His thoughts were with Erin.
He had to know how to fix the situation with the Moon Goddess.
A goddess could not walk among men.
He had kept the truth buried for twenty years.
Even from Erin herself.
She believed she was cursed and wolf-less.
She had no idea that what lived inside her was too much divinity.
Kyllian had protected that secret.
If their enemies found out Erin carried the spirit of the moon goddess, they would all be done for.
*****
One week later, after the king of Blood City was buried in Silver City, Kyllian returned home.
The funeral had been a solemn, bitter affair.
Evander had been laid to rest beneath the royal crypt beside the rulers of Blood City who came before him.
Damien had attended the burial like a ghost wearing a man’s body.
He had stood at the head of the tomb, his face empty.
Kyllian had watched him lower one hand to Evander’s coffin and remain that way for a long time.
A father burying a son.
Erin had returned to the werewolf capital earlier but Kyllian had stayed behind to give his final respects to Evander.
After much arguing, Evander’s wife, Celestia Dragos, was named regent until Magnus returned.
No one knew when that would be.
If the sorcerer had any sense—which was debatable—he would realise that a throne could not remain empty for too long.
Back in the werewolf capital, Queen Mabel had organised a celebratory feast for the returning soldiers.
The kingdom needed it.
The people needed something bright enough to stand against the names carved into the dead.
News had travelled quickly about Garrick’s prowess on the battlefield.
By the time the feast arrived, everyone had heard some version of the story.
Garrick took command after the commander fell.
Garrick rallied the men.
Garrick cut through dragonian soldiers.
Garrick held the ridge until Evander’s final strike turned the battle.
With every retelling, he became larger.
All eyes were on him and that was the problem.
Erin could not get even a moment alone with him.
Whenever she tried to approach, someone intercepted him.
On the day of the feast, Erin dressed in a champagne-coloured mini dress with a sequined finish.
Her hair fell in loose waves around her shoulders.
Carys nearly cried when she saw her.
“My lady, you look breathtaking.”
Lyra, naturally, looked like she had stepped out of a royal magazine.
She wore a red satin off-shoulder maxi dress.
Even dressed for celebration, she looked like she had a blade beneath the fabric.
The sisters arrived at the arena hall behind the king and queen.
Long tables curved around the dance floor, heavy with food, wine, roasted meats, fruit, and desserts.
As the royal family entered, the soldiers bowed.
Some came alone.
Others had brought mates, female friends, lovers.
The mood was warm, loud, emotional.
Kyllian gave a speech.
He honoured the dead.
Praised the living.
Thanked Blood City.
Spoke Evander’s name with a heaviness that quieted the entire hall.
Then, he lifted his cup and commanded them to celebrate those who had returned.
The party began.
Music filled the arena hall.
People danced.
Wine flowed.
Plates emptied and refilled.
Soldiers who had seen hell laughed.
Erin smiled when expected, clapped when required, accepted compliments she barely heard.
Her eyes kept searching for Garrick.
He was near the soldiers’ table, surrounded again.
Soaking in praise.
She waited and waited.
Finally, when the crowd shifted and he stepped away from the table, Erin seized her chance.
She crossed the hall, caught his arm, and dragged him through a side corridor.
“Erin—”
“Garrick! What the hell?! I have been trying to get a hold of you. I even sent Carys over to tell you to meet me!” Erin said.
“I was busy,” Garrick said.
“You know I would have come if I could.”
Erin stared at him.
She had imagined this moment differently.
She had imagined him pulling her into his arms, holding her so tightly.
At least, a kiss that said he had missed her as badly as she had missed him.
Instead, Garrick stood in front of her with one hand on the bathroom door, his eyes flicking toward the hallway as if the feast mattered more than the woman who had spent days wondering whether he was lying dead under dragonian ash.
“I’m glad you’re fine,” she said.
“Yeah. Me too. We need to get back out there,” he said.
“I need to talk to you,” she said.
“Erin—”
“No. You have avoided me since you returned. You have to listen to me now.”
“I have not avoided you. I have been busy.”
Erin drew in a breath and forced herself to stay calm.
“I spoke with Prince Magnus before you left for the war… we were supposed to have the severance done when it was over. But he isn’t around now. I really don’t think it’s a great time, considering he is mourning the loss of his brother.” Erin, selfish as she sometimes was, could not walk into the middle of that and demand Magnus cut away the last sacred thing tying them together.
Not yet.
“Can we put a hold on telling my parents about us?” she asked.
“Maybe for a few more weeks?”
“Of course. Of course… no problem.”
Erin’s brows drew together.
No problem?
“You agreed to that way too quickly,” she said.
Garrick gave a short laugh.
“What do you want me to say?”
“I want you to care.”
“I do care. Listen, can we talk later? We really have to get back out there. Besides, what if someone comes in and sees both of us in a bathroom alone?”
She almost laughed.
After everything—sneaking into barracks rooms, bedroom windows, years of secrets—this was the moment Garrick had decided to become a man of caution?
But he was right.
Someone could walk in.
“Yeah,” Erin said at last.
“You’re right.”