Chapter 28
title: "The Names of the Dead" wordCount: 3522
The man in the hallway killed your brother.
My mother's first words to me in three years. Not my name. Not I love you. Not I missed you.
The man in the hallway killed your brother.
I am still standing in the doorway of the office-turned-recovery-room, my hand on the frame, when she says it. Her eyes are clear now. Human. The ancient thing that spoke through her moments ago has retreated, leaving only Moira Carrigan behind. My mother. The woman I thought was dead.
She is looking past me. At Declan.
"Mom." My voice cracks. "What are you—"
"Finn." She sits up slowly, her movements careful like her body does not quite belong to her yet. "Your oldest brother. The one who wanted to be a veterinarian. Who used to sneak you extra dessert when Dad was being strict about sugar." Her gaze does not leave Declan. "That man held him down while another wolf tore his throat out."
The room tilts.
I turn. Declan is frozen in the doorway behind me, his face carved from stone. He does not look surprised. Does not look confused.
He looks caught.
"No." The word comes out small. Stupid. "No, that is not—"
"I saw it, baby." My mother's voice is gentle. Too gentle for what she is saying. "Garrett kept me conscious. Paralyzed, but conscious. He made me watch everything he did with my body. Every experiment. Every test. And he made me watch the recordings. Over and over. The massacre. Your father. Your brothers." She is crying now, tears sliding down her hollow cheeks. "He wanted me to break. To give up. So I memorized every face instead. Every wolf who was there that night."
I cannot breathe.
"Mom, please—"
"December seventh. Eleven forty-three PM. Four minutes before the official time of death." Her voice is steady despite the tears. Clinical. Like she is giving testimony. "Finn was trying to reach the panic room. He almost made it. But three wolves cut him off in the upstairs hallway. One of them was young. Maybe twenty-five. Dark hair. Scar on his left shoulder from a silver blade." She finally looks at me. "He is standing behind you right now."
My legs will not move.
"Sloane." Declan's voice. Low. Careful.
I force myself to turn. To look at him.
"Tell her she is wrong." My voice does not sound like mine. "Tell her she is confused. That Garrett messed with her memories. That—"
"I cannot."
Two words. That is all it takes.
"Declan." His name tastes like blood in my mouth.
He does not look away. Does not flinch. "I was there. I did what she said I did."
The floor drops out from under me.
"Finn was seventeen." My mother's voice continues behind me, relentless. "He called for your father. Kept calling for him even after—" Her voice breaks. "The other wolf, the one who actually killed him, he hesitated. Looked sick. But your Declan, he did not hesitate. He held Finn down and he did not let go until it was over."
"Stop." I cannot tell if I am talking to her or to Declan or to the universe itself.
"There were two others with him." My mother is not stopping. "A woman with red hair. And an older man, maybe forty, with a tattoo on his—"
"Moira." Declan's voice cuts through. "That is enough."
"You do not get to tell me what is enough." My mother's voice turns sharp. Feral. "You do not get to stand in this room and—"
"I know." He is still looking at me. Only at me. "I know what I did. I know what I am."
The mate bond is screaming. Pulling at me. Trying to make me go to him. Trying to make me understand. Forgive.
I want to rip it out of my chest.
"Get out." My voice is shaking. "Get out right now or I swear to God—"
"Sloane—"
"GET OUT."
He does not move.
Behind me, I hear my mother stand. Hear Iris step into the doorway, her hand on her weapon. Hear Marcus somewhere in the hallway, his voice low and urgent, talking to someone.
But all I can see is Declan.
All I can see is my brother's face. Finn, who taught me how to shift. Who used to let me sleep in his room when I had nightmares. Who was going to be a vet because he said someone had to take care of the animals who could not take care of themselves.
Finn, who called for our father while Declan held him down.
"I am sorry." Declan's voice is barely a whisper.
"Yeah, no." The words come out flat. Dead. "You do not get to be sorry. You do not get to stand there and—" My hands are shaking. My whole body is shaking. "How long have you known? That my mother was alive? That she could identify you?"
Something flickers across his face. "Three days."
Three days. Since we found her. Since we brought her here.
"You knew." My voice is rising. "You knew she would wake up and tell me and you just—what? Hoped I would not care? Hoped the mate bond would make me forgive you?"
