Part Eleven: It’s Too Late
Sloane quickly became violent, his fury erupting in a way no one had anticipated. He threw his head back, yelling at the top of his lungs, his words. thick with denial and desperation. In a wild attempt to distance himself from the tragedy, he denied ever receiving any message from me. Every piece of evidence brought before him, he dismissed as lies. His accusations flew like. daggers, each denial a feeble shield against the truth pressing in on him.
by a f
One after another, the soldiers tried to calm him down, but he overpowered them all, his strength fueled need to escape reality. Everything within his reach became a weapon or a projectile. He hurled objects across the room–a chair, a tray, anything he could get his hands on. The room echoed with his rage, walls vibrating with the force of his breakdown.
Collins, watching in horror, realized Sloane was beyond reasoning. With a swift, practiced move, he grabbed Sloane’s arm, pulling him down with firm. force. Sloane struggled, his voice hoarse from screaming, but Collins held him firmly, forcing him down into a chair. With a nod to the other pack members, they bound Sloane’s hands, and a physician stepped forward, administering a mild sedative. Within moments, Sloane’s movements grew sluggish, his eyes drooping as his body slumped, and soon he was unconscious.
Hours later, as the gentle evening light filtered into the room, Sloane began to stir. He blinked against the dim glow, his surroundings unfamiliar, his mind foggy from both the drug and his earlier outburst. He tried to lift his head, but even this small effort left him weak, his mind still clouded and distant.
“Seline…” he murmured, his voice dry and cracking as he struggled to make sense of his surroundings. “Where are you? I’m so thirsty… I need a drink.” He glanced around as if expecting me to appear, his eyes wide with confusion and longing. Collins approached him carefully, hesitating as Sloane turned toward
him.
“Seline…” Sloane’s voice softened. “Is she… Is she just outside the room?”
Collins ran a hand through his hair, feeling the weight of the moment. He knew the truth would be too much for Sloane, yet he couldn’t lie outright.
“Seline just left a moment ago,” he replied gently. “She stopped by but was called away to attend to some Luna duties.” He tried to keep his tone calm, to soothe Sloane in his fragile state, hoping this small comfort might ease his fractured mind.
—
22:08 Thu, 13 Mar
But Sloane’s brow furrowed, his eyes growing sharper. “No… no, that can’t be,” he muttered. “Seline would never leave my side. She… she’s like a fly, always hovering nearby. Important duties or not, she’d be here.” His voice trembled as he spoke, each word heavy with doubt. Desperation surged. through him as he reached for the bond they’d shared, trying to call out to me through telepathy. But there was only silence. He could feel nothing.
Fear began to claw at him as he stumbled to his feet, heading toward the door. He pushed it open, his breath catching as he saw a covered figure lying on the table. His steps faltered, his heart pounding in his chest as he moved closer, his eyes wide with dread. He could barely make out the lifeless form beneath the cloth, but then he saw the tag hanging from the side, the unmistakable mark of identification the soldiers had placed there.
The realization hit him like a punch to the gut. “Seline, you….” he stammered, his voice barely above a whisper. The light seemed to drain from his face, leaving him looking pale and hollow, like a shadow of the man he had once been.
Collins placed a hand on Sloane’s shoulder, steadying him as tears began to spill down his face, unchecked and unrestrained. He wept openly, his sobs echoing through the room, a broken man stripped of all pretense and pride.
“Quick, call the pack physicians and the witch doctor,” Collins called out to the others, his voice tense. “The alpha needs help.” But even with their best efforts, no one was able to soothe Sloane.
“I am not worthy to be alive,” he cried, his voice cracking. “What use is my life now? I’m nothing but a killer… a murderer. Seline is dead, and it’s all my
fault.”
The soldiers and physicians could only stand by and watch, helpless in the face of his grief.
“Seline’s only crime was loving me,” Sloane continued, his voice choked with anguish. “She cared for me in a way I never deserved. Now I see it….. everything she did came from a place of love.”
He let out a strangled cry, his gaze drifting into the distance as he envisioned the life they might have had. “Our pups… the blessings the Moont Goddess gave us… all gone because of me. Seline, please… come back. I am dead without you. I’m a monster.” His words rang through the room, each confession cutting deeper into his own soul.
I sat silently in the corner, watching as he poured his heart out. He was
22.06
Part Eleven: It’s Too Late
Sloane quickly became violent, his fury erupting in a way no one had. anticipated. He threw his head back, yelling at the top of his lungs, his words. thick with denial and desperation. In a wild attempt to distance himself from the tragedy, he denied ever receiving any message from me. Every piece of evidence brought before him, he dismissed as lies. His accusations flew like daggers, each denial a feeble shield against the truth pressing in on him.
