Chapter 2 A Grave Beside My Heart

Vireya's POV

"Vireya... what have you done?" Rhydan's voice tore through the chaos.

My wolf turneds toward him about to attack. Rhydan's eyes were wide, filled with disbelief and something dangerously close to fear.

"She's cursed!" a woman shrieked from the crowd.

Their words echoed in my skull, but nothing registered. My ears rang with the remnants of screams and growls.

I didn't even know how to shift back, until it happened on its own. The pain of bones reshaping, of fur tearing away from skin, left me trembling on the ground, gasping for air naked.

The arena was silent, they were all gone. My father's lifeless body lay in a pool of blood.

"No... no, no, no..." My voice cracked as I crawled to him, dragging my shaking limbs through the blood-soaked dirt.

My wolf's claws had torn through his throat.

"Father... please," I choked, pressing my hands to the wound, as if I could undo the nightmare. His skin was cold, far too cold.

Sobbing, I wrapped my arms around his body. My cries tore through the air, raw and unrestrained, as if my soul had splintered.

He was all I had left in this world. After my mother passed, it had been just us, and now, my hands, my claws, had taken him from me.

His blood stained my skin. I didn't care that I was naked, I didn't care that they had all fled from me like I was a monster. Because maybe they were right.

Then I heard footsteps. My heart thudded painfully in my chest as I turned, bracing myself for more judgment, but it was Zevarion holding the extra coat I had hidden beneath the old oak tree, something I'd left there just in case I shifted.

His gaze met mine, but he didn't flinch. He didn't look at me like I was cursed.

"Please..." I whispered, my voice thick with tears. "Don't come closer. I don't want to hurt you."

Zevarion didn't stop, he stepped closer from behind, and gently draped the coat around my bare shoulders, shielding me from the cold. Then he gently pulled my father from me.

"No," I whimpered, clutching my father's hand. "Don't take him. Please."

"I need to take him to the cold house... before you decide what comes next," Zevarion said gently.

Tears blurred my vision again, my body trembled. "How could this happen?" I whispered, more to myself than him.

"I'm sorry," he murmured. "I truly am."

He lifted my father's corpse as if it weighed nothing, cradling him across his shoulders. I followed, numb, dragging my feet, blood drying against my skin.

As we walked through the pack grounds, silence spread like a disease. Curtains were drawn, doors slammed shut, their whispers followed me like ghosts.

"Cursed."

"A black wolf... a death omen."

I kept my eyes on the back of Zevarion's broad shoulders. We reached the cold house, a place where the dead waited for burial.

Zevarion laid my father down gently, treating him with the dignity no one else would offer. He handled the proceedings, making sure everything was in order.

And I just sat there, silent. The world moved around me, but I was frozen in that one moment in the arena.

The grief hadn't even begun to settle, the shock hadn't let go. After he was done with the proceedings, Zevarion turned to me, "Let me walk you home."

I nodded numbly. The journey back was a blur, I barely noticed the cold air brushing against my skin or the way the world seemed to shrink away from me.

When we reached my doorstep, I paused. "Thank you," I muttered, not meeting his eyes.

I slipped inside before he could answer. The moment the door shut behind me, I bolted to my room. I stood before the mirror, trembling.

"Come out!" I screamed. My voice cracked. "Come out, damn you!"

But there was no answer.

"You're supposed to be my wolf companion! My protector! How could you, how could you kill him?" My breath came in ragged sobs. "You monster... You coward! Show yourself!"

My wolf didn't speak. It was like she'd buried herself deep inside me, ashamed, or worse... indifferent.

I collapsed to the floor, broken and breathless, tears searing down my cheeks. I curled into myself, praying that this was all a nightmare, that I'd wake up and find my father humming in the kitchen, that the arena had never happened, that my wolf had never emerged.

But the moonlight outside my window glared down in silent accusation. I stared up at it, hollow-eyed.

"Why?" I whispered. "Why would you curse me?"

The night passed in fragments, tears, silence, rage. At some point, I must've fallen asleep on the floor.

When the morning light crept through my window, I stirred, blinking into the brightness. My head pounded, then it all came rushing back. The blood. The screams. It hit like a tidal wave, dragging me under all over again.

I forced myself to stand, weak and shivering. As I turned toward the mirror, something caught my eye, just for a moment.

My wolf was there, but not like any I'd ever seen, she was massive, jet black, darker than night, darker than death itself. Her eyes burned like fire, vivid orange flames dancing in a soulless void.

I screamed and stumbled backward, crashing to the floor, my heart pounding like war drums.

When I dared to look again, she was gone. Only my own reflection stared back, shaken. What are you? I thought, clutching my chest.

What curse have I inherited?

I stepped outside and saw Siora carrying a small sack slung over her shoulder. The moment her eyes met mine, she froze, then stumbled backward, her face pale with terror.

"Please... please don't hurt me!" she cried fleeing before I could say a word.

My heart cracked. Siora had worked for our family since Mother died, I had always seen her as a sister. Seeing her flinch from me made it all too real, I was a monster in their eyes now.

I wandered into the village, hoping... praying that someone might help, but everywhere I went, doors slammed shut.

Children were pulled away by fearful mothers, men turned their backs, eyes followed me like daggers.

I made my way to the castle, hoping Rhydan would help me bury my father, but he refused to come out.

Rejected, I returned home, and dragged out the Hand-wain from the shed, the one we used for firewood and harvests.

At the cold house, the man gently lifted my father's body into it, scared of me staying there for long.

I pushed the cart through the village, the iron wheels rattling over stones. More whispers followed, I kept my head down until I felt someone take hold of the cart.

It was Zevarion. He said nothing as he guided the grave cart toward the eastern hill, where the gravestones nestled among the heather. He took us to the one place I could barely bear to look at, the resting place of my mother.

Among werewolves, it was tradition, husbands and wives were buried side by side, so their souls might run together in the afterlife.

I sat on a stone, while Zevarion dug the grave. My hands trembled in my lap as I stared at the patch of earth.

When we finished, I stood before the raw earth that now held the only man who had ever loved me unconditionally. Shame sealed my lips.

"I hope you forgive me, Father," I finally whispered. "I never meant to hurt you."

Tears traced down my cheeks, burning hot. Zevarion knelt beside me and wordlessly offered a handful of wildflowers. He placed them gently by the grave, his head bowed.

By the time I reached home, my soul felt splintered. The silence of the house, once a place of warmth, now rang with unbearable emptiness.

I wandered through each room, touching the walls like they might still hold his voice, his laughter, but it was gone. I collapsed in the hall and wept until there were no tears left, only a dull, aching numbness.

Maybe someone would knock. Maybe Rhydan would come sympathise with me, or Siora, but no one came. I waited until evening came, even the gods seemed to have turned their backs on me.

I wiped my cheeks, drew a deep breath, and rose. There was nothing left for me here, nothing but memories and emptiness.

I found a length of rope and tied it to the ceiling beam in our sitting room, just beneath the carved moon crest my father made with his own hands. I tugged it twice, to make sure it would hold.

Then I dragged the old stool into place. My heartbeat echoed like thunder in my ears, I took one final breath. One last prayer to the Moon Goddess, that she might have mercy, and let me see him again.

I looped the rope around my neck, the coarse fibers biting into my skin, and I stepped off the stool.

Pain crushed my windpipe. My hands flew to the rope, instinct fighting against my will, the edges of the room blurred.

And in those final moments, I thought of my father's smile, of what I might say, if the goddess granted me the chance.

The world blurred, my fingers went limp, and then, nothing but the dark.