Chapter 40: The Reckoning

The tires hummed against the road, the steady rhythm doing nothing to quiet the chaos inside him.

Kalmin’s hands stayed clenched on the steering wheel. Not too tight—but tight enough that his knuckles stood pale against the leather. Every so often, he glanced sideways, as if he couldn’t help checking whether Nuri was still beside him.

She was.

Still and silent in the passenger seat, arms crossed over her chest, jaw set like carved stone. Her eyes didn’t move from the windshield. Her breathing was even. Too even. The kind of controlled calm that told him she was anything but.

She hadn’t spoken since they left the house.

And Kalmin hadn’t dared to break that silence.

He wanted to say something. Anything. That he didn’t trust Ellery with her. That maybe this was a bad idea. That she didn’t owe that bastard a second of her breath. But he also knew this wasn’t about Ellery.

This was about Peter. And it was about her.

He’d spent so long trying to protect her from the truth that he hadn’t stopped to consider what she’d do when it finally came crashing down.

Now he was watching it unfold—this cold, terrifying clarity that had taken root in her.

She wasn’t grieving anymore. She was hunting.

“We’re almost there,” he said finally, the words dry in his throat.

“I know.”

Two syllables. That was all. But they buzzed through the cab like a fuse burning toward detonation.

∞∞∞

The house sat at the edge of the northern ridge, surrounded by pine and fog and the quiet kind of wealth that didn’t need to brag. It was the sort of place built by legacy wolves who thought survival was a birthright. Thick stone walls. Heavy iron fixtures. Wide windows that never opened.

Kalmin had always hated this house.

It reeked of rot beneath the polish. Of old blood and secrets buried beneath finely aged wood and imported rugs.

He parked without comment, killing the engine with a click that felt far too loud.

“I’ll stay close,” he said, finally meeting her eyes. “But I’ll follow your lead.”

Nuri nodded once. “Good.”

They walked the stone path in silence. Each step forward churned in Kalmin’s gut. He felt Rian pushing at the edge of his skin, snarling beneath the surface. His wolf hated this. Hated Ellery. Hated what Kalmin had done to protect him.

But Kalmin had made his choice.

He’d taken the fall. He’d lied to his pack. He’d let them believe the blood was on his hands because he knew what would happen if they found out it was Ellery’s. Descendant or not, they would have torn him limb from limb.

And Kalmin—gods help him—had once considered Ellery his brother.

That was the hardest part. The shame wasn’t just about what he’d hidden.

It was about who he’d once trusted.

∞∞∞

Ellery opened the door before they could knock.

Of course he did.

He leaned against the frame like he owned the mountain they stood on, like opening the door was a favor he didn’t owe. His shirt hung open at the collar, sleeves rolled halfway to his elbows, barefoot despite the chill. He looked relaxed. Disarmed.

But his eyes were sharp, calculating, and they latched onto Nuri the moment they found her.

“Well,” he drawled, tone velvet and venom, “Now this is a surprise.”

Kalmin shifted instinctively to block the entryway, but Nuri brushed past him without hesitation, stepping forward until there was nothing but half a breath of space between her and Ellery.

She didn’t flinch when he looked her over. Didn’t lower her chin. Didn’t soften her posture. She met his arrogance with an unnerving stillness—like still water just before it boiled.

“To what do I owe the pleasure?” he asked, mouth curving into a grin too practiced to be sincere. “Did Kalmin finally trade you in for someone with a spine?”

“You remember Peter,” she said. It wasn’t a question.

Ellery’s smile didn’t falter. “The teenager?” he said. “The one with the awful jokes and wild hair? Hard to forget. Kid was a walking headache.”

Nuri didn’t move. “You lied to him.”

“I lie to a lot of people.”

“You told him someone needed help. Sent him back into the woods. Then you told the others he was fair game. A hunt.”

Ellery laughed—short, sharp. “And what? You came here to kill me?”

