Chapter 77: Burial

**~ Cyrius POV ~**

Day three.

It’s been three days of searching for Dahlia...and still, she’s nowhere to be found.

I’ve followed traces of her magic. Faint trails, flickers in the air, whispers in the wind. They always lead to something—a burned leaf, a twisted sigil etched into stone but never to her. Every time I think I’m getting closer, it all disappears like smoke.

And to make it worse... I’m traveling with babies.

No one warned me how exhausting this would be. No one said anything about diaper changes, sleepless nights, and random crying fits over absolutely nothing.

I can’t even remember the last time I slept for more than two hours. My back aches. My eyes burn—my patience... thin.

But still...I keep them close.

I’ve grown fond of them. Strangely.

Heather, for one, has a personality already. She doesn’t like being fed while lying down. She’ll scream bloody murder unless I hold her upright, facing me. And then there’s her brother still nameless, still observant. He doesn’t cry much unless she does, or when he’s hungry. He stares a lot. Like he’s thinking. Judging me.

We’re still in New Orleans. I know it’s dangerous. I should have fled by now. But something in my gut tells me Dahlia is still here. Her tracks though faint are rooted in this city.

And surprisingly... everything is quiet.

Cayden and Caspian haven’t launched a full-scale search yet, or if they have, they’re doing it quietly. No bounty hunters. No scent trackers. No wolfs clawing at my heels.

Just silence. Just me and the babies.

Like now.

I sat under a tree near the edge of the French Quarter, worn down and tired. The twins were curled against me...Heather was still wide awake, tugging at my hair like it was her toy, and the boy, already fast asleep in the crook of my elbow.

The breeze was warm. The streets hummed in the distance. For once, things were... still.

And then I heard voices.

A group of men passed nearby. Their conversation was light, casual, and I wouldn’t have paid them any mind if not for one word.

"Marcus."

My head snapped up. That name...

That was it.

That was the name Dahlia had mentioned to me when I first woke. Through my pain, through the haze of resurrection, she’d whispered a name..Marcus. I’d been struggling to remember it since. But now it echoed, loud and clear.

And then I heard the rest.

"Yeah, they’re burying him today. Alpha Cayden killed him and his last kid... brutal."

"Very brutal, to think he was the pack’s former beta."

My chest tightened. My pulse froze.

Killed?

Marcus... is dead?

straining to hear more. My entire

The girl too. They’re all done for. Alpha ordered a public burial. Guess it’s

my stomach. Everything around me went

sunlight. Heather whined in protest, but I ignored it. My arms tensed around them. I stood

Marcus was dead.

That someone named Marcus would help me get what I wanted. He knew things, secrets about the babies,

now... he

Murdered by Cayden?

twins bounced gently against my chest, but I cradled them tight. I couldn’t let

My mind spun wildly.

would Cayden kill

did Marcus know that got him

of town—a public cemetery built for pack warriors and honored elders.

a soft coo, still playing with the ends of

red eyes glinting like dying embers. She didn’t know what was going on. Neither did her

were the reason all of this was

if Marcus had died for them or

to

to hear what

maybe, someone at that funeral would know where Dahlia had

a barrier right at the center stone of New

crowd was already

of wolves or

in a circle, tense and armored. Spectators pushed toward the center, straining to see what was happening. The tension in the air was sharp electric. The type of energy that could only belong

A burial.

two wolves emerged from the fog..dragging out not

Covered in

other... smaller.

My throat tightened.

It was obvious.

was Marcus. The

a chill run down

people were crying, their hands over their faces as they muttered prayers. But not everyone. No. Most were angry

voice spat from

even in

Thank the Goddess

My heart froze.

Wait....What?

wrinkled and bitter, stood

steps were slow, deliberate, as I

I asked

the hood. "You must be new around here. Marcus was working

caught in

Dahlia. Dead.

no,

knees threatening

That I’d get back everything that was stolen from me. That these babies would unlock

they’re

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