Chapter 194
ATASHA’S POV
A year ago, if someone had told me I would one day stand in front of Celeste with nothing but disgust sitting in my chest, I would have laughed and called it impossible.
The idea of resenting her used to feel wrong on a level that made my stomach turn. She was my kind sister, my gentle sister, the one I convinced myself I should protect no matter the cost. Even imagining anything else would have felt like a betrayal.
That time was gone.
Now I walked ahead of her through the side entrance of the mansion, my steps steady as my boots pressed into patches of stained stone and half-scrubbed floors. The blood underfoot had already darkened, mixed with water and sand from the cleaning crew, but the metallic scent still clung to the air if someone paid enough attention. I barely noticed it.
After everything that happened in the courtyard, after kneeling in the snow beside bodies that refused to breathe, this felt like nothing more than what it was, evidence of something that had already ended.
Behind me, I could hear Celeste’s footsteps falter each time we crossed a darker patch. Her breathing hitched once, just enough to catch my attention. I glanced back over my shoulder and caught the way her nose wrinkled and her hand lifted to cover her mouth, as if the urge to gag kept crawling up her throat.
“Is something wrong, Sister?” I asked, slowing my pace just enough for her to draw level with me. I let my voice stay light and warm, the same tone I used years ago when I asked if she was tired after training or upset after a scolding from our parents.
Her lips parted, ready to answer, but before she could push anything out, I smiled and turned my gaze to the floor ahead. “Please don’t mind a little nuisance like this,” I added, stepping over another faint smear as if it were a simple spill. “We are in the process of cleaning it all up.”
Celeste’s face twisted, her expression crumpling between outrage and nausea. I pretended not to notice the way she stiffened.
Soon enough, we reached the inner corridor reserved for guests, where the walls stood intact and the worst of the damage had been scrubbed away. I stopped in front of one of the better rooms, one that still smelled faintly of oil and herbs instead of ash and blood. The door opened with a soft creak when I pushed it.
“You can stay here for now,” I told her, gesturing toward the interior. “The others are not very pleasant at the moment. This one is at least comfortable.”
She walked in with quick, sharp steps, as if the corridor behind her might reach out and drag her back through the stains. The moment she cleared the threshold, she turned around and shut the door with more force than necessary, the latch clicking loudly in the suddenly enclosed space.
Her head snapped up, eyes wide, cheeks pale enough to show every flicker of emotion.
“What was that?” she demanded, voice shaking in a way she probably hoped sounded composed and failed.
I let my brows pull together lightly, as if I had no idea what she meant. “What was what, Sister?” I asked, keeping my tone mild.
She stared at me, mouth opening and closing. “That,” she stuttered, her hand jerking in the direction of the door as if she could point through it. “Outside. The snow. The-” She swallowed hard. “That thing outside.”
I tilted my head slowly, letting confusion settle on my face. “I am not sure I understand. What does Sister mean exactly?”
Her eyes widened even further, disbelief fighting with something close to horror. For a heartbeat, she just stared at me,
searching my face for any hint that I might be joking. I kept my expression steady and bland.
Inside, something in me loosened in a way that felt unfamiliar and strangely satisfying.
So this is what it had been for them, I thought, watching Celeste struggle to find her footing while I stood perfectly s
There had been a reason why she and Genevieve enjoyed certain games so much, and it was not only because they wanted something from me. It was the look in my eyes when I panicked, the way my voice shook, the way my confusion entertained them. Playing someone, acting harmless, twisting the situation until the other person felt unstable, it carried its own reward.
I understood that now.
Celeste stepped closer, her hands curling at her sides. “Stop that,” she snapped, the pitch of her voice rising. “Stop acting like you cannot see anything. There was blood all over the place, Atasha. Blood on the ground, on the walls, under the snow. Do you even realize what that looks like? Are you blind or are you pretending this is normal?”
I blinked.