“No,” Nuri said. “If I wanted you dead, I’d have brought Tempest to the surface and let her tear out your throat before breakfast.”

Ellery tensed. “So?”

That one word unraveled something in Kalmin’s chest. His hands curled into fists at his sides, the tendons in his forearms straining with restraint. Rian growled low and deep, vibrating through his ribs.

“So?” Nuri repeated softly. “He was my best friend.”

“Then he should’ve known better than to trust wolves,” Ellery said, unbothered. “If he couldn’t handle the game, he shouldn’t have stepped onto the field.”

Kalmin lunged forward—but Nuri held out a hand without looking, and he stopped mid-stride. Her gaze hadn’t left Ellery’s.

“You didn’t just orchestrate his death,” she said. “You crafted it. You made it cruel.”

Ellery tilted his head, mock thoughtful. “I made Kalmin stronger. That boy’s death gave him something to stand on. A reputation. Fear, loyalty—it’s the same damn currency. I just gave him capital.”

“You didn’t give him anything,” Nuri said, her voice like ice cracking beneath pressure. “You buried him in guilt. You made him bleed for your sins.”

“And he bled well, didn’t he?” Ellery said, flashing Kalmin a glance. “They still follow you, don’t they? Still believe you’re capable of anything. That’s my legacy. That fear.”

“No,” Nuri said sharply, cutting through the moment. “That’s your rot.”

Ellery’s smile wavered.

“You think you made him strong, but you didn’t. You made him silent. You made him suffer. And you made me believe he was the reason my best friend died. I’ve carried that grief in my bones. In every breath. Every dream. I’ve hated him. I’ve hated myself. And you just—watched.”

She stepped forward again, slow and sure as she forced him to retreat over the threshold. Her presence grew heavier with each step, until Ellery wasn’t lounging anymore. He was standing upright. Still smiling—but with tension behind his teeth.

“I didn’t come here to cry,” Nuri said. “I didn’t come here to make you feel bad. I came to look you in the face.”

She leaned in, her voice a razor’s whisper.

“To make sure you see me. To burn myself into your memory so that when your empire of fear finally collapses—and it will—you’ll remember this moment. My voice. My name. My face.”

Ellery tried to speak, but nothing came out.

“I want you to lie awake wondering when the truth is going to find you,” she said. “I want you to feel the seconds ticking down until it does. I want you to be afraid of me.”

Kalmin saw it then—just for a breath. A flicker of it behind Ellery’s carefully constructed mask.

Fear.

Nuri turned on her heel and walked past Kalmin like the confrontation had already turned to ash and smoke in her wake.

Kalmin lingered just long enough to meet Ellery’s eyes.

And what he saw there this time wasn’t bravado. It wasn’t even hate. It was uncertainty.

“You so much as breathe her name again,” Kalmin said, voice low and dangerous, “and I’ll make sure you can’t speak another word for the rest of your life.”

Then he followed her out the door.

And this time, it wasn’t her walking away from him.

It was both of them walking toward justice.

∞∞∞

The ride back was silent.

Not tense, not strained—just silent. Like the calm after a battle where no one knows what side won. Kalmin kept his eyes on the road, every muscle coiled tight. The adrenaline from Ellery’s house had long since drained, leaving something heavier in its wake. Regret. Dread. And a quiet, aching fear.

She hadn’t said a word since they left.

And he didn’t know if that meant he was forgiven—or done.

When they pulled up to the house, Nuri got out before the engine had fully shut off. She moved fast, decisive, heading for the front door without glancing back.

Kalmin followed at a distance.

She didn’t slam the door behind her when she walked inside. She didn’t scream or cry or throw things. She just crossed the threshold, waited until he stepped in behind her—

Then, she turned and slapped him.

The crack of her palm across his face echoed through the entryway like a gunshot. Not hard enough to hurt—but hard enough to mean it.

Kalmin’s head snapped to the side, more from the shock than the impact. He blinked, slowly turning back to face her.

