Part Eight: It’s All My Fault
Sloane walked back to the throne room, his feet dragging against the floor, his posture heavy and defeated. It was as though he carried the weight of an
entire world on his shoulders.
Collins stood by the doorway, watching Sloane approach. His eyes were dark and heavy, mirroring Sloane’s despair. They shared the silence for a moment before Collins spoke, his voice low and cautious.
“She is the one, Alpha. We’ve gone over it time and again. The markings, the fur–it all matches,” he said, almost reluctantly. Sloane met Collins‘ gaze, his eyes vacant and lost, his lips parting slightly as if to respond, but no words. came. He could only look on, his stare unfocused, as the realisation pressed down on him like a lead weight.
Collins sighed, glancing down briefly before adding, “The remaining soldiers have returned. They found the missing head, along with a tooth and traces of fur from the white wolf. All evidence points to the rogues. Soon we’ll get to the root of it all, find those responsible, and ensure they pay.”
But Sloane shook his head, his voice barely a whisper. “Getting to the root of it changes nothing,” he said, each word a struggle. “She’s gone. Nothing can bring her back.” He turned to Collins, grasping his hands, his grip almost frantic. “Why her, Collins? Why Seline? Why did they kill her?”
Collins hesitated, taken aback by Sloane’s desperation. He struggled for words, his own sorrow reflected in his eyes. “Alpha, the rogues seek out those who are closest to the pack’s heart. They strike at the most important people to weaken us from within. Luna Seline was the perfect way to wound your deeply. To hurt us all.”
Sloane stilled, a look of bitter understanding dawning on his face. “Was that it?” he asked slowly, almost to himself. “They went after her because she was my Luna? Was her only crime being with me? Were they… trying to hurt me through her?” His voice cracked, as he came to a terrifying realisation. “Then I’m the cause of her death?”
At that, I couldn’t help but respond. “Yes, Sloane,” I said softly, though he couldn’t hear me. “Your carelessness, your ignorance–it killed me. You chose Vera over me. You chose to look away.”
Collins tried to stop the spiral of self–blame. “Alpha, you don’t need to blame yourself,” he said gently. “These rogues… they’re ruthless killers. They
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leave destruction everywhere they go. This wasn’t your doing, Sloane.”
But Sloane’s gaze was distant, fixated on some inner darkness. “Perhaps, but she always had secrets, didn’t she?” he muttered, more to himself than to Collins. “Always making deals, hiding things from me… maybe she got herself tangled with these rogues. Maybe that was why they went after her.” His voice hardened as he clung to this line of reasoning, using it as a lifeline to escape the guilt clawing at him.
Collins looked at him sharply, alarmed by Sloane’s accusation. “Alpha, think carefully. She was your Luna, your mate. Whatever you think you know about her, you can’t simply condemn her now,” he said, trying to rein in Sloane’s suspicions.
But Sloane scoffed, his voice cold. “Collins, you only know part of her. I know what she was capable of. I won’t overlook any possibility until I know the full truth.”
As he approached his quarters, Sloane paused, spotting Vera lingering near the entrance of the throne room. She stood with her hands clasped in front of her, a faint smile on her face that seemed out of place against the backdrop of sorrow. She met his gaze, a flicker of something unreadable in her
eyes.
“Sloane,” she said softly, her voice lilting. “I just wanted to say goodbye. I’ll be leaving the pack soon.”
Sloane’s brow furrowed, and he tried to mask the relief that surged through him. He had hoped her presence would offer some distraction, help him forget the image of my charred body lying lifeless in the morgue. “Leaving? So soon?” he asked, feigning disappointment.
Vera’s smile was small, her expression carefully neutral. “I think it’s time. I only stayed to support you, but I can see you have everything in order here. Your pack soldiers are diligent.”
They moved together toward his chambers, and Vera looked around casually, finally breaking the silence. “So, what kept you in the throne room so long with the pack soldiers?” she asked, her voice smooth and nonchalant. “Is it about rogue attacks? I heard something about the wolves that were skinned and burned. Have they figured out who’s behind it?”
Sloane stared at her, suspicion stirring in his gut. Vera had never shown any interest in pack affairs before, especially not anything this grim or political. He narrowed his eyes, studying her. “Strange that you know so much,” he
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replied slowly. “The soldiers have been keeping the news from the pack, trying to avoid panic. How exactly did you find out?”
Vera’s expression faltered, a moment of fear flashing across her face before she caught herself, her smile returning, though it was more strained. “She fumbled for words, her hands twisting together nervously. “Oh… well, everyone’s talking about it, Sloane. Rumours spread, you know?” But her explanation lacked conviction, and Sloane’s expression darkened.
He watched her intently, his jaw tightening. For the first time, he questioned how much Vera knew and whether she had a role in the events that had unfolded. As he looked into her eyes, a chill washed over him. He sensed that she was hiding something, and in that moment, his grief gave way to something far darker.
Vera froze under his gaze, and a silence fell between them that was sharper than any words could have been.
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