Last Wolf Standing (#7, The Mystic Wolves) Page 25

  But I was empty, with nothing to offer but more pain and sorrow. Sooner or later, they would come for Mason and take him to pay their final respects. There was a soft voice in my mind that whispered I couldn’t hide away forever with my fallen mate.

  It was the fact that there wasn’t even a whisper of “I don’t want to live without you.” Gently tracing the outline of his jaw, his body had returned to human form and his face felt cold beneath my fingers. “This is where you’re supposed to tell me what to do, Mason.” My voice cracked at his name. Gone was the familiar cadence of our bond and that gutted me. He was truly gone—that pathway lost and reduced to nothing.

  Holding my breath, I waited for him to answer, hoping, against hope, for some kind of miracle. There had to be something I could do. We’d gone through so much together, our entire life together, including our short marriage, filled with moments where we’d conquered incredible odds.

  ‘Forever and always’ had become our mantra, the thing we told ourselves when things got unbearably hard and our faith faltered.

  Now it felt like a sham—a lie.

  It was hard not to become bitter in the stark realization that the very thing that had given me so much joy and strength, now felt like a prison sentence. Forever was gone and there was no more always.

  “Wake up, please . . .”

  Why couldn’t I wish him back to life?

  “Mason . . .”

  Nothing.

  There was a light knock, followed by my name. When I didn’t answer, the door cracked open and Moses walked in, his weight supported by a cane.

  “Not now, Moses.” I couldn’t look at him, the sympathy in his eyes too much to handle.

  “We don’t have to talk, Darcy. Let me just be here for you.” True to his word, he took the seat by the vanity dresser and stretched his legs out, getting comfortable. Silence fell, again, but this time, instead of feeling suffocated, Moses’ presence somehow changed it—softened it.

  Letting out a weary sigh, more tears escaped from my eyes, a total contradiction to the numbness that covered my soul.

  “Moses?”

  “Yes?”

  I didn’t want to talk—only to ask the question burning inside me. It felt wrong. Mason hadn’t even been dead a day, and I was failing him. “How did you do it?”

  “Do what?”

  He knew what I meant. Out of everyone in the mansion, he was the only one who knew the darkness I was drowning in. It was why he’d come, refusing to keep his distance like the others. “Survive. When you lost Talia.”

  Clearing his throat, Moses didn’t hide the kindness from his voice. “I did it one day at a time . . . sometimes hour by hour. Simply focus on the next inhale and exhale. When that’s all you can do, focus on that. Before you know it, you’ve lasted the day, stronger for having endured it.”

  “And if I don’t want to live without him?”

  Moses stopped playing with his cane and rested it against the dresser before leaning forward. His gaze bored into me. “Is that what you truly want, Darcy?”

  It was a question I didn’t want to answer. “It’s complicated.”

  “No, it’s surprisingly easy.” He pressed.

  “How can you say that when you know what I’m feeling? When you’ve felt like each time your heart beats inside your chest, it takes you farther away from that person that you love? Tell me you didn’t choke on each word afterwards. That each step you took into a new future felt like it would tear you apart.”

  Slowly, Moses stood, and ignoring his cane, he limped over to the bed. “There were seconds where I wished for death, begged for it to take me and not my Talia. I bargained with my ancestors. I demanded they take me to her. I even sought magic—hearing that sometimes powerful spells could bring back the dead.” Gently sitting beside me, his eyes filled with the grief he usually kept hidden. “There are usually three main results when someone loses their soul mate . . . they somehow find the courage to go on, they end their life and follow their loved one, or their sorrow crushes them, making them crazy.”

  “But, something must’ve happened, because here you are,” I added, not understanding how he could find his way back.

  “Something did. I realized I had a choice.”

  I hadn’t left my room for days, determined to drink myself to the point where the gun I kept loaded in my closet wouldn’t seem like such a cowardly way to die. I didn’t eat. I wore a silver band around my wrist and ankles to keep myself weak so my wolf wouldn’t take over. One more shot . . . one more mouthful . . . and I would end it. I was ready. I couldn’t take being away from her any longer.”

