Page 93 of Claiming His Rejected Mate

I hiss as I lean in, baring my teeth. “I'll send you to hell foreverything you've done. May the Goddess extinguish your soul with her wrath.”

His eyes widen just as I drive my blade into his heart.

His body jerks.

The battle rages on around me, but for the first time, I feel free.

I turn, locking eyes with Kieran.

Eldon’s body collapses at our feet, his eyes wide with shock as the last of his breath rattles out of his lungs.

It’s over.

The war. The nightmares. The weight of his existence pressing down on mine.

I stand over him, chest heaving, my sword still embedded in his heart. The thick scent of blood fills my lungs, but I don’t move, don’t look away. I need to see this, to know that he’s really dead.

That he can never come back for me again.

A slow exhale shudders out of me.

Then a voice drags me back to the battlefield.

"Hazel!"

I turn to see Kieran has left my side and is fighting through the remaining rogues, his silver wolf tearing through their ranks with brutal efficiency. His body is slick with blood, his movements sharp, controlled. He is lethal, a force of nature with unwavering focus.

A final growl rumbles through the field as Moonfang’s warriors cut down the last of Eldon’s remaining forces.

And then—

Silence.

The battle is won.

The rogues that remain flee into the night, their leader dead, their forces broken.

The weight of it all slams into me at once.

I killed him.

I did what I swore I would.

But instead of feeling the triumph I imagined, I feel hollow.

Kieran reaches me, his chest rising and falling with exertion. His eyes rake over me, searching for wounds, for any sign that I’m hurt.

I shake my head before he can ask. “I’m fine.”

His gaze flicks to Eldon’s corpse at my feet, then back to me.

“We did it,” he murmurs.

I nod, my fingers tightening around the hilt of my sword.

His jaw tenses, but he says nothing.

Instead, he lifts a hand and wipes a smear of blood from my cheek, his touch oddly gentle despite the carnage around us. His fingers linger, and for a moment, all I can hear is the steady rhythm of his breathing, the faint crackling of dying flames in the distance.