Fated by Moon and Sea

Chapter Two: Through the Veil of Twilight

Isaiah’s POV:

The hospital room is silent, save for the mechanical beeping of the heart monitor and the occasional whisper of air from the vent above. The antiseptic sting of bleach and alcohol lingers, but beneath it, faint and fading is Alicia’s scent—once sweet and intoxicating, now barely there.

Josiah and I stand on either side of her bed, our hands clasped, fingers locked in a grip so tight it’s painful. It’s the only thing grounding us, keeping us tethered to reality as we watch the inevitable unfold before us. Our mate—our love, our soul—is slipping away, and we are powerless to stop it.

Her chest rises and falls in slow, shallow breaths, each one weaker than the last. Her skin, once golden with warmth and life, has paled to something fragile, translucent in the dim light of the overhead lamp. I reach out, brushing a stray strand of hair from her damp forehead, my fingers trembling as they skim over her cooling skin.

I don’t want to let go.

I can feel Josiah’s pain echoing my own. It bleeds through our bond, an unrelenting agony that neither of us can voice. Words feel meaningless. They would not bring her back. They would not undo the cruel twist of fate that led us here.

Outside, beyond these sterile walls, our world still exists. Our pack, family, and people looking to us for strength all wait in sorrow. I know Natala is with the twins, cradling our newborns in the crook of her arms, her face a mask of quiet grief as she holds them close. They will never know the warmth of their mother’s embrace, the soft lilt of her laughter, and the fierce love she carried for them before she ever laid eyes on their tiny faces.

A sob builds in my throat, but I swallow it down.

I cannot break. Not now. Not yet.

Alicia has always been our light. The force that steadied us, the fire that burned so brightly, warming even the darkest corners of our existence. I remember the first time we met her—how fearless she had been, how defiant in the face of danger. She was our equal in every way. A warrior. A leader. A mother.

And now, she is dying.

Josiah grips my hand harder, his body shaking beside me. I turn to him, meeting his tormented gaze, and in that moment, there is an understanding between us that does not need words. We are losing a part of ourselves, a piece of our souls, and we can do nothing to stop it.

The heart monitor beeps erratically.

The final descent.

I press my forehead against hers, my lips brushing against her cooling skin. “I love you,” I whisper, voice raw, broken. “I will always love you.”

Josiah leans in, his voice trembling. “You are our heart, Alicia. Our home.”

Her lips part slightly, but no sound comes. Her eyelids flutter, just for a second, and I swear—swear—I feel her try to reach for us one last time. Then, the monitor emits a single, long, piercing tone.

The breath leaves her body.

And she is gone.

The world tilts on its axis. The silence that follows is deafening. My chest tightens, my vision blurring as the weight of reality crashes down. I exhale shakily, my entire being shattering into a million pieces. Josiah releases my hand and lets out a strangled sound, his body curling protectively around Alicia’s lifeless form as if he could shield her from the void that has taken her from us.

But nothing can bring her back.

She is gone.

And we are alone.

Josiah’s POV:

The cold seeps into my bones, settling deep, an emptiness that spreads and devours. I have felt pain before. I have faced loss. But nothing—nothing—compares to this.

Alicia is gone.

The words do not seem real.

I stare at her still form, waiting—praying—for her to take another breath, for her to open those warm, fierce eyes and tell us that this is some cruel joke. But there is nothing. The fire in her is extinguished, leaving behind a body that no longer belongs to her.

Isaiah is silent, his shoulders shaking. He does not cry. Neither of us do. It is not in our nature. But the grief is there, raw and consuming, clawing at our throats, pressing down on our chests like an unbearable weight.

Outside, I hear movement. Soft murmurs. The shifting of bodies. They know. Our pack, our family. They know the moment her heartbeat ceased, the moment our mate took her last breath. The pain ripples outward, touching everyone who ever knew her, who ever loved her.

And yet, in this moment, it is just us.

Isaiah and I.

And the unbearable silence she left behind. My fists clench. My jaw locks. This is not how it was supposed to be. We were supposed to have decades—centuries—together. We were supposed to grow old, watch our children grow strong, and lead our pack into a future where she stood beside us, unyielding and proud.

Not this. Never this.

I feel Isaiah’s hand on my shoulder—a silent anchor, a reminder that we are not alone, even when it feels like we are drowning in sorrow. I let out a shuddering breath, my mind racing with memories—her laughter, her stubbornness, the way she always knew exactly what to say to calm our storms.

The ache in my chest intensifies.

I turn to Isaiah. His eyes are red-rimmed but hard, a determination settling beneath the sorrow. We have no time to grieve—not yet. There are things that must be done and decisions to be made.

We are supreme alphas. Our people need us. Our children need us.

Alicia would not have wanted us to crumble.

I press one last kiss to her forehead, my voice barely above a whisper. “Rest well, my love.”

Isaiah straightens beside me, his body rigid, his gaze unfocused. “We have work to do.”

I nod, the pain twisting deep. “Yes. We do.”

One final glance at the love of our lives. One last moment to memorize the face of the woman who changed everything.

Then, we turn and walk away.

For Alicia. For our children. For the pack.

Even with shattered hearts, we move forward.

Because that is what she would have wanted.

And we will never let her down.