She was shaking. Not enough for anyone outside to notice, but close enough for me to see the tremor in the line of her shoulders and the way her fingers twitched. The mighty Alpha’s daughter from the South, the girl who had once laughed at me for being squeamish, now stood inside my room in the North and trembled because she had to walk across cleaned blood.
I folded my hands neatly in front of me, breathing in the familiar scent of herbs and soap that clung to my clothes.
“Of course I saw it,” I said calmly, still keeping my tone soft. “The North was attacked, Celeste. There was a rebellion, and our soldiers fought to protect this place. Blood is to be expected after something like that.”
Her throat worked around a swallow, the color draining even more from her face. “Expected,” she repeated, as if the word offended her. “You say that as if you have been living in it.”
I met her gaze and held it. “I have,” I answered, letting just enough truth slip out without giving her anything useful. “This is my home now. When someone comes here with the intention to kill the people under my roof, blood is the least of what I am willing to walk through.”
Her mouth snapped shut, teeth clacking softly together.
She looked at me as if she did not recognize the person in front of her. That reaction landed somewhere deep under my ribs, in a place that remembered how she once smiled while I begged for her help, how she once tilted her head in feigned concern while pushing me closer to a fate she thought I would not survive.
I smiled back at her now, gentle and almost apologetic.
“Do not worry,” I added, as if I had not just undone the image she wanted to cling to. “You are safe here. No one will touch you without my permission.”
Her eyes flickered.
The words were meant to comfort, but we both knew exactly what they implied.
“You—” Celeste tried again, but her voice cracked and she seemed unable to decide whether she wanted to accuse me, question me, or simply back away.
I didn’t bother to help her decide.
Instead, I softened my expression, tilting my head just a little. “Sister, the journey must have been exhausting. If you want to
rest—”
“Mother is dead.” Celeste cut me off so abruptly the words lodged in my throat.
The sentence landed between us like a stone thrown onto thin ice. I stilled, letting my eyes widen, not too dramatically, just enough to sell the moment.
A tiny stagger backward followed, the way a fragile, unsuspecting Atasha from the past might have reacted if someone ripped the ground from under her feet.
I even let my hand rise halfway to my mouth.
“What… what do you mean?” I breathed, letting my voice tremble in a way that mirrored her tone earlier. “Mother….? Dead?”
Celeste nodded as if delivering the blow offered her a twisted sense of control. Her chin wobbled, her eyes glossed just enough to look emotional, though even now I couldn’t tell if the tears came from grief or from irritation.
“Mother died, Atasha,” she repeated, each word heavy, like she wanted them to bruise. “Our mother is dead.”
I let my knees weaken slightly, a controlled falter, just enough to make my breath catch. “Dead?” I whispered, blinking rapidly. “But… how… when…?”
Celeste exhaled shakily, stepping closer as if seeking comfort while also performing grief. “After you left, she fell ill. It got worse, too fast. Nothing the healers did worked. One morning she simply stopped breathing.”
My hand curled around the edge of a chair, knuckles whitening as I lowered myself onto the seat as though my strength had drained away. I kept my face aligned with the version of me she expected, the sister who had never broken away, the one who would crumble at the weight of this kind of news.
Celeste hovered near me, watching every second of it, feeding on the reaction she believed was honest.
But inside, something entirely different twisted in my chest. Of course I knew Genevieve died. After all, it was me who ended her life.
Celeste continued, her voice trembling in all the ways she probably thought were convincing. “Father… he tried to manage the pack alone. He pushed himself too hard. The Demon Fangs attacked again, and he collapsed. He hasn’t woken since. The healers say it’s a coma.” Her breath quivered. “So it’s just you and me now… just the two of us.”
I lifted my gaze to her slowly, letting my eyes shine with just the right amount of unshed tears, adding softness to my voice, the perfect blend of heartbreak and confusion.
“Just the two of us…?” I whispered. No Celeste… I thought. I still have the north. Right now… you are alone.
