Where Soft Light Shines Darkness Fades From Tired Hearts by Evan Holt Crane 473
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Third Person’s POV
Trista stood in the center of the living room, her eyes locked onto the unopened cake box sitting on the coffee table.
“I video–called him late last night. He stayed in the shadows the whole time, wouldn’t show his face, Fred said, his eyes rimmed with red as he stared at the cake.
“Wynn and I knew something was off. We left the party early, grabbed this cake, and raced back. But by the time we pushed the door open, his wolf was already gone.”
Trista didn’t move.
Cassian was four years older than her. She was twenty–seven; he was frozen at thirty–one.
Just a few hours ago, she had triumphantly announced it was her “year of rebirth. She never imagined that at that exact moment, Cassian’s world was ending.
They walked into the master bedroom.
Everything was exactly as she remembered, but Trista’s clinical instincts immediately picked up the heavy. metallic scent of blood–the distinct smell of an Alpha’s life force collapsing under extreme strain.
Fred stopped at the dressing room door, partially blocking her view. His voice was a raspy whisper. “He… he passed here. It happened so fast we haven’t had anyone come in to clean yet.”
Trista pushed his hand aside and stepped in, her feet feeling like lead.
The pool of dried, blackened blood on the floor hit her like a physical blow. It was a terrifying, vivid crimson.
In the middle of the mess, the pill bottle and scattered white tablets looked blindingly bright under the amps.
She walked over and picked up the bottle.
Painkillers. High–strength.
Trista gripped the bottle so hard her nails dug into her palms.
She looked back at the blood on the floor, her mind reeling as if hit by a high–voltage current.
How long had he been enduring that kind of agony just to maintain a facade of being fine?
“Trista?” Fred called her name several times before she snapped out of the suffocating daze.
She felt as rigid as a corpse.
As she turned, her sleeve caught a gift box on the table, sending it clattering to the floor.
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Finished
Fred, worried she was about to collapse, steadied her shoulder before bending down to pick up the gift. “He started preparing these months ago. I told him you wouldn’t want them, but he was stubborn- obsessive, really.”
Fred paused, his voice thick with sorrow. “After the bond broke, he spent every second struggling on the edge of that abyss. He really tried to keep going–for Wynn, for his parents. He fought. But in the end, the guilt and the regret just crushed him.”
Fred looked at her, his voice barely audible. “Until the very last second, he was holding that crystal pendant you gave him. Even though it was smashed to pieces, he picked up every shard and gripped them in his fist…”
Howard had been cold and ruthless to Cassian, controlling him with a humiliating, crushing style of leadership.
Yet the moment Cassian drew his last breath, the old Ironthorn patriarch chose to follow his grandson into the dark.
Who could say that wasn’t a form of love, however twisted?
Cassian’s sins against Trista were real. But the hidden sacrifices, the hopeless persistence, and the silent suffering he endured were now laid bare in the blood and pills on the floor–a debt that could never be settled.
By noon the next day, the noise had faded, and the last of the mourners had left the cemetery.
Elias walked over and handed a bouquet of white lilies to Trista. “Here.”
Trista took them, the dew on the petals feeling like ice against her skin.
She walked toward Cassian’s headstone alone. Elias stayed back, giving her one last moment of private closure with the man she had once shared her soul with.
Trista knelt and set the flowers down.
In the photo, Cassian looked young and solemn–the Alpha at his most powerful.
“Cassian,” she whispered, her voice as steady as a still lake. “In this life, we’re even.”
She stood up slowly, looking down at the cold image of his face. “In the next one… let’s just be strangers.”
When she walked back, Elias held a black umbrella over her.
They shared a silent look before heading down the long stone steps of the cemetery.
At the bottom, Elias asked if she wanted to go to the Ironthorn estate.
Trista shook her head, her eyes weary. “Just take me home.”
True healing is always a solo journey.
Right now, the Ironthorn members were surrounding Alaina and Wynn. As the woman who had severed
Finished
the bond, her presence there would only make things more awkward.
At 3:00 PM, she reached home. The house was empty.
Attwater was back at school, and Xander had called Isaiah away to handle an emergency.
Trista sat at the table, looking at the food her parents had prepared. Her stomach felt like it was filled with lead; she couldn’t swallow a bite.
She wasn’t the only one–Randolph and Ulva couldn’t eat either.
The three of them sat in the dining room, their sharp werewolf senses becoming a burden as they felt the heavy grief radiating off one another.
Finally, it was Trista who pulled herself together first to comfort her parents.
She took one day to rest before heading straight back to the healing center.
Xander was shocked to see her in the office. “Why aren’t you taking a few more days off?”
“It’s better to stay busy,” Trista said firmly, shaking her head.
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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.