The Night of Ash and Blood. That’s what the Underworld media had called the fight between the Order of the Sun and the wolves and their comrades.

The humans’ media merely thought some drunken heiress had thrown a lavish party and burned down her home, tragically perishing in the fire herself.

If only it were that simple, Gage thought, straightening his black tie once more and glancing outside. Storm clouds, heavy and purple with unshed rain, loomed over Castle Crescent. The private company his secretary had hired to put on the memorial service had been prepared, throwing up a sturdy canopy as soon as the forecast had turned dour.

His stomach twisted into knots, and he swallowed hard to shove spit past the lump that had lodged itself in the pit of his throat. He hadn’t felt this nervous to speak before a crowd since he’d given his first Alpha speech back in Moonstruck. Yet knowing he was about to face all the grieving families of those slain but a week ago made him want to crawl into a hole. He would have to look into the accusing eyes and know that he was the real reason they had lost someone they loved.

Why their father would never tuck them into bed again.

Why their spouse would never be there to warm their sheets.

Why their child would be missing during holiday gatherings.

Those were the harsh realities he’d struggled to come to terms with throughout the long, dreary week since so much blood had been spilled on Mistress Black’s lawn.

So much violence, so much death. He kept racking his brain, trying to come up with some way it could all have been prevented. And yet he knew that final confrontation had been inevitable.

Danica, Alara, Verika, even Elijah, despite all his faults… They had been worth the price, hadn’t they? Slaying an evil that would have likely enslaved the world had been worth so many lives.

Hadn’t it?

A soft knock came at the door.

Gage looked up. His heart swelled with joy.

Danica stood there, her belly swollen, emphasized by the elegant, empire-waisted black gown she wore. Long sleeves of inky velvet coated her arms, and the simple diamond studs he’d given to her because he’d felt like spoiling her dotted her ears. Her long golden hair had been swept up into a regal coif. A delicate crown of nickel-plated moons accented by pearly stars rested atop her head.

Her green eyes shone, a knowing smile on her pink lips. Silently, she stepped inside and closed the door before she crossed the room to her husband and mate. Her lithe pale hands, the nails of which had been painted a faint coral color that complemented her creamy skin tone well, slipped through his arms, and she rested her head against his shoulder.

They both stared at their reflection in the mirror hanging in his private study.

“You are so beautiful,” Gage murmured, taking her hand and kissing it. “How are you feeling?”

“Tired. And my feet hurt. And my boobs hate bras right now.” She smiled softly. “But I’ll manage.”

He kissed her lightly on the lips, partly because he didn’t want to spoil her makeup and in part holding himself back. If he didn’t, he’d have her atop the desk, legs spread wide, pants down by his ankles. Though he knew she felt more self-conscious than ever about her appearance, the sight of her belly, heavy with his baby, made her all the more irresistible to him. He nuzzled her neck, inhaled her scent of roses. He loved that his sheets smelled like her now every time he lay down. “You’re gorgeous.”

“And you look troubled. Gonna tell me what’s going on?”

Gage sighed, methodically running his fingertips up and down her spine as he thought. “I feel so guilty.”

“Why?”

“Like all the death, all the loss…it’s my fault. I am their king. I commanded them to come to my aid, and they did. And many of them paid dearly for it.”

“First of all, I know you never would have exercised the Alpha’s Right on anyone. You’d never command someone to come and help. They made that choice of their own free will.”

“I know, but—”

“But hear me out.” She cupped his face with her hands, holding his gaze with hers. “You feel guilty because you like to take the world’s hurt and pile it on your own shoulders, as if doing so will ease the burden of loss for other people. You are kind, Gage. Too kind at times, perhaps. It’s both your greatest strength and your greatest fault. You cannot blame yourself for something you had no control over whatsoever. Those men and women, while I also feel and grieve their losses, came to your aid because they respected you as their leader and king. They thought enough of you to lay down their lives to help you. They believed in something—in someone, you—so strongly that they were willing to risk everything for it. So before you blame yourself, please give them more credit. They acted out of loyalty to their crown, and their kin. To treat their deaths as anything but a fierce act of bravery would dishonor their memories. Mourn them. Honor them. That is the only way.”

Gage stood there, dumbstruck. The clock on the wall ticked away the silent seconds as his mate searched his gaze.

“Well, say something.” She smiled slightly.

He blinked, shook his head, and kissed her. “You’re incredible, you know that? The kind of queen every king wishes he had.”

“Well, then it’s a good thing you have me.” She grinned.

“Damn straight.” He leaned in for another kiss, when a knock came at the door.

“Sire,” someone said from the other side, “it’s almost time for the ceremony to start.”

“Thank you,” he called. With a heavy-hearted sigh and a stomach that was full of butterflies, he leaned his forehead against his mate’s. His eyes fluttered closed, as did hers.

He swore in quiet moments like these their hearts beat as one. He could feel their collective pulse, hear the gentle swoosh of their breathing as it synchronized.

