[POV: Dominic]
I had rehearsed every word. Every gesture. Every micro-expression. Every sympathetic smile. Every carefully timed sigh. Every glance that would appear heavy with brotherly concern, with the weight of worry and love. I wore the part like a second skin—soft silk and sorrow, the perfect mask of familial devotion.
And now, as we crossed the threshold into Crimson Fang territory, I played it perfectly. "Such a long journey," I murmured, clutching my cloak closer as if the wind had teeth, as if I hadn't made this trip willingly, eagerly, counting down the days. "But what choice did we have? Family comes first. Always."
Evan rode silent beside me, his jaw clenched, his eyes distant, staring at nothing. As they had been for days. Ever since I'd convinced him this was necessary, that Atlas needed us, needed him.
Before us, my parents followed, Father regal and cold as winter stone, Mother all tight smiles and glittering lies. They played their parts well. We all did.
Draven's wolves met us with caution. Suspicion thickened the air from the moment we stepped through the main gate, hostile gazes tracking our every movement. The guards flanked us all the way to the Alpha's estate, their postures tense, hands never far from weapons, but I didn't falter.
I needed them to see me as calm. Measured. Unthreatening. The image of a concerned younger brother seeking only to bring his lost family member home, to reunite what had been torn apart.
The doors to the grand hall opened, and there he was. Alpha Draven. A towering presence with a stare sharp enough to cut granite, dangerous in a way that made lesser wolves submit. And beside him—Atlas.
My jaw clenched before I could stop it, anger flaring hot beneath my carefully constructed mask. He stood near him in a deep green tunic, his hair half-tied back, cheeks flushed from the cold. And worse—Draven touched him.
Lightly, yes. Casually, perhaps. A hand brushing his lower back, possessive and protective. But his hand. Atlas's back.
It was enough to set my blood boiling beneath my skin, to make me want to rip that hand away and remind everyone exactly who Atlas belonged to. Not here. Not to them.
He had the nerve to look surprised. Surprised to see us. As though he hadn't known this moment would come. As though he hadn't expected us to come find him like the disgrace he is, the burden he's always been.
"Dominic," he breathed, pale now, color draining from his face. "Father, Mother… Evan."
Mother stepped forward first, ever the picture of maternal concern, her performance flawless as always.
"Darling. Thank the Moon Goddess you're safe. We've worried for so long. So many sleepless nights."
Atlas blinked slowly, suspicion crossing his features. "Worried?"
"Oh, Atlas," I said sweetly, stepping between our parents and Evan, placing myself center stage. "Don't be like that. When we found out where you were—well, how could we not come? We're family. Blood comes first."
Draven didn't flinch, but his hand dropped from Atlas's back, and I felt a small surge of satisfaction at the loss of contact.
"Alpha Draven," Father said, extending a hand with practiced diplomacy. "Thank you for welcoming us into your home. We're honored to be guests in the Crimson Fang territory."
Draven nodded, his tone cool and measured. "We honor our alliances. No more, no less."
And that was it. The tension tightened like a noose around all our necks. Still, we followed him and Atlas into the grand dining room, a place lined with stone and silver, ancient banners hanging from the walls, thick fur rugs beneath our feet.
Servants filled glasses with wine and brought out meats I didn't recognize—venison, perhaps, or something more exotic. I sat across from Atlas and beside Evan, who wouldn't meet my gaze, wouldn't meet anyone's gaze.
Of course, I made a point of looking at Evan. Often. With practiced warmth, calculated affection.
"Evan," I said softly during the meal, my voice carrying just enough to be heard across the table, "remember that time you taught me to track snow lynx in the Northwood Ridge? You were so patient with me. So generous with your time."
Evan shifted uncomfortably, offering a stiff nod, his discomfort obvious. "Yeah."
"Oh, but you were," I continued, resting a hand lightly on his wrist, letting my fingers linger, "so attentive. I wouldn't have caught my first trail without you. You made me feel… capable."
Across the table, Atlas was frozen. His fork hovered over his plate, untouched, forgotten. His eyes met mine once—and I smiled, slow and deliberate. A reminder of everything he'd lost, everything I'd taken. But then Draven spoke, his voice cutting through the false pleasantries.
"I'm told you've come to bring him back," he said, voice like frost, like a blade unsheathed.
Mother smiled, all innocence and maternal love. "We only wish to talk. To remind him of where he belongs. Of his home, his family."
"This is his home now," Draven said flatly, no room for argument.
Father's smile tightened, barely perceptible. "Surely you can understand, Alpha Draven. A family loses a son. Then hears rumors of him—alive, hiding, unstable—one can't help but worry."
"He's not hiding," Draven snapped, his Alpha authority bleeding into his tone. "And he's not unstable." The silence that followed was thick and pointed, heavy with unspoken threats.
"He's been thriving," Draven continued, his gaze never leaving Father's, "in a place that values his strength. He's earned his position among our warriors, and more importantly, he's begun to unlock abilities that were stifled in his former pack. Abilities you never bothered to nurture."
I tilted my head, keeping my expression neutral, concerned. "We only want what's best for him. Surely you understand that."
"Then you should have shown him that years ago," Draven growled, the words sharp as claws.
I narrowed my eyes, letting a hint of steel show through. "It's touching, really. How fiercely you defend him. I suppose bonds grow quickly when… instincts are involved. When attraction clouds judgment."
Atlas flinched, the barb hitting its mark. Draven didn't look away from me, his expression darkening. "I don't care for the implication."
"No implication," I said smoothly, spreading my hands in innocence, then turned to Atlas, softening my voice. "We just miss you. That's all. Evan especially. He's been miserable without you."
At that, Evan finally looked up—but not at me. At Atlas. And in his eyes, I saw something I hadn't expected, something that made my chest tighten with unwanted emotion, with feelings I refused to name.
Regret. Longing. Love. Real, genuine love that he'd never shown me, not like this. It stung more than I let show, more than I'd ever admit. But I pushed it down, buried it deep beneath layers of ambition and necessity, beneath the weight of prophecy and destiny.
Because this wasn't about love. This had never been about love. Love was weakness, a distraction from what truly mattered.
This was about destiny. About prophecy. About claiming what was rightfully mine, what I'd been promised since birth.
And if Atlas had to die for me to rise—if I had to watch the light leave his eyes, if I had to be the one to end him—so be it.
Some sacrifices were necessary. Some deaths were inevitable. And Atlas's death? That was both.