Chapter 6

Dryann sat back, staring at his husband’s mangled body as if the nightmare might still break, as if Dan might suddenly breathe again and smile at him. But the silence was heavy, absolute.

“Dan… c’mon, man. You can’t do this to me.”

Nothing. Just the echo of his own voice.

That was when reality hit him—Dan was really gone. His lifeless eyes stared back, and Dryann’s world collapsed.

His hand trembled as he picked up his phone. He dialed the only number he could bear to call.

“Dryann Flames,” came his uncle’s gruff voice. “You don’t call unless it’s important. Which hunting ground are you now?”

Dryann opened his mouth, but the words refused to come. He couldn’t shape them. Couldn’t believe them. His throat burned.

“Dryann? Are you okay?” His uncle’s tone shifted, worried now. “Talk to me, son—”

“Dan’s no more.” The words shattered out of him, breaking his voice. “He’s dead.”

Silence.

Finally, a low whisper: “Son… I’m so sorry. What happened?”

“A wolf happened. He was torn apart. They even pulled out his heart—oh, God.” His voice cracked, finally breaking into raw sobs. “What do I do?”

The phone slipped from his hand as a roar tore from his chest, filled with pain.

His uncle arrived not long after, four hunters at his back. The house was in chaos—blood on the floor, furniture overturned. He found Dryann in the weapon room, sitting in darkness across from the ravaged body. His hands bled from glass he had crushed without realizing.

The sight was horrific.

“Dryann,” his uncle whispered, kneeling beside him. A hand rested on his shoulder.

“Look…” Dryann rasped, his gaze locked on Dan. “See what they did. They pulled out his heart, Uncle. He doesn’t even have a face left.” His voice cracked as tears slid freely down his cheeks.

Dan had been his balance, his anchor. The only one who healed the hunter’s wounds inside him. His partner, his husband, his everything. 

“We will find who did this,” his uncle promised, firm.

Dryann’s eyes, bloodshot and terrifying, lifted. “I want heads rolling. I want their hearts pulled out like his.” His voice was low, deadly, pointing at the bloodied organ on the floor.

His uncle nodded, his tone grave. “Then you’ll have it. I swear it, son.”

When the men tried to lift Dan’s body, Dryann stopped them. His hands shook as he took the white sheet himself. He wrapped what was left of the man he loved, every fold like a knife cutting him open. Lifting him into his arms, he carried him out.

Outside, the heads of the hunter families had gathered, along with the Hunter Control Council. Men and women who had sworn the same oaths, who had once celebrated at his wedding, now stood in grief-stricken silence.

They followed him in a solemn line, a funeral procession toward the ancient hunter stronghold.

The pyre was waiting, set in the wide clearing at the center of the grand stone building. Dryann laid Dan gently down and stepped back. Ritual words rose in unison, echoing against the night.

 “The breath of flames and the fires of Dranaes,

we call on you for our fallen warrior.

Breathe and consume,

escort him to the haven of the hunters,

the solace of the flames.”

The fire caught. The flames rose, burning what was left of his husband away.

Dryann stood unmoving as faces around him blurred. Hands touched his shoulder, voices whispered comfort, but none of it reached him. One by one, they drifted away until he was alone. Alone with the flames, with his memories burning into ash.

When the fire dimmed, he gathered Dan’s ashes into a porcelain jug, pressing it to his chest. His tears returned, fierce and unrestrained, spilling down his face as he stumbled into his car. He screamed, pounding the steering wheel, breaking himself apart.

Dan was truly gone.

Driving through the night, grief blurred with rage. But a thought clawed at him through the haze: wolves didn’t kill like this. They didn’t tear out hearts unless something had provoked them—unless someone they loved had been killed wrongfully.

And Alpha Mason’s clan… they were bound by the ancient understanding. Hunters killed only rogues. Werewolves killed only in defense or in blood-feud. That pact had stood longer than Dryann had been alive.

So why Dan? Who wanted him dead?

The more he thought, the less the pieces fit.

And so, broken, haunted, he did not return home. He vanished into the night, swallowed by shadow and vengeance.

He swore he would find the truth. And he swore he would have blood.

Meanwhile, Maxton had learned more of his wolf from Amaretti in just a few days than in a lifetime of resisting it. The pain in his body, the agony he could never explain—was the wolf fighting to be free. If he didn’t accept it by the age of twenty-five, he would lose it forever… or worse, lose himself.

“But once you accept it, it will be easy as day,” Amaretti told him, her voice soft with reassurance.

Easy? Nothing felt easy. His life had been carved into chaos, and the fear of losing control gnawed at him.

When Mason finally returned, he looked ragged, worn down by grief and rage. Maxton felt an unexpected flicker of pity; he had seen the man’s memories, had tasted the truth of how deeply he had once loved Clara.

He opened the door for him nervously. “Hi.”

“Maxton…” Mason’s voice was rough, uncertain. “How are you holding up?”

“I’m holding onto the little sanity left in me,” Maxton muttered. “And if care’s not taken, I might run insane.”

Mason’s chest tightened at the words. He hadn’t expected his son to answer, much less open up. He reached for him, half afraid Maxton would recoil, but the boy stilled. Mason pulled him into a fierce hug, heart swelling—

Until Maxton’s voice cut him.

“You killed someone. Ripped them apart. How could you—?” His eyes were sharp, almost accusing.

“That was the man responsible for your mother’s death,” Mason countered immediately.

Disbelieving, Maxton shoved into his memories. Mason let him, savoring the contact even when he could perfectly block him.  Maxton jerked back, horrified. He saw the man who killed his mom.

“You could have handed him to the police!”

“The police can’t handle hunters,” Mason said grimly.

“Hunters?” Maxton blinked.

Amaretti had stepped closer, her voice steady. “Yes. Hunters killed your mother.”

From what Amaretti had taught him so far, he knew hunters don't kill humans.

Maxton was shocked  confusion warring in his chest. “But there’s an understanding. There always has been.”

Mason nodded. “There was. Until now. Your mother was human… and that broke the balance.”

He motioned for Maxton to sit, his voice turning heavy. He explained his fears, how dangerous it was now that hunters knew about him, about his lack of control.

“That’s why I want you to come with me. You’re my son. My heir. My blood. War is coming, Maxton. And if you don’t master your gift, it will destroy you.”

“It’s not a gift,” Maxton shot back bitterly. “It’s a curse.”

Mason leaned forward, eyes burning. “If you don’t know how to control it, then yes—it’s a curse. Your power is lethal, Maxton. It can kill.”

Maxton’s face drained of color. “Kill? You mean… I could kill someone?”

“Yes.” Mason’s answer was firm. “Come with me, and I’ll teach you. I’ll help you. You don’t have to face this alone.”

Maxton’s silence stretched, his chest heaving with fear, anger, and doubt. Finally, his voice broke through, quiet but sharp.

“No.”