Chapter 72
The preparations for Marcus's funeral ceremony enveloped the pack in a somber hush. Ancient traditions required three days of preparation before we could lay our Alpha to rest, and I found myself immersed in the rituals I'd studied since childhood but never expected to perform so soon.
I watched Raymond move through his father's quarters, his grief evident in the slump of his shoulders and the shadows beneath his eyes. Despite everything that had happened between us, I felt a complicated mixture of emotions—anger at his betrayal mingled with pity for his manipulation.
"These were my father's favorite ceremonial items," Raymond said, his voice hollow as he handed me a wooden box containing silver ritual objects. "He always said you understood the old ways better than anyone."
Our fingers briefly touched during the exchange, and for a moment, I saw confusion flicker across his face—the sensation of our severed mate bond still new to both of us.
"I'll make sure they're prepared properly," I promised, taking the box with reverence.
The ancient silver pieces inside needed to be polished with sacred oils, a task traditionally performed by the Luna. Each item carried centuries of pack history—the ceremonial chalice used for the farewell blessing, the silver dagger that would symbolically cut Marcus's ties to earthly concerns, and the intricately crafted medallion that would be buried with him.
I settled by the window, sunlight streaming across my lap as I began the methodical work of preparing these treasures. The familiar ritual brought unexpected comfort, connecting me to generations of Lunas who had performed this same duty throughout our pack's history.
After Raymond left, I began arranging the items as tradition dictated. A leather-bound journal fell from beneath the ceremonial cloth, landing open on the floor. I recognized Marcus's precise handwriting immediately.
I hesitated only briefly before reading the first visible entry:
"My symptoms worsen each day. This is no natural decline. I've documented the pattern—greater weakness after morning tea. R. dismisses my concerns, G's influence growing stronger..."
The door opened quietly, and Kane slipped in, his movements fluid and silent as always. He settled beside me, shoulder touching mine as we read Marcus's suspicions together.
"He knew," I whispered, turning pages documenting Marcus's declining health. "He knew he was being poisoned."
My finger stopped on a particular entry: "G's new maid brings tea each morning. Began feeling worse after she arrived. Lydia, I believe. Must investigate discretely."
Kane's jaw tightened, his protective instincts visibly surging as the realization hit us both—I had almost suffered the same fate with the poisoned chocolates and tea.
"Aurora," he said softly, his eyes meeting mine with an intensity that made my heart race, "she would have done the same to you."
The vulnerability in his voice caught me off guard. Kane—always confident, always in control—sounded genuinely afraid.
"We need to find this maid," I replied, squeezing his hand briefly. "She might be our key to exposing Giana."
"I'll have my contacts start looking," Kane promised, his fingers lingering against mine longer than necessary. "But we need to be careful. If Giana suspects we're investigating..."
He didn't need to finish the thought. We both knew what Giana was capable of.
The journal contained other disturbing entries—Marcus documenting Giana's growing influence over Raymond, noting subtle changes in his son's behavior patterns, and expressing concern about territory negotiations with neighboring packs. With each page, the picture became clearer: Marcus had been systematically gathering evidence against Giana before his death.
"He was building a case," Kane observed, his voice low. "Documenting everything so he could eventually confront Raymond with irrefutable proof."
"But he ran out of time," I added softly, the weight of Marcus's failed attempt to save his son from Giana's manipulation settling heavily between us.
Over the next days, as funeral preparations continued, I began discreetly tracking down information about Lydia. Meanwhile, I observed Raymond with growing concern. When Giana wasn't present, rare moments of clarity seemed to break through his fog—genuine grief allowing glimpses of his true self.
"He's changed," one of the elder council members whispered to me during a preparation ritual. "The Alpha I knew would never have approved these border adjustments or security realignments."
I nodded noncommittally, unwilling to voice my suspicions openly, but the observation confirmed what I had already noticed—Raymond's decisions increasingly served Giana's interests rather than the pack's.