"No." He takes a step toward me. "I knew you would not forgive me. I knew this would end us. But I also knew that if I told you before we got your mother out, you would have killed me. And then Garrett would have killed you. So I waited."
The honesty of it is worse than a lie would be.
"You used me." The words taste like ash. "You let me trust you. Let me—" I cannot say it. Cannot name what we were becoming. "You let me believe you were different."
"I am not different." His voice is still calm. Still measured. Like he is accepting a sentence. "I have never claimed to be different. I told you what I was, Sloane. I told you I had done terrible things in service to the Conclave. I told you—"
"You did not tell me you murdered my brother." I am screaming now. Cannot stop screaming. "You did not tell me you were there. That you held him down while he died. That you—"
The bond snaps taut between us. Painful. Like a rope pulled too tight.
I grab it. Pull.
"Sloane, do not—" Declan's voice changes. Urgent now. Afraid.
I pull harder. Reach for my alpha power, the thing Siobhan woke up inside me, and I use it like a blade. Cutting. Severing.
The bond begins to break.
Pain explodes through my chest. Through my head. Through every nerve in my body.
I am on my knees. When did I fall?
Across from me, Declan is on the ground too. Blood is running from his nose. His ears. He is saying something but I cannot hear him over the sound of my own heartbeat, too fast, too loud, like it is trying to escape my chest.
The bond is fraying. I can feel it. Like a rope coming apart strand by strand.
Good.
I pull harder.
More pain. Worse pain. My vision is going dark at the edges. Someone is screaming. Maybe me. Maybe him.
The bond is almost gone. Just a few more threads. Just a little more and I will be free of him. Free of this. Free of—
My hands move without my permission.
They stop pulling. Start pushing. Doing something else entirely.
No. Not my hands.
Siobhan.
"Stop." My great-great-grandmother's voice comes out of my mouth. "You are killing us both, you stupid girl."
I try to take control back. Cannot. She is too strong. Or I am too weak. Or both.
"I am not letting you die over a man." Siobhan's voice is disgusted. "Even if he deserves it."
She does something to the bond. Not severing it. Not healing it. Something in between. Like breaking a bone and setting it wrong on purpose.
The pain changes. Becomes sharper. More focused.
And then she is gone. Retreating back into whatever corner of my mind she lives in.
I am on the floor. The tile is cold against my cheek. There is blood in my mouth.
Across from me, Declan is trying to sit up. Failing.
The bond is still there. I can feel it. But it is wrong now. Damaged. Like a broken bone that healed crooked. It hurts. A constant ache. A reminder.
"What did you do?" Declan's voice is rough. Raw.
"Not me." I push myself up. My arms are shaking. "Siobhan. She stopped me from killing us both." I touch my chest. The bond pulses there, painful and wrong. "She broke it instead. Partially. I do not know. I do not—"
I cannot finish. Cannot think.
Finn is dead. Has been dead for three years. And the man I was starting to love killed him.
"Sloane." Declan is looking at me. His face is gray. Blood is still dripping from his nose. "I am sorry. I know that means nothing. I know I do not deserve—"
"Get out." My voice is flat. Empty. "Get out of this house. Get out of my sight. Get out."
"I cannot leave you. Not with the trials coming. Not with Garrett—"
"I do not care." I am standing now. Swaying. "I do not care if Garrett kills me. I do not care if the silver kills me. I do not care about anything except never seeing your face again."
He stands too. Slowly. Like an old man.
"I will go." His voice is quiet. "But I am not leaving the city. When you need me—"
"I will never need you."
"You will." He is not arguing. Just stating a fact. "The trials. The Conclave. Garrett. You will need allies. And I am still—" He stops. Touches his chest where the bond sits, broken and aching. "I am still yours. Even if you are not mine anymore."
The words should mean something. Should hurt.
They do not. I am too empty for hurt.
"Go." I turn away from him. Look at my mother instead. She is standing now, leaning on Iris for support. Her face is wet with tears. "Just go."
I hear him move. Hear his footsteps in the hallway. Hear the front door open.
Close.
He is gone.
My mother and I sit in silence.
The office is quiet now. The other rogues have given us space. Even Iris left, though I know she is just outside the door. Listening. Making sure I do not do something stupid.
