Chapter 72 – A Voice in the Dark
Rhea’s fingers slid across the back of his hand once more, her touch soft and grounding. “It’s time,” she whispered, her voice warm and coaxing.
Rowan blinked as if roused from a dream, the last flicker of a memory dissolving in his mind like smoke in the wind. He turned his gaze one last time toward his sister, catching the worry written plainly across Charlie’s face. Her brow was furrowed, lips pressed tightly together, eyes watching him with a silent plea.
But it didn’t matter.
Not right now.
He turned back to Rhea and together, they stepped forward.
The crowd before them fell into a reverent hush.
Rowan’s voice rang out first, steady and powerful.
“I stand before my pack not only as your Alpha, but as a man who has searched long for someone worthy to stand beside him. A Luna not only in name, but in strength, in compassion, and in loyalty. Rhea has shown me those things and more. Tonight, I vow to protect her, cherish her, and lead with her by my side. My strength will be hers, and her wisdom will be mine. With her, our pack will rise.”
Rhea stepped forward, voice soft but unwavering.
“I stand beside my Alpha not because I was chosen, but because I choose him. I vow to support him with every breath I take, to care for this pack as if it were my own heart, and to lead with grace, strength, and purpose. I offer him my loyalty, my mind, and my spirit. As Luna, I will defend this pack with my life and help guide it to a brighter future.”
A wave of hesitant cheers moved through the crowd, followed by claps and the echo of the Elders’ approval.
Rowan reached out, wrapping his arms around Rhea and pulling her close. The scent rolling off of her filled his lungs, heady and sweet, and something inside him coiled with desire. His mind stilled, the faint flicker of doubt gone as if swept away by a stronger wind.
She was perfect.
This was perfect.
And nothing else mattered.
He leaned in, lips brushing the curve of her neck. His fangs lengthened, ready to pierce skin and seal the vow.
But then—
Boom.
The ballroom doors slammed open with such force they rattled against the walls, the sound reverberating through the space.
Rowan’s body tensed.
He didn’t move. Not yet.
But then—
“Rowan!” The voice cracked through the silence like thunder, echoing off marble and stone.
Everything inside of him froze.
The voice was familiar. Too familiar.
His jaw hovered above Rhea’s neck as he slowly turned his head, his arms still holding her, but his mind suddenly…fracturing.
There—at the entrance—stood a woman.
Bloodied. Pale. Her eyes wild with pain and something else.
Desperation.
His gaze fell to her neck as if drawn there by some unseen force.
The woman at the ballroom’s threshold. Bloodied. Tear-streaked. Radiating raw, aching power.
And there, visible just above the torn collar of her shirt—was the mark.
A mate mark.
Red. Angry. Throbbing with energy.
Something inside Rowan cracked.
The kind of crack that starts small but splinters fast—sharp, jagged fractures cutting through everything he thought he knew.
He staggered back from Rhea, one hand clutching his head as a wave of pain crashed behind his eyes, hot and blinding.
The ballroom tilted, the world spinning as something inside him screamed to be let out.
His wolf howled in the recesses of his mind, no longer muffled by the haze. ‘Mate. Ours. Hers. Now.’
Flashes of a memory—laughter, a fight, soft lips, a whispered name—broke through, shattering the chains he hadn’t known were wrapped around his thoughts.
His breath caught in his throat.
And then—
“Please,” she whispered. The sound of her voice struck him like lightning. Fragile. Raw. Laced with so much emotion it dragged a groan from his chest. “Come back to me.”
His head snapped up.
She was moving through the crowd now, pushing past stunned wolves, her arms trembling, her face streaked with tears.
“Rowan,” she cried again. “I’m yours. You chose me. You marked me. Don’t let them take that from us.”
The room spun slower now, the fog lifting just enough to let something familiar slip through the cracks.
Her scent.
Her voice.
Her pain.
Each step she took toward him drove a nail into the illusion that had wrapped around his soul like a vice.
Rhea’s voice broke the tension beside him, soft and trembling. “Rowan?”
He didn’t look at her.
Couldn’t.
All of his focus was pulled to the woman whose voice knew the shape of his name in ways no one else ever had.
Rowan's knees buckled, barely catching himself as his hands went to his head again. Images flooded his brain, too fast for him to keep track of.
But the thoughts vanished as quickly as it came, yanked from him like a dream at dawn.
Still, he didn’t move.
Not toward Rhea.
Not toward the woman who knew his name.
Because something inside him had just…shifted.
And nothing—*nothing*—felt right anymore.
Rowan straightened, breath heavy in his chest, the world narrowed to the broken woman standing below the stage—her bloodied hands, the fire of defiance still burning in her eyes. She stood tall despite the tears that clung to her cheeks, her chin lifting when their eyes met.
There was something in her expression.
Hope.
Hope he was about to crush beneath his heel.
His lips parted as the tension in the room coiled like a storm. “Who the hell do you think you are?” he snarled, the sound echoing across the stunned silence of the ballroom.
Gasps rippled through the crowd.
Her expression cracked. That flicker of hope shattered before his eyes, replaced with something much deeper—grief. And betrayal.
“How dare you interrupt our marking ceremony!” Rowan’s voice rose, sharp and cruel in his own ears.
Rhea moved closer, her presence sudden and strangely warm against his side. She slipped her hand onto his arm again, her fingers curling possessively, a triumphant gleam flickering in her eyes that he almost caught—almost.
But he couldn’t look away from the woman in front of him. The one who looked like the earth had been torn out from under her feet.
The one his soul *ached* for—and yet…
She took another step forward.
Her lips trembled.
His chest tightened.
“Guards,” Rowan barked, tearing his eyes away. “Take her away.”
The words had barely left his mouth when the ballroom *exploded* into chaos.
“No—wait!” Charlie’s voice was somewhere in the din, fighting to be heard.
Wolves growled. Gasps rang out. Chairs screeched across the floor as warriors surged forward.
Rowan’s wolf *howled* in his mind, thrashing violently, but he held it back—just barely.
“You don’t mean this, Rowan!” someone shouted from the crowd.
But he didn’t listen.
He couldn’t.
Not when the spell still wrapped itself in the corners of his mind like a fog refusing to lift.
All he saw was a threat to the order. To the ceremony. To the control he’d clawed back.
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