Chapter Five: The Farewell

Nikita's POV

The air was chilly, a thin veil of mist wrapping around the forest clearing like a shroud. Today was the day we said our final goodbyes to Father. I stood before the mirror, adjusting my black dress, the fabric tight and suffocating around my frame. The dark stain of my curse peeked out from the hem of my gloves.

With a deep breath, I gathered myself. Today, I had to face them—not just my pack but others from neighbouring territories, each one curious or fearful of the Luna of Death. I exited my quarters, a dark spectre in the hauntingly silent corridor, and made my way to the clearing where Father's body awaited its final rest.

The clearing was bathed in the weak light of late afternoon, the sun barely piercing through the gathering clouds. As I emerged, the murmurs of the crowd ceased, and a hush fell over the assembly. The light of torches flickered around me, casting long, eerie shadows as the air grew thick with anticipation.

Father's body lay upon a grand wooden pyre, his face serene in a restful repose that belied the turbulent life he'd led. My steps felt heavy, each one a forceful reminder of the calamity that followed in my wake. The pack members and those from other territories parted like the Red Sea, leaving a clear path toward him. Their eyes widened with a mixture of fear and reluctant respect, each step accompanied by the faint rustle of shifting bodies.

As I reached the pyre, I turned to face the crowd. The silence was almost oppressive, as if nature itself held its breath. My voice, when it came, was steady and cold, a lifetime of restraint sharpening my words.

"Thank you all for coming to say goodbye to my beloved father and powerful leader." My gaze swept across the faces before me, each one unfamiliar and distant, until it locked with his.

A tall and imposing man stood at the edge of the clearing. His eyes bore into mine, a mixture of sorrow and curiosity. I knew instinctively who he was—Rykor, the son of the Alpha my father had killed. His presence here was a surprise, his gaze an enigma. For a fleeting moment, I wondered what kind of man he was. Did he seek revenge? Or was he here out of duty, out of some twisted respect?

The torch was handed to me, pulling my attention away from him. I looked down at the wooden staff, the flame dancing eagerly, ready to consume. My chest was heavy with unshed tears, but I forced myself to remain composed. Turning back to my father, I leaned in close, whispering softly, "Goodbye, Father. May you find peace."

With that, I dropped the torch. The flames leapt to life, engulfing the pyre in an instant. The heat was intense, the crackling of wood a grim symphony to my farewell. I watched as the fire climbed higher, consuming everything it touched. At that moment, I felt a strange sense of release, as if some part of me was burning away with him.

Without another word, I turned my back on the burning pyre and walked through the parted crowd. Each face blurred into the next, their expressions indiscernible in the dim light. My heart pounded in my chest, and my breath came in rapid bursts as if I had been running for miles.

He was still there, Rykor, watching me with those penetrating eyes. This time, I held his gaze, refusing to be the first to look away. As I passed him, our shoulders almost brushing, I felt a strange electric charge in the air between us. But I continued walking, not daring to let curiosity overshadow my resolve.

The crowd began to disperse, the murmurs growing louder, a hive of whispers and speculations. My guards flanked me as I made my way back to the mansion, their presence both a comfort and a reminder of my cursed existence.