Page 70 of Moonlit Fate

I cast him a withering glare. “Shut up.” Larkin spluttered, but I ignored him and looked at my father. “Father, when will you let go of your prejudice, your bias against rogues? They arenot so different from us. We share the same sky, the same earth beneath our paws. Why can’t you see that?”

The disbelief on my father’s face hit me harder than any physical blow could. It wasn’t just about proving myself anymore, but bridging a divide that had existed for far too long.

“Atticus has shown more loyalty to our pack than some born in it,” I said. “How can you question my judgment when all I’ve ever done is fight for our people? For our future?”

Something passed over Ragnar’s face. Was it doubt? Pain? Whatever it was, it vanished as quickly as it had appeared, leaving behind the same stoic mask. But I had seen the smallest crack in his armor that gave me a glimmer of hope. Maybe, just maybe, my words were finally beginning to reach him.

Larkin’s innocent appearance was a masterclass in deception, but I’d seen the doubt on my father’s face.

“By the moon goddess, you’re all blind!” Atticus was about to lose it. “Ragnar, can’t you see? Placing your trust in Larkin will lead your pack to ruin. Your daughter lay dying, and Larkin spoke of her as though she was already a ghost haunting these lands.”

Larkin’s expression remained unfazed, but the slight twitch at the corner of his eye betrayed him. Ragnar’s face was a battlefield of emotion: skepticism warring with the ingrained beliefs that had governed his reign for so long.

I watched my father closely, searching for any sign that my words, our pleas, had begun to erode the fortress around his reason. His hesitation was minimal, almost imperceptible, but it was enough to give me a bit of hope.

The heat of the argument had dissipated, leaving a tense silence. “How did our pack fare?” I asked. “Did we… that is, did everyone make it?” The question hung over us, its answer poised to either soothe or sear my already-frayed nerves.

Ragnar looked toward me, his eyes guarded fortresses that revealed little. But then, as though a gate had been cracked open, I caught a glimpse of something softening in their depths.

“No lives were lost,” he said gruffly, “but we’ve surrendered land to the Crimson Fang. The pack is understandably upset.”

I detected the subtle shift in his demeanor, a reluctant thawing that only I could perceive, and clung to it like a lifeline. Maybe, just maybe, he was beginning to see beyond the iron bars of his prejudices.

“Go to bed,” he said. “We will discuss everything tomorrow.” His mouth twitched almost imperceptibly, as if he might have smiled but thought better of it. “Stay on the premises.”

It was nearly a jest, a bit of levity in the grim landscape of our reality. The punishment I’d braced myself for was nowhere to be seen. Was this a mere slap on the wrist? Or perhaps an olive branch extended in the privacy of these four walls?

“Of course.” I nodded once. As I turned to exit the room, the tension that had coiled around my muscles began to lessen. Maybe there was hope for us yet. Hope for my father to see the truth, hope for an alliance that could save us all.

Atticus slipped out of the front door without another word to my father or Larkin. In my mind, I heard his voice, deep and strong, a message meant only for me.

I’ll be waiting in the shadows.

As I walked toward my room, my thoughts wandered. Could my father finally be doubting Larkin, or was it wishful thinking on my part?

I stepped into my quiet room and went straight for the balcony doors. A shadow moved outside. Atticus. Just as he promised, there he was, waiting for me. Tall and imposing, he somehow managed to blend into the darkness. I hastened to let him in, my fingers fumbling slightly with the latch.

“Did anyone see you?” I asked as he stepped over the threshold.

“Nobody sees me unless I want them to,” Atticus said, smiling wryly.“Except you. You see me. Even when the darkness hides me, you see right to the heart of me.”

He pulled me into his embrace, and I leaned into his warmth. His gentle hands found the knots of stress along my neck, and he massaged them with practiced ease.

“How are you holding up after all of that?” he asked.

I sighed. I wasn’t used to showing my vulnerable side so much to anyone, but it was different with Atticus. He would never use it against me, wouldn’t see it as a weakness.

“It’s overwhelming,” I said. “I’m clinging to hope that my father is starting to see Larkin for who he truly is. But the fear that I’m wrong, that he’ll never understand… it eats at me.”

“Hope is a powerful thing,” Atticus said. “You’re stronger than you realize.”

With his hands working magic on my muscles, I allowed myself to believe that everything would be all right. Something about Atticus’s unwavering faith in me made me think we could conquer anything, even the treacherous tides of fate that threatened to pull us under.

I perched on the bed, the light spilling through the open balcony doors. My heart was a tangled mess of worry and hope. “I keep replaying it, my father’s reaction. The way he almost seemed to falter.”

Atticus took my hands, gently prying my clenched fists open before interlacing our fingers.“Seeing you there, lifeless on the forest floor… I’ve never known terror like that.”

“Atticus...” His name came out as a whisper, an acknowledgment of everything he’d become to me, a rock standing tall in the swirling currents that threatened to sweep me away.

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