  “Did someone come?”

  “Yes and no. In that moment of absolute defeat, I heard her voice in my head, felt her love brushing across my mind. It felt so real, like she was there with me . . . waiting for me on the other side.” A solitary tear rolled over his cheek, disappearing under his chin. “Then I saw her face and the sight of it sobered me. I’d never seen her so sad.”

  “Are you saying she told you to keep living?” I didn’t want to disrespect his memory, knowing how much it meant to him.

  “No, but it made me pause long enough to wonder what she would say about my decision.” Moses turned, catching my eyes and holding them. “I say this to you with love, Darcy—from a place that recognizes your same pain. There are many ways to grieve, and everyone’s advice is different. I can’t tell you what’s best for you . . . only you can answer that; but I will offer this suggestion.” Taking my hand, he glanced down at Mason. “Rise above the bleakness long enough to feel what he would want for you.”

  There was no holding back the choked sob that burst from my mouth. I knew exactly what Mason would want—expect. “I don’t want to let him go.”

  “It’s not about letting go or forgetting. It’s about honoring his memory, and remembering your own worth. You are stronger than you know, Darcy. I promise you . . . he will always be with you, watching from the stars, waiting for when it’s your time to join him. Until then, fight.”

  “You make it sound so simple,” I retorted, not wanting to believe him.

  “It will be one of the hardest things you’ll ever do. Choosing to live, even when everything you feel contradicts it—there’s nothing easy about it.”

  “This isn’t about guilt or manipulating you. Trust me, there is a mansion filled with people who need you right now. But that’s not why I came upstairs.”

  “Then why did you?”

  “For no other reason than for you to see you’re not alone; and that through my own experience, you’re not as lost as you think.”

  Part of me wanted to yell for him to go, to stick my fingers in my ears like a child—anything to keep from doing what my heart now whispered.

  It was broken—fractured and fragile—but still beating.

  The only thing that kept it going was the truth.

  It would hurt. It would kill me to open the doors and allow Devlin to take Mason’s body. As an Alpha, he would be awarded the highest honor—a warrior’s funeral. I would stand with the Pack and mourn, say our goodbyes before Mikey set the pyre on fire. Just thinking about it made me want to shrink away and hide.

  But I was stronger than that. I had to be.

  “Then tell me how to take that next step, Moses. How did you do it?”

  “Focus on what you can control. Right now, you are the only Alpha this Pack has. Yes, Mason held that position, but as his surviving mate, they will look to you for direction. You will need to pick his successor.”

  “Thank you,” I whispered, my voice overcome, again, with thick emotion. “I don’t know what else to say but thank you.”

  “You’re very welcome.”

  Glancing down at Mason, it was time. “Would it be okay if I took a little more time to say goodbye?” Tears began welling in my eyes.

  “Take all the time you need.” Lifting to his feet, Moses placed a light kiss on the top of my head before retrieving his cane. “
I’ll be downstairs with the others.”

  “Okay,” I murmured, feeling somewhere between the hopelessness of before and something different, less painful. The air was just as heavy and the walls still seemed too close, but something else brewed in my mind—an idea I hadn’t fully explored and couldn’t let go.

  My desperation wouldn’t allow it.

  Magic.

  ****

  “Bring him back!” My sudden appearance made Morgan jump, the book she’d been reading on the couch falling to the floor. For someone who was being kept as a prisoner, she was being held in luxury compared to the cell Julian had kept me in.

  “Darcy,” she answered, quickly getting to her feet. “I’m sorry to hear about Mason.”

  I didn’t want to hear it. There was only one thing I wanted from the dark witch and it wasn’t her fake condolences. “Save me the lies, Morgan. We are not friends. You owe a debt to my mate and I’ve come to collect it.”

  Gone was the contrite façade as a calculating smile lit her face. “You want me to do a spell?”

