Tangled With The Fated Mates

Grief

Moss, Keeran, and Reid swiftly retreated, vanishing into the darkness engulfing the forest once more as the moon crept underneath the shroud of gray clouds. Meanwhile, Denzel's previously bleeding neck revealed the remarkable regenerative abilities of werewolves. Consumed by heartbreak, he held himself responsible for all that had transpired, especially his powerlessness during the battle when the witch subdued him to the floor.

Cordelia had bravely protected Nira in the intense battle, shielding her from the onslaught of attacks launched at them. Even when she had gotten shot with a wolfsbane bullet she had kept on fighting, enduring the pain. As their adversaries retreated, she finally succumbed, collapsing onto the forest floor. The insidious effects of the wolfsbane thwarted her natural healing, and Nira, overwhelmed with worry, knelt by her side, tears streaming down her face.

"I'm so sorry I put you in this mess," Nira said, her voice choking with emotion. "The witch was blocking my powers."

"It's... it's okay," Cordelia managed to reply, her words a mere whisper.

Denzel, Donald, and Ezrianna gathered around Cordelia, their faces filled with concern. Ezrianna gently laid her hand on Cordelia's side, where she had been shot. A faint glow surrounded Cordelia's ribs as Ezrianna, determined and focused, started extracting the harmful essence of the wolfsbane poison. A surge of energy permeated the air as Ezrianna's magic interacted with Cordelia's wounds. Everyone's gaze lingered on Ezrianna as she continued to work her magic. Gradually, the influence of the wolfsbane diminished, and vitality returned to Cordelia's cheeks. The once gripping pain began to fade, replaced by a sense of relief.

"Thank you," Denzel murmured, acknowledging the pivotal role Ezrianna had played in salvaging what remained of his pack.

Ronald offered his hand, assisting Cordelia to her feet. As she stood, he drew her into a warm embrace, planting a tender kiss on her forehead.

"Thank heavens," Donald sighed in relief. Turning to Ezrianna, he added with gratitude, "Ezrianna, I can't thank you enough."

"You're welcome," Ezrianna replied softly.

Silence enveloped them momentarily, as they took in the aftermath of the battle where they stood.

Denzel, reluctant to confront the churning emotions within, suddenly shifted into overdrive. "Help me pile up the bodies," he urged, his voice strained. Without awaiting a reply, he started dragging two bodies simultaneously to a designated spot. Nira, sensing the turmoil within him, approached him, placing a firm hand on his shoulder.

"Calm down, Denzel. Breathe. You need to process this," she implored.

However, Denzel remained headstrong, the need to move forward eclipsing the necessity to confront his own sorrow. He continued the arduous task, dragging bodies one after another, piling them up in the same spot. Slowly, others joined in. With the bodies gathered, Ezrianna summoned a flame with her magic. The fire flickered to life, dancing in the night as it consumed the remnants of the dead. In its glow, the survivors stood united, their faces lit up by the flame.

"I'm going to write down their names on this rock," Ezrianna proposed, her gaze fixed on the weathered stone. "So that they are never forgotten."

"I'm with you on that," Cordelia affirmed.

Having shared life's tapestry with them, Ezrianna knew all their names. Her hands began weaving letters and the names Bryan, Red, Big K, Drake, Nate, Diaz, Fizzo, Bella, Sonia, Priest, Lea, Michele, Alicia—meddled onto the rock.

"You forgot Gina's name," Donald pointed out.

Ezrianna's eyes widened in realization. "Oops, you're right," Ezrianna said, adding Gina's name at the bottom.

Amidst the crackling flames, Cordelia began singing a song traditionally dedicated to the moon goddess in remembrance of fallen werewolves. Donald and Nira joined her, while Ezrianna, less acquainted with the lyrics, hummed along. Denzel, somewhat hesitant, contributed his bass voice in the middle of the melody. Following the song, Cordelia concluded the hasty funeral with a solemn prayer.

"Time to return to the mansion," Donald suggested.

Everyone moved to follow Denzel, save for Ezrianna, who contemplated a retreat to her secluded forest house. Denzel sensing her hesitation turned back.

"You should come along too Ezrianna," Denzel said. "Stay with us. There are enough vacant rooms in the pack mansion now. It's not safe for anyone to be alone in the forest, especially after what happened."

Ezrianna, acknowledging the importance of safety and the necessity for collective support, acquiesced. They returned to the mansion without encountering any obstacles on the way.

Denzel unlocked the door, which creaked open, inviting them into the spacious interior adorned with beautiful designs.

In the dimly lit living room, everyone found a seat, except for Denzel, who made a beeline for the bar. Nira, concerned about his well-being, trailed behind him.

Denzel, in an attempt to drown his sorrows, grabbed a bottle of scotch and poured himself several glasses. The room echoed with the clinking of glass each time he downed the fiery liquid and prepared for another refill.

Growing increasingly worried, Nira watched as he consumed the alcohol with desperate fervor. Unsure whether to intervene or let him continue, she hesitated. As the bottle neared emptiness, Denzel reached a breaking point, unleashing an agonized scream and hurling the glass against the wall. The shattering collision broke the silent reverie, filling the air with tension as glass shards scattered across the floor.

"Fuck!" Denzel's anguished cry reverberated through the room, a raw expression of both anger and pain. "I'm going to kill Reid. I'll go to the ends of the earth if I have to find him."

Nira, startled by the sudden outburst, rushed forward, concern etched on her face. "Trust me, Denzel, we all want Reid dead so bad," she said, her eyes reflecting shared determination. "But tonight, all we can do is grieve. We lost a lot of people, and we've lost our fighting spirit too."

Donald, who had been silent, finally spoke up, his voice edged with a quiet intensity. "We'll get him, Denzel. But now, we need to honor the fallen. Reid will pay for what he did, but we owe it to our packmates to grieve for them first."

Denzel, still seething with rage, clenched his fists and shook his head in disapproval. "Every moment we spend to grieve is a chance for Reid to strategize and plan another attack."

Ezrianna, her presence commanding attention, interjected with a measured tone, "Revenge won't bring them back, Denzel. You too have to strategize and plan your next move carefully. You'll get your pound of flesh soon, the war is not over."

Nira, placing a gentle hand on Denzel's shoulder, said, "Denzel, grieving is not a sign of weakness. We mourn tonight, and then we rise stronger tomorrow."