Chapter 57: Trough Love and Revenge

Hecate POV

The letters were hidden in the folds of my robe, pressed against my stomach, warm from my body heat. Three sheets of parchment, each one sealed with black wax and the imprint of a crescent moon. Luna Nyra's personal seal. The symbol of the Midnight Pack's true power.

Finnick had not risked coming to Emberclaw just to see me. He had not braved the rogue forest and the border patrols and the ever present threat of discovery simply to hold me in a back room and remind me of summers long past.

He had come because Nyra had sent him. Because Nyra had words for me. Because Nyra's plans were always moving, always shifting, always reaching toward a future that only she could see.

I had not opened the letters yet. I was saving them for the privacy of my studio, for the quiet hours when the castle slept and no one watched. But I knew what they would say. Nyra was growing impatient.

The game had been running for months, and she wanted results. She wanted Maddox weakened, his court fractured, his alliances strained. She wanted the king vulnerable.

And I was her instrument.

Three years ago, when Samantha stumbled into the Midnight Pack half frozen and half dead, Nyra had taken her in. She had fed her, clothed her, taught her to control the magic that had erupted from her awakened wolf. She had given her a new name, a new face, a new purpose. She had made Hecate.

But nothing came without a price.

Nyra was not a woman who gave gifts out of kindness. She was a strategist, a schemer, a spider at the center of a vast and invisible web. She had helped Samantha because she saw potential.

She had trained her because she saw a weapon. She had sent her back to Emberclaw because she saw an opportunity to destabilize the king who held the Seven Packs together.

And I had agreed. Because I had wanted revenge. Because I had wanted Maddox to suffer the way I had suffered. Because I had wanted to watch him burn.

But I had not planned on falling into his bed. I had not planned on the bond reigniting like a wildfire in my chest. I had not planned on loving him again.

The thought curdled in my stomach as I walked through the village, the letters burning against my skin. Nyra would not be pleased. Nyra did not tolerate deviations from her plans. And if she discovered that Hecate's heart was no longer in the mission...

I shook the thought away and quickened my pace.

The castle loomed ahead, dark against the grey sky. I pulled my hood lower and slipped through the side gate, avoiding the main courtyard, keeping to the shadows. The corridors were quiet at this hour, the servants busy with evening chores, the guards focused on their posts. No one stopped me. No one questioned.

I reached my studio and closed the door behind me, leaning against the wood, my heart pounding.

The letters.

I pulled them from my robe and set them on the worktable, staring at the black wax seals. I should burn them. I should pretend they never arrived. I should cut all ties with Nyra and disappear into the night with Isaac and Tori and never look back.

But Nyra knew things. Nyra had power. Nyra had allies in every pack, spies in every court, magic that could reach across kingdoms. There was no hiding from her. There was only delaying the inevitable.

I broke the first seal.

The words swam before my eyes, Nyra's elegant script, sharp and precise. She wanted an update on Odette's condition. She wanted to know if the queen was truly healing or if the dark magic was merely dormant. She wanted details about Maddox's state of mind, about the stability of the kingdom, about the loyalty of the other alphas.

She wanted to know if I was still useful.

I set the letter down and reached for the second.

Before I could break the seal, the door flew open.

Maddox stood in the doorway, swaying slightly, his eyes bloodshot, his clothes rumpled. The scent of whiskey radiated from him, sharp and sour, filling the small studio. His golden eyes found mine, and I saw something in them I had never seen before.

Jealousy. Raw and burning and barely contained.

"You," he said, his voice slurred. "You."

I stepped back, my hand moving instinctively to hide the letters. "Maddox. You are drunk."

"Brilliant observation." He stumbled into the room, kicking the door closed behind him. "You should be a healer. Oh wait. You are."

"What is wrong with you?"

"What is wrong with me?" He laughed, a harsh, broken sound. "What is wrong with me is that I have been a fool. A blind, desperate fool."

He advanced toward me, and I retreated until my back hit the wall. He braced his hands on either side of my head, caging me in, his breath hot against my face.

"I saw you," he said. "In the village. With him."

My blood went cold. "What?"

"Do not play innocent with me, Hecate. I saw you." His eyes searched mine, wild and wounded. "The man. The embrace. The way you held him. The way you looked at him." His voice cracked. "Is he the one? The father of your son?"

I should have denied it. I should have told him he was seeing things, that the man was a stranger, that his jealousy was clouding his judgment. But the words stuck in my throat.

"You are drunk," I said instead. "You do not know what you saw."

"I know exactly what I saw." He slammed his palm against the wall beside my head, making me flinch. "I have been carrying roses through the streets like a lovesick boy, ready to tell you that I love you, that I would do anything for you, that I would burn down my own kingdom for the chance to be with you. And you were in someone else's arms."

My heart stopped. He had been coming to find me. With roses. To tell me he loved me.

"Maddox..."

"Who is he?" His voice broke. "Tell me his name. Tell me who he is."

I could not tell him the truth. I could not tell him that the man in the alley was Finnick, his enemy, the wolf he had banished and tortured. I could not tell him that Finnick was my ally now, my friend, the keeper of my secrets.

And I could not tell him that none of it mattered, that Finnick was not the man I wanted, that the only man I wanted was standing in front of me, drunk and jealous and breaking apart.

"You are imagining things," I said. "There was no man. There was no embrace. You were not yourself."

The lie tasted like ash on my tongue.

Maddox stared at me for a long moment, his chest heaving, his eyes burning. Then something in him snapped.

He kissed me.

It was not a gentle kiss. It was not tender or loving or sweet. It was angry and desperate and raw, his mouth crushing against mine, his hands fisting in my robes. He kissed me like he was trying to erase the image of another man's arms around me. He kissed me like he was claiming what he believed was his.

And I kissed him back.

Because I was angry too. Angry at Nyra for using me. Angry at Maddox for making me love him again. Angry at myself for lying, for hiding, for letting desire cloud my judgment.

We tore at each other's clothes, stumbling across the studio, knocking over jars and vials. He lifted me onto the worktable, scattering the letters to the floor, and I did not care. I did not care about Nyra's plans or Finnick's warnings or the secrets that threatened to destroy us both.

I only cared about him. About the heat of his body against mine. About the weight of his hands on my hips. About the way he said my name, my false name, with so much longing it almost broke me.

He took me with a fury that bordered on violence, and I met him with equal hunger. We fucked like we were trying to hurt each other, like we were trying to prove something, like the passion between us was a battlefield and we were both determined to win.

But underneath the anger, underneath the jealousy, underneath the lies, there was something else. Something softer. Something that trembled beneath the surface, waiting to break free.

When it was over, we lay tangled on the floor among the broken glass and scattered herbs. His arm was wrapped around my waist, his face buried in my hair. His breathing was ragged, uneven, and I felt the wetness of tears on my neck.

"I am sorry," he whispered. "I am so sorry."

I did not answer. I could not.

I closed my eyes and listened to the beating of his heart, and I wondered how much longer we could survive this. How much longer before the truth tore us apart.

The letters lay forgotten on the floor, their seals broken, their secrets waiting.