Too late for that.
"Baby." My mother's voice is soft. Careful. "I am sorry. I know you—I know he was—"
"Do not." I cannot hear it. Cannot hear her try to make this better. "Just do not."
She nods. Reaches for my hand.
I let her take it. Her fingers are thin. Fragile. Like bird bones.
"He was young." She says it anyway. Cannot help herself. "They all were. The wolves who came that night. Most of them were barely adults. Following orders. Believing what they were told about our pack. About Dad." She squeezes my hand. "The system broke all of them, Sloane. Turned them into weapons. Into—"
"He held my brother down while they killed him." I am not yelling. Not crying. Just stating a fact. "Finn called for Dad and Declan held him down and did not let go."
"Yes." My mother's voice breaks. "Yes, he did."
We sit in the truth of it.
The bond aches in my chest. Wrong. Broken. Still there.
I wish Siobhan had let me finish. Wish she had let us both die.
"What are you going to do?" My mother finally asks.
I look at her. Really look at her. She is so thin. So pale. Her hair is streaked with gray that was not there before. Her eyes are haunted. Hollow.
Three years. Garrett kept her for three years. Conscious. Paralyzed. Watching.
"I am going to finish the trials." My voice is steady. Calm. "I am going to kill Garrett. And then I do not know."
"The silver—"
"I know." I touch my chest. Feel the poison there, spreading. "Siobhan says I have a week. Maybe less now, after what just happened. But it is enough time. It has to be."
"Sloane—"
"I am not asking for permission, Mom." I stand. My legs are steadier now. "I am not asking for anything. I am just telling you what is going to happen."
She looks up at me. Her daughter. The alpha.
"Okay." She nods. "Okay. Then I am coming with you."
"No."
"Yes." She stands too. Wobbles. Catches herself on the desk. "You are not doing this alone. You are not—"
"You can barely stand." I am not being cruel. Just honest. "Garrett tortured you for three years. You need to rest. To heal. To—"
"I need to watch him die." Her voice turns hard. Feral. The wolf under the skin. "I need to see it, Sloane. I need to know he is gone. That he cannot—" She stops. Breathes. "I am coming with you. You can argue or you can accept it, but I am coming."
I look at her. See the steel under the fragility.
"Fine." I turn toward the door. "But you stay back. You do not fight. You do not—"
A knock interrupts me.
Marcus opens the door. His face is grim.
"We have a problem." He looks at me. "Declan just left. Said he is going to get someone. Someone named Mira." He pauses. "He said she has information about the massacre. About that night."
My stomach drops.
"What information?" My voice is sharp.
"He would not say." Marcus shifts his weight. Uncomfortable. "Just said you would not believe him if he told you. But you would believe her."
I look at my mother. She has gone pale.
"Mira." She says the name like a curse. "Mira Thorne. Declan's sister."
"He has a sister?" I did not know that. Did not know anything about his family.
"Had." My mother sits back down. Heavily. "She died. Five years ago. Killed by rogues during a raid." She looks up at me. "At least, that is what the Conclave said. But if she is alive—" She stops. Shakes her head. "If she is alive, then everything we know about that night might be wrong."
"What do you mean wrong?" I am moving toward her. "You said you saw it. You said Declan—"
"I saw what I saw." Her voice is firm. "But I did not see everything. I was not there for the whole night. Just the recordings Garrett showed me. Just the parts he wanted me to see." She meets my eyes. "If Mira Thorne is alive, if she was there, she might know why. Why they came. Why they killed everyone. Why—"
The front door opens.
Footsteps in the hallway. Two sets.
Declan appears in the doorway. He has a duffel bag over his shoulder. His face is still gray. Still bloody.
Behind him is a woman. Tall. Dark hair. Same eyes as Declan.
She looks at me. At my mother.
"Sloane Carrigan." Her voice is rough. Like she has not used it in a long time. "I am Mira Thorne. And I need to tell you what really happened the night your family died."
I cannot move. Cannot speak.
Mira Thorne. Declan's dead sister. Standing in front of me. Alive.
"You are supposed to be dead." My mother's voice. Shaking.
"I was." Mira's eyes do not leave mine. "For three years, I was dead. And then I woke up. And I remembered." She takes a step forward. "I remembered everything. Including the real reason the Conclave sent us to kill your family."
