"I may be your second chance, Wade, but I will not be your second choice."
Reeling from the death of his mate, Alpha Wade tried everything in his power to bring her back to life. So consumed with raising her from the dead, he almost missed his secon...
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A putrid smell wafted up from the storm shelter before either Wade or I could take a step forward. Trying our best not to breathe the stench in, Wade was the first one to plunge down the dark steps of the storm cellar.
I hesitated.
I had said I did not want to wait back in the car, but faced with the prospect of entering an unknown cellar, paired with the uncertainty of what lay ahead, had me doubting whether or not I made the right choice. I was following Wade blindly, and I didn't know if I would pay the price.
Wade had been clear: he was here to try and resurrect his dead mate.
I had never heard of a successful case of bringing the dead back to life. Of course, many had tried, and many had come close. Some witches had mastered the art of breathing some kind of life into a corpse, but the person brought to life never was the same.
They were never themselves.
Often, they would turn mad. They'd be confused and dazed, lashing out. Their brains had lacked oxygen for far too long. No amount of magic—that we know of—would be able to bring someone back to life in the same state they had been when they had died.
It was unheard of.
But, being unheard of was not a big enough precaution for Wade to halt his attempts.
Stepping further into the storm cellar, I narrowed my eyes, but I was met with total darkness. Each step forward was uncertain. Whispering, I asked, "Can you see anything?"
Wade did not respond right away. He was a couple steps ahead of me, but he might as well have been one hundred feet away. I couldn't see him, and if he was answering my question nonverbally, I was none the wiser.
He finally responded, "No. I think this place has been enchanted."
"Enchanted?" I asked, hesitating with each step.
"Yeah," he breathed. "Amit probably put up many enchantments to keep this place safe."
Sucking in a deep breath, I inquired, "Do you think this—Amit—will be happy to see us?"
"I don't know," he expressed. "But he's the last hope I have."
Hearing Wade speak indirectly of bringing his other mate back to life put a pit in my stomach, and I felt queasy. Would he go to these same lengths if I were to die? I'd hope he wouldn't—not just for his sake but for the pack's—but the root question lingered. Did he regard me in the same manner he regarded Willow?
From the precarious situation we were in, I think it was a fair assessment to think his heart still beats for her.
"I've tried everything," Wade continued. "If this doesn't work, then I don't know what will. I'm not bringing Willow back for myself—well, not completely. My grandfather had another theory. He... he believes a pack is only as strong as its Alpha. I'm just trying to do what's right for the pack, for Bluestrike."
