Chapter 221
Skye’s POV
“Is this the man who shot at Alpha King Xavier?” I asked, staring at the bloodied figure on the ground.
Leon nodded, his expression unreadable.
No wonder I hadn’t seen Leon during the chaos at the venue. He’d been lurking outside, hunting down the would–be assassin. I studied the broken man at our feet, his limbs twisted at unnatural angles, face swollen beyond recognition.
After tossing the man down, Leon turned to Xavier. “I’ve done what you asked me to do. His voice was flat, devoid of
emotion.
Then he glanced at Ethan. “Book flights for this afternoon. We’re returning to Frostshadow.”
As they turned to leave, I called out, “Ethan, wait.”
My brother paused but didn’t immediately look at me. When he finally turned, I felt his expression had a bit of coldness to
- it. I couldn’t tell if he was still angry about my choices or just exhausted from everything that had happened.
“What is it?” he asked, his tone clipped.
“Please give my regards to Mom and Dad,” I said, suddenly feeling the weight of how much I missed home.
Ethan’s expression softened. He walked over and pulled me into a tight hug. “I will,” he promised, his voice warming. He
sighed against my hair. “Sometimes I get so angry with you. I wish you could stay my little sister forever–the one who actually listened to me.”
I laughed softly, blinking back unexpected tears. “Then you’d be bored. Who would you have to worry about?”
“True,” he admitted, squeezing me tighter before releasing me. “Take care of yourself, Skye. I mean it.”
“You too,” I whispered.
I watched as Ethan rejoined Leon, the two of them walking away without looking back. I felt a bit of gentle melancholy as I watched Leon’s retreating figure. Once, I’d believed he was my destiny. Now he was just another person walking out of my life.
The next day wasn’t any easier despite Thomas being in custody. The online battlefield grew increasingly volatile. Thomas’s followers organized protests demanding his release and calling for Xavier to step down. Videos of the confrontation had gone viral among the werewolf community, with edited clips painting Thomas as a victim of political persecution.
Garrett worked tirelessly to counter the misinformation, his fingers flying across his keyboard until it practically smoked. “These people are relentless,” he muttered, not looking up from his screen. “For every post I take down, ten more appear.”
Meanwhile, Xavier was in the hospital being treated for the wolf’s bane in his gunshot wound. Thankfully, it had only grazed his arm and wasn’t life–threatening, but the poison still required treatment.
It wasn’t until the third evening that we finally caught a break. We gathered at a small–town bar to decompress and celebrate the small victory of having survived another day.
“To staying alive,” Adrian sald, raising his glass.
“To justice,” Xavier added, clinking his glass against Adrian’s.
“To whatever comes next, I said, completing our toast.
The bar had a cozy atmosphere with dim lighting and wooden furnishings that smelled of polish and years of spilled drinks. A jukebox played old country songs in the corner, and a small stage stood empty at the far end of the room.
We occupied a large corner booth, nursing our drinks and finally allowing ourselves to relax. Alpha Morgan sat beside me, exchanging jokes with several other Alphas. Adrian’s arm rested casually on the back of the booth behind me, not quite touching but close enough that I could feel his warmth.
“I never thought I’d say this,” Morgan said, “but I’m actually glad we came to this election.”
“Even with all the chaos?” I asked.
She nodded. “Sometimes you need to fight to appreciate peace.”
Xavier noticed a piano tucked away in the corner of the bar. He set down his drink and stood up. “To show my appreciation for everything you’ve all done, I’d like to play something for you.”
He walked to the piano and settled onto the bench, flexing his fingers before placing them on the keys. The first notes floated through the air, soft and melancholic, silencing conversations throughout the bar.
Adrian leaned closer to me. “This is a song about the sea,” he explained quietly. “All wolves from coastal packs know it.”
I listened, letting the haunting melody wash over me. “It’s beautiful,” I whispered. “But so sad.”
“Not entirely,” Adrian said, his eyes reflecting the dim lights of the bar. “It’s about loss, yes, but also about hope.”
Without another word, Adrian stood and walked to the microphone near the small stage. As Xavier continued playing,
Adrian began to sing:
“No One’s Shore
She saw the lonely one prepare to go,
So she whispered prayers as twilight fell slow.
Till night arrived, she turned to hear
A mournful cry, so soft, so near.
A gentle woman, kind and fair,
With flowing dress and midnight hair,
Had come along with dusk’s descent,
Her silent heart in ashes spent.“,
The entire bar had falleni silent, all eyes on Adrian as he sang. Even the bartender had stopped wiping glasses to listen.
“She softly said with distant eyes,
‘Far away a shoreline lies.
A lonely man sails out at sea,
With wind and waves for company.
If he returns to land one day,
Please tell him what I could not say-
Your name, my name.”
I hadn’t expected Adrian to have such a beautiful singing voice. The song reminded me of when Ryder had sung for us during our camping trip, which now seemed like a lifetime ago. Back then, there had been no battles, no sacrifices. Life had been simpler.
“Far away, beyond the mist,
A beach exists, a sea once kissed.
The lonely one still rides the tide,
With longing winds that never died.
If you should see him dock once more,
Please tell him what he’s searching for-
Your name, my name is: ‘No One’s Shore.“”
As the last note faded, the bar erupted in applause. Adrian nodded in acknowledgment, a small smile playing on his lips as he returned to our table.
“That was incredible,” I told him as he slid back into the booth beside me.
“My mother taught me that song,” he said, a hint of sadness in his eyes. “She always said music speaks when words fail.”
We settled back into conversation, the mood lighter despite everything we’d been through. Xavier rejoined us, accepting compliments on his piano playing with gracious nods.
“To new beginnings,” Morgan proposed, raising her glass again.
We were just clinking glasses when a warrior from Xavier’s pack burst through the door, his face pale and his breathing
labored.
“Alpha King Xavier!” he called out, rushing to our table. “Thomas is dead! Thomas committed suicide in prison!‘
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