CHAPTER 95: I’M SORRY

Kaya

I am drunk. Drunk beyond any level of comprehension. Yet I can’t tell if it’s the wine clouding my head or the intoxicating magic of the women surrounding me.

The cold doesn’t even touch us—flushed and glowing in the heat of the great fire pit, every breath feels like it’s laced with warmth and laughter, the air crackling with joy and the unguarded intimacy of our conversations.

I’ve never imagined it was possible to have this much fun. I only wish Samantha were here to share it with me.

"It’s all about mates these days," Josephine’s sharp voice slices through the chatter, edged with irritation. "Since forming a real mating bond has become so rare, everyone’s gone fucking desperate!"

"Why are you so worked up about it?" Dana scoffs, leaning in close to meet her eyes. "Is there something we don’t know?"

A ripple of giggles passes through the circle, but Josephine’s face flushes red as she scowls, as if her glare could hide her embarrassment.

"I’m just fucking sick of hearing everyone whine about it! We’re Blood Moon! Joining this pack means dedicating our lives to protecting our kingdom—not losing our minds over jealousy and despair! Look at what happened to Gloria—all because she was desperate for a mate!"

The words drop into the space between us like a bomb. For a long moment, no one speaks. We stare at the blackened earth beneath our blankets or into the half-empty glasses in our hands, as though searching for comfort in their depths.

Finally, Bella exhales sharply, tossing the dregs of her wine into the dirt. She rises to her feet with an exaggerated smile, the kind that’s meant to shatter tension, even if it doesn’t reach the eyes.

"I guess it’s clear who the party pooper in our pack is, huh?" Her playful jab ripples through the gathering, earning a wave of chuckles that quickly restores the group’s joyful buzz.

"Come on, ladies," she adds, slipping off her shoes and stepping onto the frozen forest floor. Each step leaves crisp, visible prints on the thin layer of powdered snow. "It’s almost midnight—it’s time to make the offerings!"

"The offerings?" I repeat under my breath, but a girl beside me catches it.

"A Moonwort wreath," she explains, giving me a light nudge forward to keep me moving with the others. "It’s for the ancient ritual."

The explanation only deepens my confusion. Megan, perhaps noticing the uncertainty in my eyes, catches my hand and pulls me closer.

"It’s a prayer for a mate," she says, her voice brimming with excitement. "According to myths and legends, Lunarium shifts the natural cycle and forces a rare flower to bloom at midnight—even in snow and frost. That flower is called Moonwort."

"A Moonwort flower? In winter?"

Megan nods eagerly. "They bloom for only a few minutes. We have to hurry, gather as many as we can, and weave them into our wreaths. Then we set the wreaths afloat on the lake. The Moon Goddess will guide our mates to them, leading us to our fates."

Her tone is so earnest and bright that, against my better judgment, I almost believe her.

"Come on, Kaya!" she urges, giving me a playful push toward the others. "Get your Moonwort flower too! You do want to find a mate, don’t you?"

I force an awkward smile and nod, even though I have no desire to find a mate. I already have one—a mate who does nothing but torture my soul. I don’t think I could endure the torment of another.

But imagine how jealous Magnus will be once he learns you gave your wreath to the lake! Rana’s grin is sharp, her cunning thoughts sliding into my mind like smoke. Perhaps it could finally push him over the edge!

I want to believe her, but I know Magnus is stronger than that. Still, now that the idea has rooted itself in my thoughts, I see no harm in a little torture of my own.

So I join the rest of the group, venturing into the forest, my senses stretching outward in search of the elusive Moonwort flower.

Even though we’re already deep within the trees, fear doesn’t touch me. The moon above is so large and round it feels like a silver floodlight following me wherever I go, pouring its glow over my path like an invisible shield. She’s a guardian tonight, a guide leading me forward, and beneath her watchful patrol, I feel utterly safe.

I wander farther still, brushing past brittle branches and sweeping aside frozen grass in search of the small purple bloom said to lead my mate to me. And who knows? Perhaps the Moon Goddess will finally take pity on me—perhaps she will break whatever chains hold Magnus back and push him to claim me at last.

There’s someone in the shadows. Rana’s voice slices through my thoughts, freezing me mid-step. My senses flare, sharp and alert. I’ve been so consumed by the image of Magnus’s jealous face that I failed to notice the quiet shift of the world around me.

A cold gust brushes over my face and shoulders, and I sense it too—a shadowed presence, light and unassuming, yet relentlessly drawing closer.

Another ghoul? I ask Rana, even though I already know I’m wrong.

There’s no foul stench of rot, no suffocating menace clinging to the air—yet there’s no sense of familiarity either. Then the dead forest groans under the weight of something moving toward me. Before I can even process it, my body locks in place, ice flooding my veins, my eyes so wide I fear they might burst from their sockets.

"Shelly...?"

It’s her. It’s definitely her. But it’s not the suddenness of her appearance that roots me to the spot—it’s the clothes she’s wearing. And the large, wet, crimson stain blooming between her thighs.

"Goddess, Shelly!" I cry, rushing forward. My arms wrap around her trembling body, and I’m horrified by the chill radiating from her skin. "What are you doing here? How—how did you get here?"

I gently push her back to see her properly—but the more I see, the more I wish I didn’t. Her skin is bloodless, her frame too thin, her body shaking as if she might shatter at the slightest touch. And still, my eyes keep returning to that massive, dreadful stain.

"Shelly... don’t tell me..." My lips tremble, refusing to give shape to the thought clawing at my mind. "It can’t be... Who... who did this to you? Who...?"

She says nothing. Instead, she breaks. A ragged wail bursts from her throat as her cold body collapses against mine, her shaking hands clawing desperately at my back.

"I’m sorry, Kaya," she whispers, her cold hands raking across my back as if she’s battling something invisible, something I can’t see but can feel in the tremor of her touch.

"What are you sorry for?" I ask, pulling her closer, holding on as if my grip could anchor her.

"I’m sorry," she repeats, her voice breaking, raw with a pleading edge. "I’m so sorry..."

I’m about to press her for an answer when a sudden, sharp pain explodes at the back of my neck. My entire body seizes, breath hitching as my mouth falls open. A strangled croak escapes me, words splintering against the tight grip of my throat.

Through the haze, I see Shelly step back, her trembling fingers wrapped around the base of a long, thick needle.

"I’m sorry," she says again, over and over, the words fading as if they’re being pulled down a tunnel. "I’m sorry... I’m so sorry."