Page 130 of Hunt Me

“Why are you yelling?” she questioned, rubbing her chest. “I feel… take Denalia,” she said, voice laced with growing concern.

Denalia began crying as he gathered her into his arms. Her angry cries told him that she was aware of his betrayal before Matilda did. Their daughter instinctively reached towards her mother, not wanting to be in the arms of a monster. And selfishly, he held her—clung to her as her mother drifted toward the afterlife.

Luka’s composure cracked when Matilda’s breathing hitched.

“No,” he breathed, leaning over her. “Please, please, please,” he begged the gods. “Give us more time.”

Her eyes fluttered open again, searching his face. “Luka… what’s happening?”

His throat closed around the truth, forcing him silent.

Her lips parted in a slight, startled gasp. “You gave me something.”

His face crumpled in shame and despair. “Forgive me, my love.”

Her eyes filled with tears as she gasped for air, reaching for Denalia. He gathered Matilda against him with Denalia nestled between them. His hands shook violently as he held her, as if he could anchor her soul with sheer force of will.

“I love you. Do you hear me? Come back to me. Come back to us,” he whispered in her hair.

He felt it and stilled—the moment her soul left. Her final breath left in a soft exhale, warm against his cheek. She went limp in his arms, and Denalia let out an earth-shattering wail.

Something inside him shattered.

He pulled Matilda closer, clutching her until her bones creaked in protest. His breath came ragged and broken, like a man unraveling from the inside out.

Luka pressed a trembling kiss to Matilda’s brow.

Then another and another until Ezra intervened.

“My King, the sooner you bury her, the quicker she can return.”

Luka lifted Denalia and gently bounced her, pressing his lips to her brow, while fixating on Matilda’s limp form.

“Take her, Ezra,” he instructed. “Keep her safe and warm.”

Ezra accepted Denalia with reverence. “I will guard her with my life.”

Luka nodded once, unable to speak. He watched them disappear into the dim corridor beyond the chamber doors. Only when they were gone did he turn back to Matilda.

He moved slowly toward the wardrobe and opened it with a shaking hand. Inside hung the gown she had worn the first night of her captivity at his castle. It was black velvet, trimmed in gold thread that shimmered like the sun his kind avoided. She’d looked regal and untouchable—the epitome of a queen.

He laid it gently on the bed and dressed Matilda with painstaking care. He fastened every button as if they were glass and smoothed every fold with trembling fingers. He fluffed the curls he loved to tease and frowned at how the curly strands seemed to already dull.

He kissed her forehead and gathered her into his arms. Her body was pliant against him, her head resting on his shoulder as if she were sleeping. She felt light—too light, as if confirming her soul had already journeyed to the afterlife.

The castle corridors were silent as he walked. Servants darted out of sight, guards stood at attention, and Denalia’s wails echoed from somewhere deep within the castle walls.

Outside, the night air seemed sharper and colder, and the moon hung low, tinged a delicate red, casting pink shadows across the snow-dusted grounds. It was either promising or a deadly omen. The grave he prepared awaited them. He stepped to the edge and peered into it. The soil was dark and rich, and the scent of his blood was pungent. It was the threshold between life and death.

Luka lowered himself to his knees, cradling her tighter, not yet willing to let her go. He brushed his thumb along her cheek, memorizing the softness of her skin, the curve of her lips, and the quiet peace of her face in death.

“You will rise,” he murmured. “You will return to me.”

His voice broke.

“And if you don’t… then I will lie beside you until the earth takes us both.”

He pressed one final kiss to her forehead.