  “I want you to bring him back. Do whatever you need . . . just return Mason to his body. Now.”

  “That involves some pretty intense magic, Darcy,” she answered.

  “I don’t care. It’s time to live up to your reputation. You claim to be able to do the impossible.” Stepping deeper into the room, there would no doubt to my intentions. The letting go speech Moses had just delivered was all fine and dandy, but it was a very human response. I was more than that, though. I knew the world we lived in and the miracles it could bring. “Prove it.”

  “Are you willing to pay the price?”

  Her question irritated me. “You dare bring up money? You are alive solely because my husband allowed it. Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t just kill you where you stand.”

  Putting the couch between us, Morgan’s face whitened, her hand raised to stop my advance. Apparently she wasn’t as stupid as I’d thought. “It’s not about money, Darcy. Trust me. I know I owe Mason for my involvement with Julian. That’s not what I meant.”

  “Then explain yourself and quit pissing me off.” Blood thundered in my ears as I fought to control my temper. As much as I’d love to give into temptation and use her as an outlet for my anger, she was my only hope in seeing Mason wake up. She had what I needed, and she knew it.

  “You want me to resurrect Mason, but are you ready for the monster he’ll be?”

  “You’re trapped in the room with a grieving mate with the power to completely rip you to shreds and you’re going to insult the dead?” I growled, taking yet another step closer.

  Morgan shook her head, edging around the back of the couch. Surely she knew that if I chose to attack, nothing would stop me—no matter how leathery and overstuffed. “It’s not an insult. That’s exactly what you’re asking me to do.”

  “No, I’m demanding you do what Helena has done, except instead of having someone else possess his body, I want you to put Mason back.”

  I wanted to slap away the sympathy that filled her eyes. “No,” Morgan replied, slowly. “What you’re wanting is different. You were still alive when Amber possessed you. Daniel was alive when Julian did the same. It’s one thing to evict a spirit so another can take over . . . it’s dangerous to place a spirit into the dead. And that’s what Mason is, Darcy. He’s dead. I know you don’t want to hear it and I know it hurts, but if I do what you say . . . he won’t be the same.”

  “I don’t care,” I retorted, my grief taking over.

  Morgan stopped moving and held my gaze. “Yes, you do. I may be a cold-hearted bitch, but even I know the second you saw how altered he was, you would hate yourself. Everything that made you fall in love with him would be gone.”

  “Don’t talk to me about love!” Something inside me snapped. Gripping the arm of the couch, I shoved it aside, the sofa flipping over as my fingers wrapped around her throat. “You think you have a say in this, Morgan. You don’t.“

  Lifting her off the ground, my nails dug into her skin, blood trickling from the fresh wounds. She didn’t fight against me, instead she tried to reason with me. “Think about it, Darcy. Think about what you’re asking.”

  I squeezed tighter causing her to gasp for air. “Either save my mate or die.” As my fangs punched out from my gums, I snarled. “Now choose.”

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Devlin

  The crackling fire did little to soothe my nerves. It wasn’t even cold—the blaze running more out of habit than anything. It was something that Zane enjoyed, had enjoyed, while working in his office.

  Draining the crystal glass, the whiskey and blood burning a trail down my throat, this was the last place I wanted to be.

  His office.

  Now my office.

  I’d known that sooner or later there’d be no avoiding the truth. While the closest friend I’d ever had, the one who had seen me through those early days after my conversion and had grudgingly stepped forward to become King, had taken a position that hadn’t truly been his.

  Vampire hierarchy was a little like Pack government. In order to remove someone from power, you had to kill him—claiming the rights to that office for yourself.

  Zane hadn’t been the one who slayed Balthazar, the vicious vampire king who had committed all manner of atrocities in the lust for power. He hadn’t just been our liege and sovereign, he’d been our maker—the one who had brought us into the world filled with blood and violence.

