DARIAN

Kelvin’s body was heavier than I ever imagined, though not heavy enough to weigh down the grief tearing through me. His arms were limp at his sides, the blood from the ceremonial dagger still soaking his ceremonial tunic. I cradled him like he was a child, like somehow, by holding him close, I could reverse what had just happened.

No. I couldn’t.

His face, so pale, so serene in a way that made my heart break even harder, looked almost peaceful. As if he had made the choice calmly, deliberately, and accepted the cost without hesitation. My wolf roared in my chest, furious, raw, a surge of instinct and...