Chapter 19: Impossible Choice

Dawn broke with an unforgiving speed. I had spent the night in Niklas’s arms, sleep a forgotten luxury, both of us clinging to the illusion that morning might never arrive. But it did. It always did.

"Elif," Niklas's voice was a gentle murmur. "We need to talk."

"There's nothing to discuss. I refuse to kill you."

"Then your mother dies."

"Then she dies."

He drew back, his storm-gray eyes clouded with an emotion I couldn't decipher. "You don't mean that."

"I mean every word," I insisted, my hand finding his face. "You are the only thing in this world that matters to me. The only thing that has ever truly mattered."

"What about your father? His bones? His memory?"

"He is dead. You are alive." I pressed my forehead against his. "I won't trade you for anyone. Not even her."

Niklas remained silent for a long moment, a contemplative stillness settling between us. Then, a slow smile spread across his lips.

"You're incredible," he said, his gaze softening.

"I'm selfish."

"You're honest." He sealed my lips with a kiss. "Now, let's go save your mother."

The Council chamber was a tableau of power, thirteen thrones occupied by thirteen Council members. In the center of the room, my mother knelt, her hands bound, her face bearing the marks of her ordeal. Yet, her eyes—my eyes—held a startling clarity.

"Elif," she said, her voice strained as she saw me. "Don't."

"I have to."

"No, you don't." She struggled against her bonds, her voice thick with despair. "I'm not worth this. I've never been worth anything."

"That's untrue."

"It is true." Tears traced paths down her bruised cheeks. "I was never truly your mother, Elif. I was merely the woman who raised you. The woman who failed you."

"You are the only mother I have."

"And I don't deserve that title." Her gaze shifted to Niklas. "Kill me. Save her. Please."

Niklas offered no reply.

An ancient man on the central throne clapped his hands, the sound sharp and decisive. "Enough sentiment. The half-blood has a choice to make: kill the pureblood, or watch this woman die."

He gestured to the guards, who promptly drew their knives.

My gaze met Niklas's. He looked back, and in that silent exchange, a plan was forged.

"Fine," I declared, my voice ringing with a newfound resolve. "I'll do it."

The old man's white eyes gleamed with satisfaction. "Excellent."

"But not here. Not like this." I stepped forward, meeting his gaze. "If I am to kill him, I will do it properly. In the forest. Like a wolf."

"A duel?"

"A hunt." I held his stare. "He is a pureblood. I am a half-blood. Let us see who is truly stronger."

The old man let out a disbelieving laugh. "You believe me foolish? You think I haven't anticipated your intentions?"

"I am planning nothing. I am offering you a spectacle." I gestured to the assembled Council members. "You have waited centuries for this moment. A descendant of the First Wolf, facing a Vollbrecht. Do you not wish to witness the outcome?"

The old man fell silent, his expression unreadable. Then, a slow smile returned.

"Very well," he conceded. "A hunt. But should you attempt to flee, should you seek escape, your mother dies instantly."

"Understood."

He commanded the release of my mother's bonds. She stumbled to her feet, her eyes wide with disbelief.

"Elif," she whispered, "what are you doing?"

"Saving you," I whispered back, my hand finding hers. "Trust me."

The forest air was biting cold. Niklas and I stood facing each other in the clearing where we had first kissed. The snow lay pristine and undisturbed, the trees silent sentinels.

"Are you ready?" he asked, his voice hushed.

"No."

"Neither am I." He stepped closer, his gaze intense. "Elif, when the time comes—"

"Don't."

"When the time comes," he repeated, his words firm. "You need to be strong. You need to do what is right, not what is easy."

"What is right is saving you."

"What is right is saving everyone." He took my hands, his grip firm. "The Council has been poisoning the packs for centuries. If we do not stop them, they will continue to kill half-bloods, seize power, and destroy families."

"That is not my concern."

"It is now." He squeezed my fingers. "You are the descendant of the First Wolf. You are the only one who can awaken him. The only one who can stop them."

"I don't want to stop them. I want to run away with you."

"And then what? Spend the rest of our lives looking over our shoulders? Watching our children grow up in fear?"

I stared at him, the weight of his words crushing me. "You are asking me to let you die."

"I am asking you to fight." He released my hands. "Now, hit me."

"What?"

"Hit me. Make it look real."

"I can't—"

"Hit me, Elif."

I swung, my fist connecting with his jaw. His head snapped back, and blood spurted from his lip.

"Good," he rasped. "Again."

I hit him again. And again. And again. Each blow landed with more force, each bruise deepened, each drop of blood felt like a whispered prayer. I'm sorry, I thought with every impact. I'm so sorry.