As one. Now and forever.

Taking her hand, he started toward the door. She held tight, not saying anything. She didn’t need to. Her grasp alone was enough.

It assured him she was there for him, and he for her, however long their lives may be.

And, because of the bravery of those fallen souls, that appeared to be for a while longer yet.

The memorial was beautiful. Gage had deviated from his speech some once he got going, his voice thick and raw with emotion. The sounds of sniffling had filled the air, breaking up the din of the light rain showering the countryside.

Mist rose off the ground. Everything had a bluish tint thanks to the relentless cloud cover, which made the trees and hills look sleepy and somber.

As people started to file out of the tent and into the castle for the banquet prepared to honor the fallen heroes, Gage swung by his office to check his appearance and scan over his next speech.

A soft knock came at the open door. Verika stood there, dressed in a simple black dress. Elijah wasn’t with her, though Gage could sense his presence lingering in the hallway.

“Eli,” Gage called tiredly, “you can come in, too. Don’t be afraid.”

Gage heard the sharp intake of breath. A moment later, Elijah joined them, donning a black button-down and black slacks. His hair had been slicked back with a bit of gel, and he’d shaved. The hollows of his face still looked too steep, the blue under his eyes a bit too pronounced. But it had only been one week since they fought Mistress Black. It would take time for him to heal. It would take time for all of them to heal.

Gage smiled at them. “Glad you could make it today.”

“We wouldn’t miss it,” Elijah said gruffly, slinging a protective arm around Verika’s shoulders as she shivered and hugged herself.

Gage’s eyes softened in sympathy. He knew that grave look, saw the deep slope of her shoulders—Eli’s too.

They both felt guilty.

What broke his heart the most was the fact he knew he couldn’t help them. That was something they would have to work out for themselves. Someday they would realize the Night of Blood and Ash was not because of them but because of one selfish woman’s insatiable greed for power. Her quest—to create a world where paranormals could live free from fear of persecution—might have started out with a nobler purpose once upon a time. When Mistress Black still had a soul, if she ever had one. He wondered from time to time whether the spell she’d used to gain power, whether her leaching off the souls of the innocent, had somehow warped her mind and heart. Whether, perhaps, deep, deep down, there had been some pure part of her worth saving.

He shook his head. Useless thoughts that didn’t hold any meaning other than making him question their choices. And if there was one thing he hated, it was negative what-ifs. As a king, he couldn’t afford to let himself get down in the dumps with dark thoughts. There was simply too much to do. Sometimes he jokingly said he was married to every Alpha, queen, Beta, Omega, pup, and everyone in between within the werewolf nation. Only it wasn’t a joke. He wasn’t just an Alpha anymore—he was the Alpha, the leader they all looked up to.

For protection, for guidance. He had an example to set.

Starting with righting some very epic wrongs.

He swiped a manila folder off his desk, handed it to Verika. “Your official pardons.”

“I could kiss you right now.” Verika stared reverently at the folder. “Only, I won’t. That would be awkward,” she quickly amended, glancing between the two brothers.

Elijah suppressed a smile, though gold briefly flashed through his eyes.

They each carefully removed their documents. His signature had barely had time to dry before he’d stuffed them into the folders. “So the High Council wiped our slates clean? No treason, no obstructing evidence, not even a Class A misdemeanor for practicing illegal magic?” Verika asked, her voice a bit high pitched from nerves.

“Nope. In exchange for your services in helping bring down one of the most dangerous witches to have ever lived, and basically saving the Underworld in doing so, the Council has decided to drop everything against you.”

“Everything?” Elijah held his brother’s gaze in question.

Gage smiled. “Yes, Eli. Everything. You’re officially free.”

The air left Elijah’s massive frame in such a whoosh that it made several of the papers on Gage’s desk take flight. Much to his disgruntlement—sorting papers was one of his least favorite things to do, but another necessary evil of being king—but he wasn’t angry for long.

Elijah swayed, stumbled, his face heavy with emotion. Tears slicked his eyes, and he desperately clung to Verika as she steadied him. “I’m free,” Elijah breathed, as if still unable to believe it. “I’m free.” His knees buckled, and down to the floor he went. Verika went with him, rubbing his back in soothing strokes as tears streamed silently down his face. The paper shook in his hand, and he couldn’t seem to take his eyes off it.

Gage went over to him and knelt, placed a hand on his shoulder and squeezed. “Yes, brother. You’re free. We all are. No more running, no more looking over your shoulder. The Council destroyed your criminal record. You can start over now.”

“Thank you,” he at last blubbered, the words barely intelligible because his voice was so raw.

“No thanks needed. I’m glad to help.” Gage stood, offered his hand. “Speaking of starting over…how about we do too? Starting with you—and Verika, of course—staying for dinner tonight?”

Elijah tore his eyes off the paper to stare at Gage’s hand. He grasped it. “Yeah, I’d like that.”