm sure you recognize his handwriting," he said with a cruel smirk. "It's unmistakable. His obsession with purity. His delusion that he was chosen for something greater than the pack. And here, he admits it: the goddess told him to do it. He thought it was his destiny."
"No," I whispered, shaking my head. "This doesn't make sense. He would never do that, there has to be another explanation."
Bricent didn't respond immediately. Instead, he smiled, cruel and slow, savouring my disbelief. "You still think there's some sort of excuse for him? Some reason why he wouldn't be capable of it? There's no excuse, Elsbeth. He chose to kill her. And he'll burn for it. And you'll burn for it with him."
The rain drizzled harder now, the droplets pooling around our feet, but neither of us moved. My body felt like stone, weighed down by the truth—or the lie he was feeding me. Either way, it felt suffocating.
Before I could speak, Bricent reached for something else in the box—a tablet, its screen flickering to life as he swiped across it. He didn't need to say anything. He didn't have to. He pressed play, and there, on the screen, was my father. I recognized him instantly. His dark hair, his regal posture, even the way he carried himself—it was all there. My stomach twisted. I knew what was coming, but I couldn't look away.
The video began, and there he was—my father in front of the queen's chamber. I could see him clearly, his dark coat and his calculated movements. I knew this man. I had known him my entire life.
But the man I saw on the screen wasn't the father I had known. He was cold, detached, his eyes full of something else. Something... monstrous.
But then the scene shifted. My father stepped closer to the queen, who sat before her mirror, combing her hair. Her face was calm, serene, but there was an emptiness in her eyes. A stillness that made my heart stop.
I watched in horror as my father drew the knife from his side. The queen didn't scream. She didn't fight. She didn't even react when he struck—once, twice, twenty-five times. The coldness in his face, the madness in his eyes as he tore into her flesh...
I couldn't breathe. I couldn't think. The man I had known—my father—was gone. Replaced by a monster.
Bricent's voice was low, almost a whisper, as he watched me. "Do you see it now, Elsbeth? Do you understand? Your father was no hero. He was a murderer. He killed my sister. And you—" He took a step closer, his breath cold against the damp air, "—you're no better than he was."
I felt my knees tremble, but I didn't fall. I refused to give him the satisfaction. "No. This isn't who he was. This isn't him," I whispered, my voice breaking despite myself. My hand clutching the knife so hard the smooth metal of the handle started to dig into my skin, drawing a small trickle of blood. Bricent glances at it in passing a second time, recognition of the item clear on his face, he'd given me the knife as an anniversary gift not long ago. It was sharp.
Bricent laughed, a harsh, hollow sound. "Then why did he do it? Why did he end her life? Because he thought the goddess had chosen him. Because he thought he was doing what was right. And now, Elsbeth, now you have to pay the price for his sins."
My throat felt tight, the rain drizzling down around us as the world seemed to grow colder. I wanted to fight back. I wanted to scream that this wasn't my father, that this wasn't true—but there was no denying it. The evidence was here. The video, the letter, the blood on that damn knife.
"You were always too blind to see it," Bricent murmured, his voice thick with glee. "Your father was weak, just like you."
I lifted my head, though every part of me wanted to collapse under the weight of the truth. "You're wrong," I whispered, my voice fierce, though my hands were shaking. "You don't get to decide what's true. You don't get to rewrite history."
But Bricent wasn't listening. He was already moving to the next item in the box, too eager to revel in my pain.
I couldn't stop him. And I couldn't stop the tears that fell, mingling with the rain at my feet.
And with each second that passed, I knew—there would be no going back. He pulls out another folder, this time he throws a pile of stapled papers at my feet.
"He planned this for weeks. That knife was one he'd spent even longer trying to find. There are the records of his long time searching for a blade that would not only kill my sister but also sever her ties to the moon goddess. He killed her and then doomed her to never find peace, to never be reborn. What kind of a monster does that?" Bricent roared at me.
I couldn't answer him. I couldn't speak. Everything I thought I knew was falling apart. But Bricent wasn't done.
"My only comfort is that when he tore her connection, he tore his own mind and his own connection to the goddess with one senseless thrust of the blade. At least he won't ever be reborn either." Bricent continues with a hiss.
He stepped forward, his voice a deadly whisper. "And now, Elsbeth, you'll join him. Because you're just as cursed as he was."
I finally found my voice, though it trembled. "You're lying. You're twisting everything to suit your revenge." But as I spoke the words, I realized that Bricent didn't need to lie. Not anymore. He had shown me the truth. The reality that had been hidden from me. The truth that hurt worse than any wound he could inflict because that would explain his madness but why would he think she was an impure queen? Why would he condemn our pack? It doesn't make sense. Even if he'd been tasked, he was a clever wolf. He would have found another way. Why kill her so publicly? Why doom himself? Why doom us? He had placed the pack above all else his whole life, my whole life, and taught me to do the same. I had so many questions.