"There is no reason." I find my voice. "There is no reason good enough to—"
"Your father was not the target." Mira cuts me off. "You were."
The room goes silent.
"What?" I cannot have heard that right.
"The Conclave did not send us to kill Ronan Carrigan." Mira's voice is steady. Clinical. "They sent us to kill his daughter. The one who was showing signs of ancient bloodline activation. The one who could become a threat to their power structure." She pauses. "They sent us to kill you, Sloane. Your family died because they were in the way."
I am going to be sick.
"That is not—" My mother is standing. "That is not possible. Sloane was fifteen. She had not even had her first shift yet. How could they—"
"They had a seer." Mira looks at her. "Someone who could see the future. See what Sloane would become. What she could do." She turns back to me. "They saw you leading a revolution. Saw you tearing down the Conclave. Saw you freeing the packs from their control. So they decided to kill you before you could become that person."
"But I did not die." My voice sounds far away. "They killed everyone else but I survived."
"Because your father knew." Mira's voice softens. "He knew they were coming. Someone warned him. He sent you away that night, did he not? Told you to run an errand. To go to town. To be anywhere but home."
I am fifteen again. Standing in the kitchen. My father's hand on my shoulder.
Go to the store, Sloane. We need milk.
We have milk, Dad.
Go anyway. Take your time. Stop for ice cream if you want.
"He knew." The words come out broken. "He knew and he sent me away and he—"
"He saved you." Mira finishes. "He saved you and he died for it. They all did."
I cannot breathe. Cannot think.
"Why are you telling me this?" I look at Declan. He is standing in the doorway still. Silent. "Why now?"
"Because you need to know the truth before you face Garrett." Mira answers instead. "You need to know that this was never about your father's politics or your pack's territory or any of the reasons they gave. This was always about you. About stopping you from becoming what you are becoming."
"And what is that?" My voice is sharp. Angry.
"The thing they feared most." Mira's smile is grim. "A Carrigan alpha with ancient blood who refuses to bow."
The bond aches in my chest. Broken. Wrong.
I look at Declan. He is watching me. Waiting.
"This does not change anything." My voice is flat. "You still killed my brother. You still—"
"I know." He cuts me off. "I know it does not change anything. But you deserved to know why. You deserved to know that your father died protecting you. That they all died protecting you." He adjusts the duffel bag on his shoulder. "I am leaving now. Mira will stay. She can tell you everything. Answer your questions. I just—" He stops. Touches his chest. "I just needed you to know the truth before I go."
"Where are you going?" The question comes out before I can stop it.
"To finish what I started." His voice is quiet. "To make sure the Conclave pays for what they did to your family. To mine. To all of us." He looks at Mira. Then back at me. "I am going to burn it down, Sloane. With or without you. But I thought you should know that I am on your side. I have always been on your side. Even when I was too much of a coward to show it."
He turns to leave.
"Declan." My voice stops him.
He looks back.
"I still hate you." The words come out steady. True. "I still want you gone. But—" I pause. Force myself to say it. "But thank you. For bringing her. For telling me."
He nods once. "I am sorry, Sloane. For all of it. For what I did. For what I failed to do. For—" His voice breaks. "For not being strong enough to save your brother when I had the chance."
And then he is gone.
The door closes behind him.
I am left standing in the office with my mother and a dead woman and the truth I never wanted to know.
Mira is watching me. Waiting.
"Tell me everything." My voice is hard. Cold. "Tell me every detail. Every name. Every reason. I want to know exactly who decided my family should die. And then I want to know how to kill them."
Mira's smile is sharp. Feral.
"That," she says, "I can do."
But before she can start, the front door opens again.
Footsteps. Running.
Iris bursts into the room. Her face is white.
"We have a problem." She is breathing hard. "The Conclave knows where we are. They are coming. We have maybe ten minutes before—"
The windows explode inward.
Glass everywhere. Shouts. Gunfire.
And through the broken window, I see them.
Conclave enforcers. Dozens of them.
And at the front, smiling that terrible smile, is Garrett Voss.
He sees me. Waves.
"Hello, Sloane Carrigan." His voice carries over the chaos. "I believe we have unfinished business."