One after another, the soldiers tried to calm him down, but he overpowered them all, his strength fueled by a frantic need to escape reality. Everything. within his reach became a weapon or a projectile. He hurled objects across the room–a chair, a tray, anything he could get his hands on. The room echoed with his rage, walls vibrating with the force of his breakdown.
Collins, watching in horror, realized Sloane was beyond reasoning. With a swift, practiced move, he grabbed Sloane’s arm, pulling him down with firm. force. Sloane struggled, his voice hoarse from screaming, but Collins held him firmly, forcing him down into a chair. With a nod to the other pack members, they bound Sloane’s hands, and a physician stepped forward, administering a mild sedative. Within moments, Sloane’s movements grew sluggish, his eyes drooping as his body slumped, and soon he was unconscious.
Hours later, as the gentle evening light filtered into the room, Sloane began to stir. He blinked against the dim glow, his surroundings unfamiliar, his mind. foggy from both the drug and his earlier outburst. He tried to lift his head, but
even this small effort left him weak, his mind still clouded and distant.
“Seline…” he murmured, his voice dry and cracking as he struggled to make sense of his surroundings. “Where are you? I’m so thirsty… I need a drink.” He glanced around as if expecting me to appear, his eyes wide with confusion and longing. Collins approached him carefully, hesitating as Sloane turned toward him.
“Seline…” Sloane’s voice softened. “Is she… Is she just outside the room?”
Collins ran a hand through his hair, feeling the weight of the moment. He knew the truth would be too much for Sloane, yet he couldn’t lie outright.
“Seline just left a moment ago,” he replied gently. “She stopped by but was called away to attend to some Luna duties.” He tried to keep his tone calm, to soothe Sloane in his fragile state, hoping this small comfort might ease hist fractured mind.
The End Of An Era
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But Sloane’s brow furrowed, his eyes growing sharper. “No… no, that can’t be,” he muttered. “Seline would never leave my side. She… she’s like a fly. always hovering nearby. Important duties or not, she’d be here.” His voice trembled as he spoke, each word heavy with doubt. Desperation surged through him as he reached for the bond they’d shared, trying to call out to me through telepathy. But there was only silence. He could feel nothing.
Fear began to claw at him as he stumbled to his feet, heading toward the door. He pushed it open, his breath catching as he saw a covered figure lying on the table. His steps faltered, his heart pounding in his chest as he moved closer, his eyes wide with dread. He could barely make out the lifeless form beneath the cloth, but then he saw the tag hanging from the side, the unmistakable mark of identification the soldiers had placed there.
The realization hit him like a punch to the gut. “Seline, you….” he stammered, his voice barely above a whisper. The light seemed to drain from his face, leaving him looking pale and hollow, like a shadow of the man he had once been.
Collins placed a hand on Sloane’s shoulder, steadying him as tears began. to spill down his face, unchecked and unrestrained. He wept openly, his sobs. echoing through the room, a broken man stripped of all pretense and pride.
“Quick, call the pack physicians and the witch doctor,” Collins called out to the others, his voice tense. “The alpha needs help.” But even with their best. efforts, no one was able to soothe Sloane.
“I am not worthy to be alive,” he cried, his voice cracking. “What use is my life now? I’m nothing but a killer… a murderer. Seline is dead, and it’s all my fault.”
The soldiers and physicians could only stand by and watch, helpless in the face of his grief.
“Seline’s only crime was loving me,” Sloane continued, his voice choked with anguish. “She cared for me in a way I never deserved. Now I see it… everything she did came from a place of love.”
He let out a strangled cry, his gaze drifting into the distance as he envisioned the life they might have had. “Our pups… the blessings the Moon Goddess gave us… all gone because of me. Seline, please… come back. I am dead without you. I’m a monster.” His words rang through the room, each confession cutting deeper into his own soul.
I sat silently in the corner, watching as he poured his heart out. He was
Part Fleven it’s Too Late
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22:08 Thu, 13 Mar A EB.
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truly hurt, but I felt no pity for him. His tears fell like rain, and yet, even as he cried, I felt nothing. He was beyond my reach now, and I had no empathy left to give.
Finally, the pack physician and the witch doctor began murmuring incantations, their voices steady and soft. Sloane’s cries softened as their words lulled him into a deep, uneasy sleep. His breathing slowed, and his face grew peaceful, as if he’d found solace in his dreams.
As I looked at him lying there, a sense of finality settled over me. I had no remorse, no lingering attachment to this world. Not even his witch doctors could hold me back now. I was free.
“Not even you can save me,” Sloane whispered faintly, his words trailing off as his eyes drifted shut. “I have to make things right… I need to tell her how sorry I am…”
But I only laughed softly, my voice a faint echo in the stillness. “Oh, poor Sloane. It’s far too late for that. Your sorry means nothing to me now.”