The traditional viewing ceremony was held on the second evening, with pack members filing past Marcus's body to pay their respects. I stood beside Raymond as protocol required, though Giana hovered nearby, her expression perfectly calibrated to display appropriate grief while her eyes remained cold and watchful.
When Raymond stepped away briefly to speak with an elder, Giana moved closer to me, her voice honeyed but threatening.
"Don't think his grief will make him vulnerable to your influence," she warned, her smile never faltering though her eyes hardened. "Raymond knows where his future lies—and it's not with a Luna whose mark is fading."
Her gaze flicked to the silver crescent on my neck, a flash of something like fear crossing her features before she masked it.
During a quiet moment in the memorial garden, Kane found me contemplating Marcus's favorite roses.
"I didn't expect to find you here," he said, settling beside me on the stone bench.
"I needed some air," I admitted. "Being around so much grief is..." I trailed off, unable to articulate the weight pressing on my chest.
Kane was silent for a long moment, his usual easy confidence replaced by something more contemplative. "I'm struggling," he finally admitted, the words clearly difficult for him. "I can't think clearly when you're in danger, and I can't stand the thought of what could happen if Giana realizes how close we're getting to the truth."
The candid confession stunned me. Kane had always kept his emotions carefully guarded, hiding vulnerability behind flirtation and charm.
"The silver crescent grows stronger every day," I said, touching the mark that now shimmered visibly on my neck. "But I'm still technically bound to Raymond."
"Does that bother you?" he asked, something vulnerable flickering in his eyes.
The question deserved honest consideration. Did it bother me? Not in the way he might fear—not because I longed for Raymond or missed what we'd had.
What bothered me was the uncertainty, the in-between state of belonging nowhere and to no one officially, while my heart increasingly pulled me toward Kane.
Before I could answer, Elena approached, her expression grave despite her perfect composure.
"Marcus changed his will just days before his death," she revealed, settling on my other side. "He saw the silver crescent beginning to form on your neck. He knew the Goddess was correcting what should never have been."
Her words hung between us as Kane and I exchanged glances, the unspoken connection between us growing stronger with each passing day.
"Did he say anything more about it?" I asked, hope mingling with uncertainty.
Elena's smile held both sadness and warmth. "He believed the Goddess had chosen to intervene directly. Such occurrences are rare—mentioned only in our oldest texts. He took it as confirmation that the path forward would require extraordinary courage."
Later, I found Raymond alone in the council chamber, staring at his father's empty chair.
"Your father was a great Alpha," I said softly.
Raymond looked up, momentary vulnerability crossing his features. "My father always trusted you more than me," he admitted, years of insecurity briefly visible. "Perhaps he was right to do so."
The rare moment of honesty caught me off guard, revealing the complex layers of our shared history beneath the betrayal and pain.
"He loved you," I said gently. "Everything he did was to protect you and the pack."
Raymond's expression clouded. "Including keeping secrets? I found his private journals. He was investigating Giana, wasn't he?"
My heart raced at this unexpected opening. "What did you find?"
"Pages torn out. Information missing." His eyes met mine, confusion and something like fear shimmering in their depths. "Why would someone take them if there wasn't something to hide?"
Before I could respond, the door opened, and Giana entered, her perfect timing as suspicious as always. Raymond's momentary clarity vanished, replaced by the familiar glazed expression as she touched his arm possessively.
As I left, I caught sight of Giana watching, her seemingly innocent expression unable to mask the calculation in her eyes. In that moment, I silently renewed my vow to uncover the truth—not just for my own sake, but for Marcus's memory and for the glimpses of the real Raymond I occasionally still saw fighting to break free.
The silver crescent warmed against my skin, a reminder that whatever path lay ahead, I would no longer walk it alone. Kane and I were connected now—by investigation, by purpose, and by something deeper that neither of us had expected to find amidst so much deception and loss.
