GREGOR

t void. There was no pain, no sorrow. Only

pped through the tranquility, yanki

ing against my chest, its chill seeping through the thin fabr

lv

he one substance fatal to our kind,

asn't in my body. I was floating

my son

n his hands, he gripped a small, ornate silver

cus that was terrifyingly out of place on a five-year-old

nched teeth, sweat beading on his brow. "You useless Omega

nd. I watched as the child I had birthe

he werewolf world, it was the deepest c

skin. The burn of silver was hellfire,

t engraved on the hilt. It was the fift

usband and my son, working in conce

assive, irresistible force pulled at me from

sp, the children's cold smiles, Cassius's dismissive w

rtex of color and light, the roar of

, si

filled my lungs, clean and cool, withou

ned m

bedroom greeted me, but the lig

, healthy, the skin smooth and unblemished

dy. Not the one ra

tiff. Two small figures were on the floor, dr

und the room, landing on the digital

ins were only five years old, before

ng and playing. Their innocent faces

uld not sacrifice another second

everything. The love for my children, the lingering attachment to Cas

a forgotten sense of streng

I would liv

d looked over at me. Ryder's face broke into that familiar, cloy

yes met mine, the sm