Chapter 141

Ava

The soft sound of the curtain brushing aside was all that broke the eerie silence as we stepped into Degas’s hospital room. I felt my breath catch the instant I saw him hooked up to all those machines again, just days after he had been here before.

For a moment, I almost turned and fled—but then Degas cracked his red-rimmed eyes open, seeing us, and held out a shaky hand to beckon us forward.

“Chris… Ava…”

Chris and I exchanged wary glances before we hesitantly stepped into the room and shut the curtain behind us. My legs felt like they might give out, and Chris, noticing the wobble in my stature, gestured to the chair beside Degas’s bed. I took it and sat beside the Elder, unsure of what to do.

“Elder Degas.” Chris was the first to break the silence, politely bowing his head. “How are you… How are you feeling?”

Degas let out a low chuckle that almost sounded like a cough. “I’ve been better, I’m afraid,” he replied, gesturing to the multiple IVs hooked up to his arms and hands.

There was a long silence after that. Chris and I glanced at each other again—although his form was quickly lost behind the tears blurring my vision.

“There, there…” Degas patted my hand with a set of cool, wrinkled fingers. “It’s alright, dear Ava. I’ve had my time on this earth, and now it’s over. There’s no need to be upset.”

I couldn’t help the choked sob that caught in my throat. Quickly looking away, I murmured, “You still have time left, Degas.”

Degas sighed and shook his head. He had a clean white bandage wrapped around his temple, although even now, I could see the telltale sign of red blood blossoming through it. They didn’t even give him stitches, knowing fully well that it would only cause more pain and anguish for the dying Elder. We all knew that my words meant nothing; his time was up.

“Do you know that my wife passed sixty years ago to this day?” he said with another one of those gravelly chuckles. “Six decades… It feels like much longer than that.”

I bit my lower lip to keep it from quivering. Degas’s wife had passed long before I was even born; I had only heard stories of her being a lovely, beautiful woman with eyes like the ocean.

“Ah, well…” Degas shrugged, and this time, he coughed for real. “I wonder if she’s been waiting for me all this time.”

Somewhere through my haze of tears, I heard Chris grab a chair and pull it over to the other side of Degas’s bed. The legs scraped loudly on the tile floor, and I winced at the grating sound.

“I… I want to thank you,” Chris said after a beat of silence. “If you hadn’t stepped in last night, then…”

Degas waved his hand with some effort. “There was no telling what that girl had planned,” he replied. “I’m glad to have helped.”

Chris cleared his throat. “She’ll be brought to justice for what she did to you.”

“Psh.” Degas shook his head. “I merely lost my balance. The girl may have drugged you and attempted to take advantage of you, but do not blame her for my death. I’m an old man, Chris. Someday, when you’re as old as I am, you’ll understand that it’s not how you die that really matters. We all die in the end.”

There was another long silence. Blinking away my tears, I glanced over to see that Chris’s head was bowed, his jaw set hard.

Before I could manage to say anything, Degas suddenly turned his head toward me. “Ava.”

“Yes, Elder?”

With some effort, Degas scooched a little further up on his pillows and sighed, sinking back down. His hand tightened around mine with a surprising amount of strength for an old man on his deathbed. “I’m sorry for what I said that day in the gardens. I never should have meddled… I never should have tried to get in the way of true love.”

My eyes widened. “Degas, you don’t—”

“Nonsense.” He cut me off and coughed again—this time, a bit of red blood splattered his lower lip as he did so, but he made no move to wipe it away. “You two belong together; I realize that now. Whether you are together or not should be up to you and no one else.”

He paused, sighing for a moment before continuing. “Not even an Elder should get in the way of that.”

Once again, I exchanged a glance with Chris. His lips were pressed together, the faintest hint of a smile tugging up at the corners. But it was gone again when Degas coughed once more, the blood on his temple now blossoming out just a little bit further.

“I want you two to find a way,” he said, his voice strained as though just speaking now took an immense amount of effort. “Do not be afraid to challenge the rules… Do not be afraid of Elise…”

Elise. The mention of her made me purse my lips. How strange of Degas to bring her up now.

“You should be free to… love each other—”

Suddenly, his voice was cut off with another sputtering cough. The effort seemed to be too much, and he shook his head, falling silent again. Once more, tears blurred my vision and this time, I didn’t bother blinking them away.

Without a word, I lurched forward and threw my arms around the withered Elder. “Thank you, Degas,” I murmured into his chest. “For everything. For being here…”

Degas chuckled and coughed again. I felt another set of arms around us—Chris’s arms, warm and sturdy. We stayed like that for a long time, none of us speaking, until Chris and I finally pulled back. I swiped at my damp cheeks and watched as Degas cleared his throat with great effort.

“I’m going now,” he murmured, shaking his weary head—his eyes were no longer open. “I suppose it’s time…”

My eyes widened slightly. I looked over at Chris, who seemed to share the same thought as I did: the prophecy. The one that all Elders left in passing.

Slowly, and with great effort, Degas muttered out a string of words that left Chris and I silent for some time.

…

By the time Chris and I stepped out of the clinic, the sun had risen high into the sky. Degas was still alive, but barely—we had left him with Beatrice and her children, his family, to say their goodbyes in peace.

Although, I think a part of me just couldn’t bear being there when the Elder left this world. Maybe I was a coward.

When I looked over at Chris, his jaw was set in a rigid line. He said nothing—merely strode toward the Packhouse, his hands clenched into fists at his sides.

I didn’t need to ask where he was going or what he was doing. Wordlessly, I followed behind him.

By now, the entire square was bustling with concerned pack members. Everyone had gathered, waiting to hear the news about the Elder; when they saw us coming, they parted like the low tide, creating a path for us to stride up to the Packhouse.

Gritting my teeth, I took Chris’s hand and held it tightly as we walked—even though all eyes were on us. Chris didn’t so much as shoot me a glance over his shoulder, although I felt his hand tighten into an iron grip around mine.

In those moments, I hoped he never let me go. I didn’t care who saw us, or what anyone thought. I didn’t care if the rules stated we didn’t belong together. I loved him, and that was all that mattered.

Up ahead, we could see them: Leonard, the Elders, and the pack’s guards. Six armed men and women with spears stood on the front steps of the Packhouse, their faces solemn. The Elders stood behind them in a rigid line, their heads bowed and their hands clasped beneath the long sleeves of their robes.

And there, in the center, with her hands shackled and her head hung, was Amelia.