"Now," Niklas said, his voice ragged. "Now, you kill me."

"I can't."

"You have to."

"I can't."

He grabbed my wrists, pulling me close, his forehead touching mine. "Listen to me," he commanded, his voice low. "You are not going to kill me. You are going to pretend to kill me. And then, when the Council comes to collect my body, you will attack."

"That's insane."

"It is the only way." He pressed something small and sharp into my hand – a knife. "This is coated with silver. It won't kill me, not if you avoid my heart, but it will appear to."

"Niklas—"

"Trust me." He kissed me, a tender, lingering farewell. "I have waited ten years to die in your arms. I can wait a little longer." He stepped back. "Now," he said, his voice firm, "do it."

I plunged the knife between his ribs. His blood, hot and wet and terribly wrong, sprayed across my hands. He gasped, his knees buckling.

"Niklas!"

"Scream," he whispered, his eyes locked on mine. "Scream as if I am dead."

I screamed. The sound ripped through the forest, a raw, animalistic cry of grief, rage, and profound loss. I screamed until my throat was raw, until my lungs burned, and then I screamed some more.

The Council arrived, drawn by the sound. The old man led them, his white eyes gleaming, his gray skin stretched taut over ancient bones.

"The half-blood has done it," he declared. "She has killed the pureblood."

He approached Niklas's still form. "Finally," he murmured. "After all these years, the Vollbrecht line is—"

Kianuk attacked. He erupted from nowhere, a massive wolf of brown and gold, his ancient eyes blazing. He slammed into the old man, sending him flying across the clearing.

"Run!" Kianuk roared.

The Council guards surged forward. Chaos erupted.

I ran to my mother, who stood at the edge of the clearing, her hands still bound, her eyes wide with terror.

"Elif—"

"Don't speak." I swiftly cut her bonds with Niklas's knife. "We need to go."

"Where?"

"Away from here." I grabbed her hand, pulling her into the dense forest. Behind us, the sounds of battle—howls, screams, the sickening thud of bodies—faded as we ran. I didn't look back. I couldn't. Niklas, I thought desperately. Please be okay. We ran until exhaustion claimed us.

We found refuge in a cave, the same one where Niklas had first taken me weeks ago. The pool, the shadows – all were achingly familiar. My mother collapsed against the cave wall, gasping for breath.

"I'm sorry," she choked out. "I'm sorry for everything."

"Stop apologizing."

"I locked you in the basement. I called you a monster. I sold you."

"I know." I sat beside her, taking her hand. "But you are still my mother."

"I don't deserve that."

"Probably not." I squeezed her hand. "But you are all I have left."

She stared at me, and then she wept. I held her as she sobbed—this woman who had raised me, failed me, and loved me in the only way she knew how.

"It's okay," I murmured, though the words felt hollow. "It's going to be okay."

Kianuk found us at midnight. He was in human form, but barely. His body was a canvas of wounds—deep gashes weeping blood, burns smoking in the frigid air. His face was pale, his eyes dim.

"Kianuk!" I rushed to him. "What happened?"

"The Council…" He slumped against the cave wall, his voice weak. "They are… too strong."

"Where is Niklas?"

"I don't know. The last time I saw him, he was fighting three of them."

"Three?"

"Council members. Not guards." Kianuk coughed, spraying blood. "They are not human, Elif. They are not even shifters. They are something else. Something old."

"Don't talk. Save your strength."

"No." He grasped my hand, his grip surprisingly strong. "Listen to me. There is something you must know."

"What?"

"The Shadow Wolf." He coughed again, more blood. "It is not a separate creature. It is… it is you."

"What?"

"Your reflection. Your darkness. The part of you that you have been suppressing." His eyes met mine. "The First Wolf's power is balanced by shadow. Light and dark. Good and evil. You cannot possess one without the other."

"Kianuk—"

"You must embrace it, Elif. Both parts. The wolf and the shadow. The half-blood and the pureblood. The whole." His grip loosened.

"Kianuk?"

He managed a faint smile. "You are going to save us all," he whispered. "I have seen it."

"Kianuk!"

His eyes closed, his hand falling limp. "No," I whispered, shaking him gently. "No." But he did not move. He did not breathe. He was gone.

I knelt beside his body, my hands slick with his blood, my heart shattered.

"Elif," my mother's voice was soft. "We need to go."

"Go where?"

"Away from here. Before they find us."

"I don't care if they find us."

"You should." She pulled me to my feet. "Kianuk died to save you. Do not let his death be in vain."

I looked at the old shifter's peaceful, serene face. The Shadow Wolf is your reflection. I didn't understand, not yet. But I would. I would.