Page 78 of A Reign of Malice
She traces the scar across my back, the one Aeson left when I was just a boy trying to survive, and something in mebreaks open. But instead of the usual pain, I’m met with her warmth, her strength, her love woven into every caress.
“Sloane,” I murmur, pulling her flush against me. “You remind me I’m still a man. Not just the ghost he tried to turn me into.”
She lifts her head, nudging my hair back from my face with a gentle touch. “You could never be a ghost, Julian. I may not have known you before, but seeing how these people believe in you, I have no doubt that you’ve always been fire. I merely helped you remember how to burn.”
My mouth finds hers again, slower, deeper. She melts into me, a soft moan escaping her lips, and I swear I could stay here forever. It doesn’t matter that we’re in an alcove, barely separated from the rest of the world. In this moment, there’s only her and me. Every chance I have to revere her, every stolen second, I’ll take. Not out of lust, but reverence. Gratitude. Awe.
And then?—
“So, I was thinking that—oh gods!” Clara’s voice cuts through the moment like a dull blade as she throws an arm over her eyes and spins back toward the entry. “I’m so sorry. I thought…”
I freeze, unsure how Sloane will react, but she surprises me by laughing softly, curling her arm around my waist and resting her head on my chest like she belongs there.
“It’s okay, Clara. You can turn around,” she says, her voice tinged with amusement.
There’s a long, awkward beat of silence before Clara peeks over her shoulder, her expression caught somewhere between mortified and apologetic. “I didn’t mean to interrupt, my queen.”
“Really?” Sloane sighs, pulling back just enough to glanceat her. “We’ve rarely been formal with each other. Don’t tell me you’re going to start now.”
Clara gives a sheepish smile, glancing between us. “I guess not.”
“What were you going to tell me?” Sloane asks, her arm still warm around my waist.
Clara shifts uncomfortably, nibbling on the inside of her cheek. “I was just going to suggest we check on Estee. Might be good to ensure she’s in the right headspace before we leave tonight.”
I let out a slow breath, my grip on Sloane tightening instinctively before I force myself to let go. She straightens, smoothing her dress as she regains that quiet, commanding presence that makes her so damn powerful. So queenly.
“I’ll be right there,” she says gently.
Clara nods and retreats, the soft sound of her steps fading down the hall.
Sloane turns back to me, a smile blooming across her face like dawn breaking through the shadows. “Later,” she promises, her voice a vow.
I step closer, pressing my lips over her forehead. “I’ll hold you to that.”
And gods help anyone who tries to keep her from me again.
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
SLOANE
Clara and I walk in silence, our boots scuffing quietly against the stone as the flickering lanterns cast long, dancing shadows on the cavern walls. We don’t speak, but we don’t need to. The emotion hanging between us is palpable. Thick with fear, determination, and the kind of understanding that only comes from standing on the edge of something life-altering.
War has a way of stripping everything down to its bones. It shows you what truly matters. And for me, it’s not the title I wear or the crown on my head, it’s the people who’ve fought beside me, bled for me. My mate. Clara. My fellow Alpha Queens. These women who were once strangers but have quickly become so much more. Sisters by choice. Warriors bound by shared purpose.
If anything happens to any of them because I made the wrong call, I’m not sure I’ll be able to come back from that.
We reach one of the smaller caverns tucked deeper into the mountain. The air is warmer here, infused with the scent of soot and moss, the firelight flickering softly against theworn stone. In the center of the room sits Estee, cross-legged on a thick wool blanket. She’s shed the remnants of her regal attire in favor of something practical—a charcoal sweater, black leggings. Her hair’s still damp from a wash, pulled into a loose braid over her shoulder.
She doesn’t look up when we enter, but I catch the smirk tugging at her lips.
“As wolf shifters, we’re not supposed to fear death,” she says, voice low but steady. “We’re reborn again and again. Endless lives. Endless chances to start over.” She finally glances at me, something fierce burning behind her eyes. “But today? That death almost became my last. And I’m so damn pissed about that.”
My chest tightens. Not from sadness but recognition. I know that kind of fury. That bone-deep refusal to bow. Estee has been broken, burned, and reforged. And what’s before us now is something sharper. Unshakable.
She isn’t just surviving. She’s becoming.
Isla’s seated beside her, legs tucked beneath her, nodding slowly. “We didn’t claw our way back from curses and god realms just to lose everything again. Not our mates, not our people, and definitely not each other.” She reaches over and clasps her sister’s hand.