  One of the greatest secrets we’d ever kept was that it wasn’t Zane’s stake that had annihilated Balthazar all those years ago—catapulting him into the lead role as vampire King.

  No, it had been mine; but because of my blood oath to Elynor, Zane, my best friend had taken up that burden as his own. He’d shouldered that responsibility, knowing I couldn’t. While he never let me forget that truth, he’d taken the secret with him to the grave.

  “And yet, here I am,” I cursed beneath my breath, pouring another tumbler full of liquor. Even though the true account was still known only by me, it hadn’t stopped the vampires, loyal to Zane, from declaring me their new King.

  In a weird twist of the Fates, my destiny had corrected itself, leaving a brutal path of destruction in its wake.

  Zane.

  Vivien.

  Vlad. That one stung the most because, despite the rocky start between us, Vlad had grown into someone I was incredibly proud of. Yes, he’d irritated me, sometimes testing my patience beyond its limits, but his heart had been true.

  Joseph Henry Lockhart.

  Even his quirky wardrobe had begun to grow on me. He’d finally started finding his place in the world, and now he was gone. A hero’s death, but that didn’t stop the ache of losing family.

  Maudlin’ much? I snorted. Once again, my glass was empty, but instead of pouring my fifth . . . sixth shot, I removed the crystal stopper and lifted the decanter straight to my lips. You’re no stranger to death, Devlin. Have your drink and move on.

  If only it was that easy.

  I wasn’t one who usually over-indulged.

  Alcohol, sex, vices . . . I’d pretty much held myself to a higher standard because, until just recently, my life hadn’t truly been my own. Everything I did was to not only find the one my sister’s magic had chosen, but to then protect them—no matter what.

  It had taken decades of patiently waiting—of watching from the shadows until the magic had revealed itself in Darcy. She, then, became the most singularly important person in my existence. Her well-being and safety trumped every need and decision I made.

  I was honor-bound to see that Julian never found her—using whatever resources I could find to ensure she remained invisible to him. In my arrogance, I’d assumed my vigilant plans would be enough.

  My niece’s grief stricken sobs proved just how wrong I was. Locked away in her bedroom, Darcy now had to say goodbye to her soul mate. After everything I’d done to ensure her happiness, it had ended in o
ne final, epic failure.

  Mason.

  The death of an Alpha was always hard to accept. A heavy pall of sorrow had descended over the mansion when we’d returned—Wade carrying his fallen leader. Emotions had exploded as Pack members learned the news, but it wasn’t them I worried about.

  It was her, always her.

  Darcy’s heart had shattered, and I could do nothing to stop it.

  “Pride cometh before the fall!” Toasting the empty room, disgust filled me. As strong as my grief was, there was one sentiment that resonated even louder.

  Guilt.

  And no amount of playing the ‘what if” game would change the fact that all of this—the deaths and the pain—fell squarely on my shoulders. It was my burden, my weakness, my fatal character flaw.

  I’d let Julian escape that fateful day.

  I’d failed to kill him.

  And, in that one moment, I had set events in motion that would crush those I loved. There weren’t enough words to describe the self-loathing inside me.

  Light flickered off the decanter, catching my eye, I took another long mouthful of blood-mixed whiskey. Swallow, after heated swallow, I waited for that moment when the fire sweeping through my veins would push me over the edge and into drunkenness.

  Anything to quiet the noise in my head, even if it was temporary.

  “Balthazar was right,” I slurred, my curt laugh full of frustrated bitterness. “I was a killer then, and I’m a killer, now. Good intentions mean nothing. There is no redemption for the truly lost and evil.”

  “Devlin.” Asher’s voice came through the door. “I know you asked for a few hours solitude, but you’re needed.”

  Needed?

  There were so many things wrong with that statement.

  “Whatever it is, take care of it, because you are shit out of luck,” I answered, and with everything I had, I threw the decanter at the door, the container shattering into pieces on contact. Standing there, drunk, my chest heaving in barely restrained anger, there was no way I was fit to help anybody.