A bitter laugh escaped my throat, but I swallowed it. My fists clenched, nails digging into my palms.
The Alpha of the Silvermoon had abandoned his daughter’s final rite because Lyssa summoned him. I should have screamed, demanded he stay, but I was too broken.
I let him walk. As the last of the soil covered Nyra’s coffin, I swore to the Moon—I would never forgive him.
Lyssa had taken everything from me. She left Brexon once, choosing another male over him. When that male fell in battle, she came back, crawling for all he had—his power, his territory, his daughter, my life. And Brexon—blind, foolish, heartless—had let her.
***
I lingered until the Moon reached its zenith. The graveyard lay silent, the only sound the wind rustling through ghost-oaks. My legs ached, my body soaked and numb, yet I could not move.
Memories swarmed me, drowning me in what I had lost.
Brexon.
He used to be a loving mate, even with the curse of leadership weighing on his shoulders. I remembered the night rogues kidnapped me. The rough ropes biting into my wrists. The snarls and laughter of wolves who thought they could use me to break an Alpha.
Then—howls. Snapping bones. Screams.
And Brexon.