The Professor's Mate Clause novel Chapter 119

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Chapter 119

FREYA’S POV

Victory doesn’t feel the way I imagined it would.

I used to think winning would feel loud. Like relief crashing through fee all at once. Like certainty. Like joy. But standing here now, I realize victory is quiet. It doesn’t cheer. It doesn’t celebrate. It just leaves you alone with what’s left behind, forcing you to look at it without flinching.

It doesn’t surge or warm or settle gently in my chest. It tastes like ash, sharp and bitter, clinging to the back of my throat no matter how many times I swallow. We won. Asher is dead. The war is over.

And the ground beneath my feet is littered with bodies.

I walk slowly, carefully, as if moving too fast might break something fragile inside me. Everywhere I look, there’s proof of what this victory cost wolves lying still where they fell, blood darkening the soil, the quiet aftermath that follows when the fighting stops but the damage remains.

So many of them won’t be getting up.

The air still smells like blood and burned earth. My boots stick slightly with every step, and I hate that I notice it. Hate that my body registers details my heart wants to ignore. Somewhere nearby, someone is crying softly, the sound breaking and uneven, like they’ve forgotten how to breathe properly. No one tells them to stop.

The realization presses down on my chest until breathing feels like work.

Marcus is gone.

The truth of it doesn’t hit all at once. It comes in waves each one heavier than the last. Adrian’s Beta. His friend. His brother in everything but blood. He gave his life without hesitation, throwing himself into danger to protect Adrian, to buy us time, to make sure this war ended today instead of dragging on and taking even more from us.

He didn’t hesitate.

And now he’s gone.

I imagine the moment he decided. The split second where he knew exactly what it would cost him and went anyway. No hesitation. No bargaining. Just choice. Courage like that doesn’t happen by accident. It’s built over years of loyalty, of beleving in something bigger than yourself. And now that belief is written into the ground in blood.

I didn’t know Marcus well enough to claim a lifetime of memories, but loss doesn’t measure itselt that way & hurts anyway I cuts deep and sharp, because he was pack. Because he mattered. Because he should still be here.

I pause, pressing a hand to my chest, letting myself feel it instead of pushing it down.

Clara.

The thought of her snaps me back from the edge.

She’s alive.

Barely, but alive. Dr. Chen is with her now, working tirelessly, refusing to let her slip away I saw her chest rise Thwart he’s breathing. My best friend my sister in everything that counts is still here

A smali, shameful part of me whispers that I should be grateful harder That Clara surviving should balance the scale somehow But it doesn’t work that way Relief and guilt exist side by side, fangled and maeparable Cip thankful she’s alive and astrained that part of me feels lighter because someone else didn’t make it

Relief hits so hard it almost brings me to my knees

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She survived

That single fact feels like lifeline in the middle of all this loss. It doesn’t erase the grief, but it gives it somewhere to rest Something good. Something worth holding onto

Not everyone was that lucky.

Fifteen from our original pack. Twenty-three from the coalition. Thirty eight lives ended in one night Thirty eight names that won’t answer when called again. Thirty-eight stories cut short.

I force myself to keep walking

This is my duty.

I move from body to body, kneeling when I need to, touching a shoulder, closing sightless eyes, committing faces to memory I record names carefully, quietly, treating each one with the respect they deserve, These weren’t numbers. They were people Wolves with dreams and tempers and habits and loved ones who will feel this loss every day for the rest of their lives.

Being Luna being an Alpha means standing here when everything in me wants to turn away.

This is the part no one envies. Not the power, not the bond, not the crown. This. Remembering names when it hurts. Standing steady when grief tries to bend my spine. If I turn away now, if I rush this, then their lives become casualties instead of sacrifices. I won’t allow that.

Across the field, Adrian does the same.

I can feel him through the bond, every ounce of his grief bleeding into mine. The guilt. The weight. The unbearable sense of responsibility that comes with leadership. Every death presses against him, even the ones he couldn’t have prevented

Especially those.

I send him what I can steadiness, warmth, the quiet reassurance that he isn’t alone in this. That he doesn’t have to carry it all by himself anymore. This is what being mates means. This is what equality looks like. Sharing the burden when it’s too heavy for

one heart alone.

For a moment, our grief overlaps so completely I can’t tell where his ends and mine begins. The bond doesn’t shield us from pain it shares it. And somehow, that makes it survivable. If he has to carry this, then so do I. That’s what we promised each other. Not comfort. Not ease. But together.

When the pack gathers, the air shifts.

There’s no shouting. No celebration. Just a collective understanding that this moment matters. Boches are lasi out with carr Names are spoken aloud. Stories are shared small things, personal things, memories that hurt to beat ad hurt even more mot fa

say.

Grief is everywhere, raw and honest and unrestrained.

Adrian steps forward first.

His voice isn’t polished. It doesn’t need to be

“We won,” he says, and the word sounds different coming from hum heavier, sobered “But the cost was high Thurty eight wolves died tonight Friends Family Pack They gave their lives so this could end so something better could be “

He pauses, breath steadying

“We will honor them Not just with words but by building the future they believed in By being worthy of what they gave us

When it’s my turn, my hands shake but I don’t step back

“Marcus died saving us,” I say, my voice thick “He didn’t hesitate. He chose his pack. He chose hus Alpha He chose all of us

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I swallow hard.

“He was brave. He was loyal He mattered. And he always will.”

Others speak after that, voices overlapping with grief and memory and love. Tears fall freely. No one hides them. No one is asked

When the ceremony ends, the bodies are buried with honor. Names are carved into memory and record alike. They are gone but they are not forgotten. They never will be.

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