Capítulo 38: Chapter 38: Loss
RONAN
The second she walks through the door, I know something's wrong.
Maeve's usually sharp and deliberate movements are gone. That is not a surprise after a night she had, but it still makes me feel uneasy. Her steps falter, shaky and uneven, and her breathing is all wrong — shallow, too fast. She's trying to hold it together, but it's obvious she's about to crash.
That's it!
My instincts kick in like muscle memory. Without thinking, I scoop her up. She's too light, her weight barely registering in my arms. It shouldn't feel like this — like carrying something fragile that could break if I don't move carefully enough. It's the same filling like last time, after her last vision.
She doesn't say a word, doesn't even notice.
"Maeve," I say, but her name barely leaves my lips before her eyes flutter shut. She mutters something — soft, slurred, and incoherent. I try to make sense of it, but it doesn't matter.
She's out.
I need to lay her down somewhere, I can't just hold her like this. She needs a rest. Her room is a wreck, and I can't put her down in the middle of this mess. My room is the only place untouched by the chaos, where she can sleep unbothered.
So that's where I take her.
The bed creaks as I lay her down, her head sinking into the pillow. She looks... small. Vulnerable. Nothing like the woman who throws sarcastic comments like knives and faces down wolves more than twice her size without flinching.
I pull the blanket over her, my hands hesitating as I smooth it out. Her face is soft now, stripped of her usual bravado. The sight hits me harder than I expect, like a punch to the chest I didn't see coming. She doesn't look like she's resting; she looks like she surrendered.
And I don't like it.
I stand there, probably for a moment too long, staring down at her. I tell myself it's to make sure she's breathing evenly, but I know that's a lie.
Maybe I should just stay here with her. Make sure that she is alright. Be here when she wakes up and take care of her. Something about leaving her like this doesn't sit right with me.
But I force myself to turn away, anyway.
At the door, I glance back, one hand gripping the frame. She's still, and the pang in my chest is sharper now. I don't understand it. I just know it feels like I'm abandoning her.
But I leave anyway.
The air feels heavy, like something's waiting to go wrong. I make the call, my voice low and firm, because I can't afford to waste time. The wolves arrive quickly — Cillian, Zara, and Zane, all standing in the living room with that sharp tension that means they know something's off.
I keep it short. "No one gets in or out without my approval. Watch over her. Watch the apartment. Everything."
Zara raises her dark eyebrow. "What's happening, Alpha?"
"I don't know yet," I say, the words grinding out of me. Admitting uncertainty leaves a sour taste in my mouth, but I can't lie to them. "But I won't take chances."
They don't question me. They just nod and move to their posts. Cillian heads for the window, Zane to the hallway, and Zara lingers for a second before slipping out.
I stay behind, leaning against the back of the couch, gripping the frame until my knuckles ache. My head drops forward as I try to shove the unease into a box and lock it down. It doesn't work.
Something's wrong.
I feel it like a shadow creeping up behind me, and every instinct I have is telling me I need to be ready when it hits.
I go back to my bedroom. Maeve sleeps, unbothered by the sound of the opening door.
Thank God.
But to be honest, I don't think even an Armageddon would wake her up at this point. Not after the night we just had.
I stand there and watch her, just for a second. She looks at peace, her breathing slow and steady.
I should feel relieved, but I don't.
I grab my jacket and keys from the closet, my movements sharp, every action deliberate. I can't shake the feeling that something's about to spiral out of control.
Before I leave, I hesitate. My hand is tightening around the doorknob.
She's stable, I tell myself. She's fine.
So why does walking away feel like a mistake?
I shove the thought down and force myself to step back, heading for the door. Zara's waiting there, leaning against the frame, her sharp gaze flicking to me as I approach.
I notice the subtle tension in her movements — the way her fingers drift to her ring, twisting it absentmindedly. It's a habit I've seen before, one she doesn't seem to realize gives her away.
"If anything happens, call me," I say, keeping my voice low. She nods, her expression serious for once.
