Chapter 58
DEREK
The car ride back to Silverclaw was silent. No music. No chatter from Joe. Just the low hum of the tires on pavement and the occasional crackle of the radio scanning for a signal we never let it settle on.
I stared out the window, watching the trees blur into shadowed green. Every turn of the tires felt heavier than the last.
I’d done it. Really done it. Pushed Elena away—maybe for good this time.
And for what?
A stupid map. A moment of doubt. A question I should have never asked.
I leaned back against the headrest, shutting my eyes. The treaty had been signed. Moonstone and Silverclaw were allied now, at least in name. Which meant I’d still have to deal with her pack.
But instead of Elena, I’d be dealing with Mason. Or worse, their father.
Neither of them could stand me. And I didn’t blame them.
I exhaled sharply and opened my eyes again. Aiden’s face flashed through my mind—his grin as he challenged me to a game of HORSE, his casual, easy confidence. The way he’d called me out, asked if I had a card.
I’d liked the kid. More than I should’ve. And now I’d never see him again, either.
That thought hit harder than I expected.
By the time the gates of Silverclaw appeared through the windshield, my jaw ached from clenching it too tightly.
“Almost home, Alpha,” Joe said from the front seat, breaking the silence.
“Yeah.” My voice was hoarse. “Thanks.”
As Silverclaw’s main gates came into view, I stared through the windshield, dread heavy in my chest. The estate’s lights were warm, inviting. Mockingly so.
I was empty. Bone-deep tired and strung tight with regret.
I’d never felt less welcome in my own home.
Inside, the stillness felt oppressive. Like the house knew something was broken.
I poured myself a drink before my coat hit the hook. Took it in one long swallow. Then another. The second didn’t burn quite as much.
The fire in the study had burned low, embers crackling softly in the hearth. I sat down in my usual chair, the scotch bottle within reach, and stared into the dying flames. The silence pressed in around me like a weight.
For a second, I considered smashing the glass against the hearthstone. Then thought better of it.
I drank instead.
CASSANDRA
The door creaked open and Derek stepped inside, the look on his face colder than the wind off the mountain. He didn’t slam it shut. Didn’t shout. Didn’t hurl anything across the room.
That would’ve been easier—would’ve meant there was still heat in him, still fire.
Instead, he moved like stone. Heavy. Deliberate. Like every breath cost him.
I stayed back at first, lingering in the hallway just out of sight. Watched him pour a drink with a hand that didn’t shake, which somehow made it worse.
He wasn’t angry. He wasn’t heartbroken. He was emptied. Hollowed out and left standing.
The first drink vanished in a few long gulps. The second followed soon after.
When I came back later, quiet as a whisper, I found him in the same spot. He hadn’t moved.
The whiskey had. The fire crackled softly in the hearth, casting golden shadows over the lines of his face. Lines that hadn’t been there a year ago. Maybe not even a month ago.
The summit was over. The reporters had stopped calling. The treaty had been signed, framed, and paraded through every major media outlet in the region. The war, at least on paper, was done.
But something had happened. Something he hadn’t shared.
I could see it in the way he didn’t blink.
My father’s voice echoed in my mind. Secure him. And soon.
I stepped into the room. Slow, measured. Letting the soft pad of my heels on the rug announce me.
“Derek?” My voice barely broke the silence.
He didn’t move.
I rounded the couch and saw him up close. And it hit me like a blow to the chest. The man who had once been so resolute, so sharp and impossible to shake—looked like a ghost of himself.
The muscles in his jaw were clenched tight, but not from anger. From restraint. His eyes, usually clear and stormy with purpose, were unfocused. Vacant.
I hesitated, then moved to the sideboard and poured another drink. He probably didn’t need it, but a controlled Derek didn’t suit my purposes. The bottle sloshed too loudly in the stillness.
“Here,” I said, kneeling slightly to offer it to him.
He took it without looking. Our fingers touched. No spark. No reaction. Just motion. Reflex.
So I sat down beside him. Close. Careful. Not touching. Not yet.
He stared straight ahead, like if he focused hard enough, he could unmake whatever memory was playing on a loop behind his eyes.
I waited a beat. Then another.
“I saw the press conference,” I offered gently. “You handled it well.”
Still nothing.
I pressed on. “And the summit. It’s done now. That has to be a relief, right?”
Nothing.
His lips parted slightly, like he might say something. But all he did was exhale.
I turned to face him more fully, angling my body toward his. Goddess, I needed him to remember me—remember the good times.
They seemed so far away. Those days when he still revered me. When the path before us seemed so simple and easy to walk.
“Remember that summer when you dislocated your shoulder diving off the cliffs outside Westhaven? You were so determined to prove you could swim farther than Jacob.”
Still no reaction.
I smiled faintly. “You barely made it halfway. Swore the water cheated.”
His mouth twitched. Barely. A ghost of something.
“I had to sneak into the infirmary just to bring you a decent blanket. You always hated hospital sheets.”
Silence.
I leaned in a little closer. “Or that winter when you dared me to climb the watchtower barefoot? And then got stuck trying to follow me?”
This time, his fingers tightened ever so slightly around the glass.
“We were so stupid,” I said, more softly now. “But you laughed so much back then. You used to be light, Derek. You used to breathe.”
He flinched—barely perceptible—but it was there. The faintest twitch of his temple.
“I would do anything to take away whatever this is,” I said, my voice dipping lower. I reached up, let my fingers graze along the edge of his jaw. “Whatever it is you’re carrying, you don’t have to do it alone.”
Still nothing. But he didn’t pull away.
Then, as if summoned from the depths, he murmured a single word.
“...Elena.”
Barely audible. Barely formed. But unmistakable.
And then he slumped back against the cushions, the drink slipping from his hand and spilling onto the rug, forgotten.
I stood quickly and stepped into the hallway. “Joe,” I called, my voice gentle but urgent. “Caroline. I need help getting Derek to bed.”
They appeared within seconds, and between the three of us, we got him off the couch and to the stairs. He was conscious, barely. Joe grunted with effort and annoyance, but didn’t ask questions.
When we reached his room, I turned to them both. “I’ve got it from here.”
Caroline hesitated. “You sure?”
I nodded. “He just needs sleep.”
They left, murmuring something about alerting the staff.
I closed the door.
Then turned back to the bed.
Derek was half-unconscious, one arm slung over his face, chest rising and falling in slow, unsteady breaths. His shirt was untucked, one sleeve rolled up, his boots still on.
I stood at the edge of the bed for a long moment, heart hammering, mind racing.
Then I crossed to the window, closed the curtains.
And went to work.
DEREK
Sunlight streamed through the slats of the curtains.
My head throbbed.
I groaned, pressing a hand to my temple, the taste of scotch and something unnamable thick on my tongue.
Then I froze.
Someone was beside me.
Warm.
Soft.
Naked.
I turned my head slowly, dreading what I already knew.
Cassandra.
She was curled up against me, one arm thrown over my stomach, her dark hair tangled on the pillow. Her bare shoulder rose and fell with each breath, peaceful. Content.
My mouth, already dry from the booze, threatened to shrivel.
No. No, no, no.
What the hell did I do?
I tried to remember—any part of the night before—but everything blurred together. Scotch. Regret. Firelight.
Elena.
My stomach rolled.
Cassandra shifted beside me, murmuring something in her sleep. She didn’t wake.
But I was very, very awake.
And I knew I’d made a terrible mistake.