And he could see it in my eyes. The way he'd shattered me with his evidence. The way he'd broken me without lifting a finger.
He was enjoying this. And I was helpless to stop him. The facts were not on my side.
"Show me the video again." I demanded and his face was alight with a cruel smile so cold I have to resist the urge to shudder. I'd thought him beautiful once, in my youth where his fanaticism felt like nobility and loyalty and all things I'd treasured in a potential chosen mate. I'd thought that his cruelty was determination and his unwillingness to bend was his principals. I was wrong.
I can see it clearly despite the distance, despite the rain and my heart races. My father looks regal in his formal court gowns. The black cape, the prim blazer, the white cravat. He slinks into the queen's room, she can be seen at her dressing table combing out her long blonde locks. There is no attendant helping her and a strange stillness on her face despite my father's presence. He steps closer to her, his face blank. She still doesn't react, she must see him in her mirror but she doesn't move. Not when he pulls the blade, not when he stabs her in the back. She just stares at him impassively through the mirror from her seat before slumping over. She offered no resistance, called for no help and never pleaded for her life. She seemed to almost know it was coming, resigned to die with dignity. Her face and front unmarred by the murder, a pretty corpse. The red blood drips down her back as he plunges the blade in once, then twice, then twenty five more times. His face growing from cold to maniacal with each strike. The man I'd known and loved unravelling before my very eyes.
Finally, after what was mere seconds, but felt like a lifetime, he drops the blade and starts to twitch. The queen's lifeless face is pressed delicately against her dressing table. Eyes wide but unseeing.
My father rips off his cape, his cravat and shifts, ripping his remaining clothing to shreds in the process. His wolf looks strange. He twitches and spasms as he tries to flee. Bricent's finger stops the video. I would never forget that video, un-see the demented thing that my father had become. I couldn't compute the man in the video with the loving gentle creature that had raised me and taught me everything about being a wolf. I could only hope that the rain made my tears less apparent.
"Do you see? You pitiable cursed thing, you cannot be allowed to live." He whispers, throwing down the tablet. My hand holding the blade shakes as I struggle to control my emotions, but he's not done.
Bricent picks up an empty vile with an ornate lid and waves it in the air, "This was how he got into the palace, into her chambers, without alerting the royal pack guards --without alerting me." I quirk my head.
"Sleeping draft?" I ask and he nods. I shudder, those were foul things that caused those using them to experience countless horrors in their sleep. It had driven more than one wolf to madness when dosed with too much.
"Do you see?" Bricent growls, "Do you understand?"
I shake my head, "This makes no sense to me."
"He's guilty Elsbeth, I investigated him myself and it was confirmed by the leader of the 1st house as an impartial party." Bricent shouts, looking impatient. I reel at this news, I hadn't heard of the involvement of the 1st pack. They had no claim to the throne, and they'd never shown an interest in trying.
"Show me the video again." I plead with him and he obliges, picking the tablet back up with a little too much enthusiasm. I think he might enjoy this as much as the kill, torturing me with the information that someone I'd loved had done something so despicable.
I try to memorize the details as he plays the video for me over and over again. The rain stops and I continue to openly weep. My shame gone.
The sun starts to set on the horizon as he places the items back into the box, a clear indicator that he would no longer entertain my delays, but I must have watched the same video a hundred times before his patience drew thin. The image of my father's face, his descent into madness, seared into my eyelids.
Bricent laughs giddily and starts to edge forward, to claim his reward -- my life. In those few precious seconds I use the blade in my hand to slice my other palm. His face pales and he starts to shake. He lets out a blood curling roar.
He lunges towards me, but it's too late. My blood smeared palm presses at the moon goddesses emblem on the door and the flames erupt around the temple. The open space leading into the temple shifts, warps, rippling like water and I grow cold. Looking back at his enraged face was priceless though.
"Don't you fucking dare you mongrel, you're not worthy, you're not worthy, I will never bow to you! How dare you even try, the audacity of this heathen, this forsaken to think she can rule me!" He roars, pressing up against the flames and hissing as they burn his skin.
"You swore I'd have my kill if I showed you, you swore to put down the blade!" He screams, shaking with fury.
"No I just promised I wouldn't slit my throat, you were too short sighted to set up any other terms Bricent. That was always your problem. You've always been a small man without any vision." I taunt him, trying to seem brave in face of the terror gripping my legs.
I take one last look at him, square my shoulder, hold my breath and step inside. A step closer to saving my people or losing my life, only time would tell.