The Alpha's Unclaimed Mate novel Chapter 352

Chapter 352: Died On A Field & Woke At An Altar

Darkness.

Then light. White.

It appeared in the void the way dawn appears on the horizon: slowly at first, then all at once, filling the darkness with a luminance that had no source and no direction and existed everywhere simultaneously.

Gavriel didn’t see River or Tristan. He saw only the light, and the voice came from inside it, a voice that was ancient and female and carried the weight of a being who had watched civilizations rise and fall and had opinions about most of them.

The Moon Goddess spoke.

"Daughter of my light."

The voice resonated through every atom of the void, through Gavriel’s chest, through the place where Tristan’s heart used to beat.

"What has been done was never fated."

The light pulsed once, warm and slow.

"The three gods who watch over your soul have convened. What occurred on this field was a corruption of divine law so grievous that the fabric of fate itself has been wounded by it. A king was slain under sacred parley. A prince was consumed by manufactured darkness. A wolf king was killed through a bond he never had the chance to honor. And you, daughter, were taken from the world before your thread was finished weaving."

The light brightened. The warmth in it intensified until it pressed against Gavriel’s skin like sunlight through glass.

"We are giving you a second passage. You will wake where the ceremony began, carrying the knowledge of what occurs if you do not act. This is the mercy of the gods, granted once, never again, and never spoken of to mortal ears."

"Chosen love is powerful, but I cannot undo a Fae tie blessed by fate."

"You know what must be done, daughter."

The light held for a moment longer. Then it began to collapse, folding inward, the void contracting around Gavriel’s body with a pressure that was physical and metaphysical and felt like being compressed through a doorway too small for the life he was carrying.

✦✦✦

The blackness split open.

The courtyard. The sea. The wind. The white flowers. The pillars. The sun. Two hundred faces, turned toward an altar, and the officiant with his hands raised, and Tristan in ceremonial whites, and Lucian beside him with rings in his pocket.

River gasped.

She was on her knees. On the stone floor of the ceremonial courtyard, at the exact spot where she had been standing a moment ago, or a lifetime ago, or both.

Her hands were on the ground. Her chest was heaving with breaths that came too fast and too hard, the breathing of a woman whose lungs remembered being empty and were refusing to take anything for granted.

Every person in the courtyard was staring.