I pause, glancing over my shoulder at the closed bedroom door.
I don't linger long — can't let myself. Duty pulls me forward, and I walk out into the night, the weight of everything pressing harder with each step I take.
***
The compound looms quiet and dark as I step inside, but it doesn't feel empty. It's never truly empty, not with the amount of history in its every corner.
I move through the hallways quickly, my boots thudding softly against the polished floor, until I reach Isabelle's old study.
My hand hovers over the doorknob. The faintest memory tugs at me — the way she was always buried in those books, the way her laughter used to fill up this space. It was once her room. One she guarded fiercely. I should push the door open, but instead, I stand there, the stillness around me thick with ghosts I'm not ready to face.
Finally, I turn the handle and step inside.
The scent hits me immediately — floral, soft, and a bit sweet. Isabelle. It's faint, but it's here. My chest tightens, and I have to force myself to breathe through it. It's been months since she disappeared, but it's still in the air, like she was here mere hours ago.
Is someone playing games with me?
I scan the room, my eyes narrowing as I take in the details. Small disturbances catch my attention — the gaps on the bookshelf where volumes once sat, the desk slightly askew, cluttered in a way Isabelle would never have tolerated.
Someone has been here recently. And it wasn't Maeve, I would know that.
The thought twists in my gut. Could it be her? Is she watching from the shadows, just beyond my grasp? Doubt wars with hope, each competing for control of my mind. I step further into the room, searching for something — anything — that might give me answers.
But there's nothing.
No trace of Maeve, either. It's like she never even lived here. She erased every sign of herself from this room. The scent of her is long gone, packed up and moved out with the rest of her things. The only reminder of her ever being here is the oversized bed still standing in the room.
So why can I smell Isabell? It's not like she could enter here without anyone noticing.
The sound of the door creaking open behind me sets my teeth on edge. I don't need to turn around to know who it is.
"You should be here more often," Jean says, her tone stiff, her entrance deliberate.
I clench my jaw before replying. "You shouldn't be in this room, Mother. You are well aware of that."
Jean steps further into the room, her presence calculated and commanding as always. "I'm worried about you, Ronan. You've never been away for so long. And besides, the pack needs reassurance," she says, ignoring the dismissal in my tone. "The elders are uneasy."
"I don't care about the elders right now." My voice is sharp, cutting through the tension like a blade. I turn to face her, my posture rigid. "I need answers."
Her expression doesn't waver, but something flickers in her eyes — worry, maybe frustration. She studies me for a long moment, the silence stretching between us.
Then, without another word, she leaves, the click of her heels fading down the hallway. Her retreat doesn't feel like a victory. It feels like another problem waiting to resurface.
The halls are busier now as I make my way through the compound. The elders find me quickly, their presence as predictable as it is grating.
"Alpha," one of them starts, his voice full of forced respect. "We need to discuss the rogue attacks along the eastern border."
"And the skirmishes near the western packlands," another chimes in, his tone clipped.
"There's also the matter of —"
"Not now." My voice cuts through their words, cold and dismissive. I don't slow my stride, barely sparing them a glance. "Handle it yourselves."
The protests come quickly, but I don't stop to listen. Their voices blend into noise, a background hum of frustration and worry that I don't have the patience for.
I push past them, my frustration mounting with every step. Their expectations presses down on me, the responsibility of the Alpha title feeling heavier than ever. I'm supposed to have answers, to be in control. But right now, all I feel is the cracks forming beneath the surface.
I need answers. I need clarity. But neither seems within reach.
The cool night air bites at my skin as I step outside the Pack house. My clothes are off before I'm even fully out of the doorway. My movements automatic, unthinking. The shift comes fast — too fast, but I don't fight it.
The crack of bone and rip of muscle follow, sharp and painful, but familiar. Black fur and fangs emerging.I hit the ground on four paws, the dirt cool beneath me. The wolf is sharper, stronger, and it takes control with ease.
I need a run.
