My Second Chance Mate is a Barbarian (Sera and Fenris) novel Chapter 63

Fenris

The hairs on the back of my neck stood up. The air in the ravine suddenly felt too thin. The sheer wrongness of it settled heavily in my gut before I even saw the rider. Yvara snapped upright, her blades back in her hands instantly. My warriors formed a tight, defensive ring around the burning camp, spears angled aggressively toward the tree line.

A black horse burst through the thick pines.

It was completely covered in freezing white foam, its eyes rolling in blind, terrified panic. The beast had been run to the absolute point of destruction. It staggered into the clearing, its chest heaving with violent, wet gasps. It managed three more steps before its front legs completely buckled. The horse slammed into a snowbank and died right there, its heart bursting from the strain.

The rider was thrown clear, rolling hard across the ice.

It was a young Ironmaw scout. He looked like a child, maybe sixteen, his armor fitting too loose on his frame. He scrambled to his knees, ignoring the dead horse. He looked at the armed warriors surrounding him, his face completely bloodless. He was shaking so badly his leather straps rattled.

I closed the distance. The snow crunched heavily under my boots.

"Report," I commanded.

The boy looked up at me. He couldn't meet my eyes. He stared at the fresh rogue blood soaking the chest of my tunic. "You need to return to the fortress. Now."

"Why?" I asked, looking down at him. "The rogues are dead. The perimeter is secure. What is happening?"

The boy swallowed hard. His throat clicked. "It's not the rogues, sir." A tear spilled over his eyelid, instantly freezing to his cheek. "It's Alpha Dimitri."

The world just stopped.

The crackling of the burning tents, the howling wind, the shifting of my warriors' armor—it all vanished. A heavy, suffocating silence dropped over the ravine like a lead blanket.

I reached down, grabbed the boy by the thick leather collar of his armor, and hauled him up to his feet. I lifted him completely off the snow.

"What about my brother?".

"We were ambushed," the boy choked out, his teeth chattering violently. "On the southern ridge. A raiding party crossed the border. He... he's dead."

I stared at him. I waited for the punchline. I waited for him to tell me he was wrong, that the scouts had made a mistake. Dimitri didn't die. Dimitri was the golden son. He was untouchable. He was the future of the entire pack.

The boy just stared back, dangling from my fist, sobbing quietly into the freezing air.

I let go. He crumpled back into the snow.

I looked down at my hands. They were covered in enemy blood. I had done my job perfectly. I was the perfect weapon, playing executioner hundreds of miles away in the dirt, while the only person I ever truly loved was slaughtered on a frozen ridge.

I was supposed to be his shield, and I wasn't there.

The fundamental tether in my chest—the bond I shared with my brother since the day I was born—snapped. The cord was cut, leaving a massive, freezing void behind.

I blinked.

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