The Weight Of Victory

The forest was still thick with the scent of blood and scorched earth, the aftermath of the battle lingering in the air like smoke. The rogue Alpha's body lay crumpled beneath the trees, his transformation frozen mid-shift. Patches of black fur were still visible beneath torn flesh, his snarling muzzle slack now in death. Ronan was gone—his twisted magic extinguished—but the victory felt hollow.

Diva stood over his lifeless body, chest heaving with exhaustion. Her claws were still out, her wolf pacing beneath her skin, restless and protective. Not for herself. For him.

For Derek.

She turned to where he stood, only to catch him stumbling, his body swaying like a toppled tree before he crashed hard to the earth.

"Derek!" she barked, instincts flaring. She dropped to her knees beside him, her hands instantly pressing against the open wound on his side.

Blood. So much blood. Hot and fresh, it gushed past her fingers as if her touch had loosened a dam.

His face was pale now, the strength he'd shown during the battle fading fast. His mouth opened to speak, but only a low groan escaped.

"Stay with me," Diva growled, her voice breaking. She looked around frantically, throwing her head back and letting out a commanding howl, her call echoing through the trees. It was the voice of an Alpha in crisis.

The wolves of his guard would hear. They would come.

But time was short.

"Damn it, you're losing too much," she muttered, pressing harder. Her hands were soaked now, crimson staining her fingers, running down her arms. The smell of it clawed at her nose, made her wolf anxious.

Derek's eyes fluttered open, barely. He looked up at her, confusion etched in his features, pain dancing in his gaze. "Diva... I—"

"Don't talk. Conserve your strength."

He gave a faint smile, weak and fleeting. "You care."

She froze for half a breath, her stomach clenching. Did she? Or was it just the aftermath of battle, the fading bond messing with her head?

The bond.

It had snapped earlier—she had felt it like the tearing of muscle, invisible but sharp. Something had left her. Something sacred and false all at once. The connection Ronan forged with his blood magic had vanished with his final breath. And with it, something inside her had grown quiet.

But she couldn’t think about that now.

Rustling behind her signaled the arrival of her guards. Two wolves emerged from the treeline, shifting mid-stride. Malik, her second, was the first to reach her side.

"Alpha!"

"Help me carry him," she ordered. "We need to get back. Now."

Malik nodded. The other wolf, a hulking brute named Bram, knelt beside them. Together, they lifted Derek with care. Diva kept pressure on the wound as they moved, her claws retracting as her human form took full hold.

The mansion wasn't far, but every second felt like a year.

Derek drifted in and out of consciousness along the way. Once, he murmured her name again, and her throat tightened. She wanted to ignore the way it made her heart twist.

She couldn’t afford to feel right now.

---

The mansion’s infirmary was dim and quiet, lit only by flickering lanterns. They placed Derek on the long wooden table that served as an emergency bed. Diva barked orders to the healers, but none of them had what she needed.

"This isn’t a normal wound," she snapped. "It was silver. It’s trying to poison him from the inside out."

She didn’t wait for their response. She knew what she had to do.

She turned and rushed into the herbal vault.

The shelves in the room was stacked with dried roots, powders, rare leaves from deep woods where no wolf dared tread. She moved with speed and certainty, grabbing only what she needed.

Wolfsbane root.

Moonvine petals.

Ash bark.

And her own blood.

She sliced a shallow line across her palm, the crimson welling up instantly. She mixed the ingredients with the blood in a small bowl, grinding them with a mortar until it turned into a thick, pungent paste. A smell like charred earth and crushed lightning filled the air.

She brought it back to the infirmary.

"Out. All of you."

The healers hesitated.

"Now!"

They obeyed.

She knelt beside Derek again. He was pale as moonlight now, sweat slicking his forehead, his breath ragged.

"This will burn," she whispered, more to herself than to him.

She smeared the paste directly over his wound. The reaction was immediate.

Derek arched violently, a feral growl escaping his throat. His claws extended, digging into the wood beneath him.

His body shimmered with light—faint and golden—as if something ancient stirred within him. The paste sizzled on his flesh, then faded to nothing, absorbed fully.

He fell back with a heavy exhale, unconscious again.

Diva sat there, trembling slightly. She had never used the ancestral healing paste before. It was said to be dangerous—sacred magic. The kind only Alphas could wield.

But she wasn’t thinking about tradition.

She was trying to save a wolf.

She brushed damp hair from his forehead, her fingers hesitating for just a second longer than needed. Her wolf stirred in her chest, uncertain. The false bond was gone, and she now has the freedom she always wished for but fir some reason, she was still drawn to him

Was this real? Or just guilt?

---

Hours passed.

Derek finally stirred, his breathing evening out, his color returning. The wound had closed, though the scar remained. He blinked up at her, dazed.

"You’re still here," he said, voice rough.

"You sound surprised."

"I thought… I thought you'd leave."

She didn’t answer.

He tried to sit up, winced. She steadied him with a hand on his shoulder.

"Don’t push it," she said.

He nodded. Then, after a long pause, he added, "Thank you."

Their eyes met. The silence between them was full of things unsaid. The bond was gone—and they both felt the absence like a ghost. Whatever had tethered their wolves was no longer there.

And yet…

"Get some rest," she said quickly, breaking eye contact. "I’ll have someone check on you."

She turned to go.

"Diva."

She paused.

"Why did you fight so hard for me? Even after all I have done to you?"

She looked back at him, expression unreadable. "I don’t know."

And she meant it.

She walked out before he could say more.

---

Later that night, the guards returned to Ronan’s body. They wrapped it in enchanted cloth, bound his limbs with iron, and carried him through the woods. A pyre was already prepared. They laid the rogue Alpha upon it and waited.

But they would not light it until Diva gave the command.

And Diva?

She stood alone on the mansion balcony, watching the moon. Her heart was quiet. Her wolf restless.

She had won. But at what cost?

Behind her, Derek rested.

Alive.

But the bond that tied them was broken. And what would come next—whether love, or silence, or distance—was a mystery neither of them could solve.

Not yet.

She exhaled slowly, the night air filling her lungs.

The war was over.

But the story was just beginning.