Where Soft Light Shines Darkness Fades From Tired Hearts by Evan Holt Crane 472
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Third Person’s POV
1:00 AM.
The massive bronze gates of the Ironthorn estate stood wide open, radiating a sense of end–of–the–line desolation.
Isaiah’s car rolled slowly up the drive, the sound of tires crunching over fallen leaves loud and jarring in the dead silence.
The moment Trista pushed open the car door, Fred was there to meet her.
Only twenty–four hours had passed since she’d seen him, but he looked like he’d aged years. His eyes were bloodshot, and his usual clean, forest–scent was buried under the bitter smell of tobacco and raw stress.
“The core members of the Ironthorns and the Icepeaks are all inside. The rest of the clans will be here by morning,” Fred whispered, his voice heavy with exhaustion.
“Wilmot and Alaina are in bad shape. Their wolves are on the brink of collapse. Wynn is at her breaking point, too. That’s the only reason I bothered you.”
Trista nodded, following him inside without a word.
The early winter sky was as black as ink, and the clouds gathering over the estate seemed even darker.
The crushing weight of a fallen dynasty hung over every pack member; they walked with their heads down, terrified to make even the slightest sound.
Trista stopped at the entrance to the living room. Wynn was leaning weakly against the doorframe, looking as thin and fragile as a sheet of paper.
“Wynn, I’m so sorry,” Trista said, her voice raspy.
She had never once regretted leaving, and she was resolute about never looking back, but she had never intended for things to end in this kind of carnage.
Wynn’s tears had long since dried up, but seeing Trista made her grief boil over again.
She stared at Trista, her voice hoarse. “Cassian… he left me a message. He told me I’m not allowed to blame you.”
dib Before his wolf had finally flickered out, Cassian had used his last shred of consciousness to text Wynn. He told her to take care of their parents and to keep the company running.
But the most important command was this: “Trista is forever my mate. Even if the bond is broken, you must respect her as you respect me.”
It was a final, binding order from her Alpha brother. Wynn didn’t dare disobey.
Trista’s lashes fluttered. The realization that Cassian had been paving the way for her even as he died made
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her chest tighten painfully.
She lowered her head and walked past Wynn into the suffocating atmosphere of the living room.
There, she ran right into Wilmot.
The Alpha who once controlled half the resources in Los Angeles, the man who was once too proud to bow, had lost his fire.
His shoulders were hunched, and his hair had turned completely white overnight. He looked hollowed
out.
He pushed away the person trying to steady him and tottered over to Trista, his fingers trembling violently.
Trista met his gaze. “If you don’t want me here, I’ll leave right now.”
Wilmot’s gaunt hand moved slowly, pointing toward the master bedroom on the first floor.
He didn’t explode in rage like he used to. His voice was just a broken, weary rasp. “Thank you for coming.” That politeness sent a chill through Trista’s bones. When a powerful man who once viewed you as an enemy starts being polite, it means he has completely lost the will to fight his fate.
Trista hurried to the bedroom just as Alaina was drifting back to consciousness.
The moment Alaina saw her, she suffered a total emotional collapse, letting out a wail of pure despair.
Trista sat on the edge of the bed, her eyes burning red as she pulled the older woman into a hug. “Alaina, I’m so sorry.”
Standing by the door, Isaiah saw Trista finally let the tears fall, and he felt his own body relax slightly.
Suppressed grief is the deadliest poison; she needed to let it out.
Fred signaled for Isaiah to stay put while he led Wynn to the side parlor.
In the dim corner, Fred offered his shoulder. Wynn crumbled into his arms, shaking like a terrified animal.
“Fred, I’m scared…”
Overnight, the three pillars of her world–her brother, her grandfather, and her father–had all fallen.
The entire weight of Ironthorn was now resting on her shoulders alone.
The looming threats, the responsibility for the pack… it was terrifying.
Fred held her tight, promising her in a low, steady voice, “Don’t be scared. You have me. As soon as the funeral is over, I’m moving in. I’ll go to the office with you, I’ll help you take care of Wilmot and Alaina… Wynn, you aren’t alone anymore.”
3:00 AM.
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Fred called Trista out of the room. The hallway motion lights cast a sickly, pale glow over them.
He kept his voice low, but he couldn’t hide the bone–deep fatigue in his tone. “Cassian and Howard are being cremated tomorrow morning. I need you to go to his place with me to pick out a suit. Someone close to him needs to dress him before the cremation.”
An hour later, Trista stepped back into the house she had once shared with Cassian..
The moment the door opened, a familiar, stale scent washed over her.
On the shoe rack in the foyer, two pairs of fuzzy women’s slippers were still sitting right next to Cassian’s leather dress shoes.
Walking into the living room, she realized everything had been frozen in time since the d
Sara Lili
Sara Lili is a daring romance writer who turns icy landscapes into scenes of fiery passion. She loves crafting hot love stories while embracing the chill of Iceland’s breathtaking cold.