She was trembling, just a little. Not from weakness—but fury held on a tight leash.

“If you ever lie to me like that again,” she said, voice like broken glass wrapped in silk, “Tempest and I will rip your pretentious Alpha ass to shreds. Do you understand me?”

Kalmin didn’t speak. Didn’t move. Didn’t dare breathe.

Then her hand fisted in the front of his shirt and yanked him down—and she kissed him.

It wasn’t gentle. It wasn’t sweet.

It was violent.

Her mouth crashed into his like a weapon, like she meant to bruise him with her lips and tear him open with her teeth. She kissed him like she was angry to still love him—like she needed to punish him for it.

He stumbled back into the wall, and she followed, pressed him there, her body flush against his like she was trying to shove her fury straight through his skin. She kissed him deeper, devouring him, and he let her. Gods, he let her.

Kalmin’s hands hovered for a beat, like he wasn’t sure where to touch her. Then they found her hips, her spine, her hair—but not to control. Just to ground himself. Because he wasn’t in control anymore.

She was.

Her knee pushed between his legs, pressing up with deliberate pressure that made his breath catch in his throat. Her nails dug into his chest as she shoved his shirt up, mouth moving along his jaw like a warning.

She bit him. Hard enough to make him gasp.

“You’re mine, Kalmin,” she growled against his throat. “Still. Always.”

And then she kissed him again—brutal, possessive, claiming. Her fingers worked fast, dragging his shirt over his head and tossing it aside without looking. Her top hit the floor a heartbeat later, followed by her jeans, which she kicked off like they’d offended her.

Kalmin reached for her, but she slapped his hand away—not hard, just firm.

“I said mine,” she said. “You don’t get to lead.”

And gods help him, he didn’t want to.

Her hands were already on his belt, unbuckling it with practiced ease, then shoving his pants halfway down his thighs before she grabbed him. There was nothing shy in the way she touched him—she took, and he gave, helpless beneath the storm of her.

He groaned, breath ragged, as she shoved him back against the wall again and climbed up him, legs locking tight around his hips. She rolled her hips once, hard and slow, grinding against him with a fierce, demanding rhythm.

Kalmin’s head dropped back with a growl. “Nuri—”

“Don’t talk,” she hissed. “Just feel.”

And then she sank down onto him in one sharp, claiming movement that stole both their breaths.

Kalmin gasped—his hands flying to her thighs, her hips, trying to anchor himself—but she set the pace. Rough. Fast. Punishing.

Her body moved against his like a wave crashing against stone. Her rhythm was all hips and heat and dominance, riding him like she was trying to break something inside him and rebuild it in her name.

Every sound she made—every low, guttural moan, every curse muttered against his throat—was a brand seared into his spine.

Her nails raked down his chest, her mouth biting his shoulder, his collarbone, his jaw. She took him like a storm takes a forest—ruthless, wild, and unstoppable.

He thrust into her helplessly, desperately, trying to keep up, trying to match her rhythm—but she was always just ahead of him. Always driving.

When he was close—too close—he whispered, “Say it again. Say I’m yours.”

Nuri grabbed his face in both hands, breath hot against his lips.“You never stopped being mine,” she said, voice wrecked and glorious. “And you never will.”

She kissed him hard as she came, her body clenching around him, her moan a long, shaking sound that tore the air apart.

Kalmin followed her over the edge with a choked cry, his body going rigid against the wall as everything broke open inside him.

They slid to the floor in a tangled mess of limbs and sweat and breath, her body half draped over his, chest still heaving.

Kalmin wrapped his arms around her like a man drowning.

Tighter than he should have. Tighter than he deserved to.

And she let him. Not because she was weak. But because she was done running.

‘That’s more like it,’ Tempest purred in the back of her mind, voice smug and satisfied. ‘Next time, let me slap him too.’

Nuri didn’t smile.

But her breath hitched—just enough to be a laugh.