Anna and Tucker — my loyal pack members and well-trained guards — flank me, their golden and charcoal-colored forms moving silently through the shadows. I don't need to speak to them to know what I expect. We slip into the forest, the three of us cutting through the trees like shadows.
The woods are too quiet.
Every sound feels muted, every scent faint, like the world is holding its breath. My ears twitch at the faintest rustle of leaves, but it's nothing. Just the wind. Still, the silence feels wrong — unnatural in a way that sets my teeth on edge.
Then I catch it.
The scent cuts through the air, sharp and familiar: blood. It's faint, but it's there, threading through the cool night breeze. I glance at Anna and Tucker, and they pick it up too, their heads lowering as their muscles coil with tension.
We follow it, moving deeper into the trees. Every step makes the air feel heavier, the scent stronger. The unease I felt earlier grows with every breath, thick and suffocating.
And then we found her.
Naomi - one of my pack members. Her body lies crumpled in the dirt, her hair slick with blood. She's unnaturally still, her chest motionless. The scent of death is fresh, mingling with the iron tang of blood that stains the earth beneath her.
My stomach twists violently, a cold dread clawing its way through me. I didn't feel her bond snap. That hollow emptiness that comes when a packmate dies — it never came. The realization chills me, a stark reminder of Darius's death.
Anna whimpers beside me, the sound raw and broken. They have been best friends since being a pup. She steps forward, nudging Naomi's body gently, as if she's trying to wake her up. When there's no response, she collapses beside her, her grief pouring out in soft, keening cries.
I move to Anna, pressing my nose to her side in a gesture of comfort. Her body trembles as she leans into me, sobbing quietly. Tucker paces nearby, his eyes scanning the shadows, his stance tense and protective.
"Take her back to the compound." I say to Tucker pointing at Anna. The mental link between us carries my command, leaving no room for argument.
Anna hesitates, her gaze flicking to Naomi's still form, but Tucker nudges her, urging her to move. She leans into him for support, and together, they turn back toward the Pack house.
I watch them go, their forms disappearing into the shadows, before turning my focus back to the forest.. Alone now, the silence feels deafening. But now I can look for clues of what really happened. I start sniffing. The scent of death lingers in the air, mingling with something else — something faint but unmistakable.
Isabelle.
Floral, soft, and a bit sweet smell, threading through the forest like a taunt. A strong reminder that nothing here is as it should be. The air feels heavy, charged with the kind of tension that comes before a storm. My wolf paces beneath my skin, restless, as if it too knows that the answers I need are close — too close.
A cold runs through my body as I survey the clearing one last time. There is nothing more to find – nothing except the faint smell of Isabelle. Like it was left here on purpose. Like someone is playing some kind of sick game with me. Naomi's death. Darius's. The mess in the study. All of it is somehow connected to her – or rather the person responsible for her disappearance.
My gaze drops to Naomi's lifeless body, her stillness cutting through the haze of my thoughts. She deserves to be mourned, to be honored for the life she gave to this pack. She was family, and now she's gone. I shift back and gather her gently — cradling her like a promise — and head back to the packhouse, where the others will be waiting.
It was a hard night for all of us.
The pack needs this moment. They need to grieve together, to honor her sacrifice and find strength in one another. I stay long enough to feel their sorrow settle in the room. Long enough to see the pain in their eyes and know they understand what we've lost. But the walls of the packhouse press in on me, and the air grows too thick to breathe.
Something pulls at me — a quiet tug I can't explain, one that I don't try to resist.
I find myself leaving the packhouse behind, letting Anna and Tucker take care of all the arrangements and informing Naomi's family. The forest swallowing me as I follow that thread of instinct, that draw that won't let me go.
In the middle of this silence and darkness, a realization floods my mind. Her face flashes right before my eyes, like she was actually here — sharp and vivid. Cutting through the grief and confusion like a beam of light. I don't know what I'm feeling. But I know it's raw, real, and complicated in ways I never knew I needed.
I started walking.
I finally knew what I needed to do.
And I'll be damned if I don't try.
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