To Be Claimed

✙ Ryker ✙

Another chapter and the final chapter! This book is officially completed! I don't know whether to be sad or happy! Hope you enjoy Ryker's perspective - sorry it's on the shorter side!

- Lissa

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Before Ethen Left.

She's safe.

Sitting at the edge of the bed, I looked over my shoulder at Emma, calmed by the way her chest rose, then slowly fell. Listening to her soft breathing, the rubbing of the sheets when she shifted, and the moans she released in her sleep kept me occupied throughout my sleepless nights. Throughout the years, I started to require less sleep - before I met her, I used to lay awake, replaying the memories of my father over and over again in my head. I used to imagine myself standing up to him sooner or killing him differently, in a more gruesome way. I remembered the days when I feared not being strong enough, not being brave enough, to face him. Now, he was dead - I had won. My demons were dead and my angel was next to me.

I was doing my utmost to be the man for her, but it seemed like the fight was never ending. I had problems; I knew I did and it fucking frustrated me. I was bipolar. I was a killer. I was a monster. I was all these things, yet she seemed to accept them. I dragged a hand down my face and walked over to the window, growling to myself. I gripped the edge of the windowsill, closing my eyes as I rocked back and forth slightly in an effort to remain calm by my own thoughts.

I got pissed off by my own thoughts - what did that say about me?

In an effort to distract myself, I headed out of the bedroom, closing the door behind me. I walked to the kitchen, surprised to find my brother, Caine, already there. He was sitting on the stool beside the refrigerator, a bottle of vodka in his hands. When his emerald eyes looked up, I noticed the pain in them and the redness of his waterlines. Raising an eyebrow in acknowledgment, he lifted the vodka and took another swing, the stool squeaking beneath him.

"You don't drink," I stated, stepping forward. When he swallowed hard, I reached out and took the bottle from him. "Give the alcohol to the brother with the real problems."

While I knocked back a couple gulps, he wiped at his mouth.

"Who would've thought that things would've came to this, brother?" he said, shaking his head. "We did this. We're responsible for everything that has happen and will happen. We shared the bite - all these werewolves dying are because we passed our curse onto others." I wasn't shocked that he was blaming himself; ever since he connected with Nora, he had grown soft. "This war is going to be bloody. This war might kill everybody in this cabin. And, we will have to live with that, brother. We will have endure another century of pain and suffering because of our mistakes."

"If everybody dies in this cabin, including Emma," I started, feeling the pit of anger inside of me burning at the thought. "Then, I will die too. I will find a way."

"I agree with you, but is that necessarily right?" Caine asked, pinching the bridge of his nose. "We shared our curse, which grew and grew. We are the reason that werewolves are in this world. Is it right to abandon the survivors because we can't handle losing the ones we care about?" I exhaled loudly and took another drink of the vodka, thankful for the burn in my throat. "They descended from us. In a way, we are their leaders. We're above Alphas and Betas - even they bow down to us. They need us and if we lose our loved ones, we're going to leave them to fend on their own."