My fingers brush over the black leather, the material tough, able to withstand mother nature, to withstand years of wear and tear. Closed with a golden tie around the side, the journal looks simple rather than what I expected would be for for a King that sits on a throne of lies as he conducts a nation. I take my focus from the book, shifting it to the sunrise that reaches over the trees, pouring through the empty branches as the leaves are gone and snow falls to the earth like feathers of an angel. As my fingers brush against the leather, my eyes scan the horizon of the land Nixon build this pack from, taking Crimson Lock from a wealthy pack to one not just strong, but a leading pack, respectful, feared, and one to not be messed with. Nixon made so much of Crimson Lock what it is today, dating back to before Lillian even entered the picture and stained the masterpiece in areas where light once used to shine. I guess I was the opposite force of her, her enemy, her opposite who took those dark pieces of Nixon and built areas of light and whimsical color combinations as he once more experienced love abd happiness.

But now Nixon feels planets away, a barrier between us more distant than I could think to name...far out of reach as I wait for word. Ever since he left five hours ago I have stayed in his office, placed in his chair as I face the tall and wide windows, the journal of Zion's holding every duty secret of his, right on this desk as so much could be revealed. So many truths told and mysteries unraveled. Taking a deep breath, I take my hand from the book, clasping my hands together in my lap as I allow my eyes to check my phone, nervous for updates as I know the situation happening what feels like far away can not be one of happiness.

Within a matter of hours do I hope to hear my phone ring and Nixon to be the voice behind that call. I pray that Nixon's voice is the one on the other line as I get news of my husband to return. With my mind settled on focusing on the optimist side of life, I turn away from the window, swirling around in the chair to face the desk and room before me, empty but holding so many secrets just waiting to be discovered. Nixon led a life of mystery, of secrets, events played out that he may tell me one day when he decides the tome has come to open more of his demons to me. He would rather have me hear of those demons from him than from the black book he has stowed away somewhere in this house. I fell for the man that Nixon is today, not the man he was years ago, when Lillian whispered sweet nothings into his ear and told him of fantasies that he was able to see though in the end. Would I ever even want to hear those parts of Nixon's past, to expand my horizons beyond the little I even know of Lillian or his life before her. Of the man Nixon was years ago.

I stand, my bare feet upon the cold wood, clothed in nothing but a pair of dark blue shorts, a thin white top, and Nixon's own navy robe, one he kept for mornings after a shower, when he would venture down to the kitchen and brew a cup of coffee. Those mornings will always stick with me, how I would wake up to coffee made already downstairs, Nixon sitting at the kitchen table, looking out to the forest before him, light jazz music playing in the background. Those Saturday and Sunday mornings are moments I will  always cherish, no matter what the outcome of this day is. No matter what happens, moments where Nixon seemed to be more human than supernatural, more mortal than the immortal I sometimes see him as, and more down-to-earth. I can still recall one of our first nights in this new home, how he took me into every room, explaining a color scheme he had in mind, a layout of the furniture, a plan for what the room to be used for, and so much more as he led me around, a smile on his face as if it was Christmas, and seeming so child-like as my heart could only swell. A week ago we had ventured into the town, for my to get my roots touched up as he went around the local shops, returning to pick me up with bags from local child boutiques in his arms as he was a proud father-to-be. He picked out stuffed animals for this child, clothing for her age according to the different months of her age, and even a pastel pink knitted blanket that is draped over our own bed, a reminder of the family we have just begun. A family that needs its father.

I leave Nixon's office, heading down the hall, down the stairs, and to the sitting room where one wall is complete windows, the outdoors on full display as I sit upon one of the armchairs, curled up as I watch the snow fall. Today is when many families will awaken to find presents under the tree, children laughing and smiling as they play with new toys, families gathered around as they catch up, meals cooked and eaten at a large table, and so much tradition in the air. But Christmas will not come for me this year, at least not the spirit of it, as least not as I sit here, wondering if my husband will live to see another sunrise. If it comes to the worst possibility, I only pray that his end is quick and painless, that he feels no sharp pain as he bleeds out and wishes someone would be willing to end his suffering. It is a horrible thing to wish, but it is better than pain.

"Luna Lily..."a voice softly calls out, causing me to jump from where I sit, spinning around to see a friendly pack member, a warrior, one Nixon placed outside the house to watch for danger. Him and twelve others are to guard the house until Nixon returns or until the danger is over. "I am sorry to bother you, but there is someone calling for you."

"Calling for me?" I ask, confused as my cell phone has not gone off at all. "At the pack house...is someone wishing to meet with me?"

The male, not much older than me, shakes his head, holding out a home phone, one from the kitchen that Nixon placed just for less important people to call us on. "No, Luna, there is a male asking to speak with you. Your phone was going off and Alpha Nixon told me to answer if you did not." I had never even heard the phone go off. Holding out my hand, the male walks over to me, handing me the device as he bows his head, walking off as I am left to tend to this mysterious caller.

"Hello?" I ask, taking a seat back down on the armchair as I wonder who would call this number asking for me at this hour, on this day of importance.

"Lily Maxwell?" the voice asks, a masculine voice if anything.

"Speaking," I reply, scratching my head as I try and pinpoint the voice that I cannot recognize at all. Perhaps I know this person but do not recall them, but it is hard to forget what someone sounds like. "And who is this?"

"Nixon Maxwell gave me your contact before he left for Zion. He wanted me to check up on you today, to make sure you're safe." This male has avoided my question, to put a name to the voice, to figure out who this person is, to perhaps even gain information on this male. "He wants me to check up on you every four hours or so, to check for safety, and to also tell you if he is unable to finish his task."

"His task being murdering Zion and if failing, that means he is dead," I clarify, "so who is the male Nixon has placed in this position? Are you a friend of his?"

"I am an ally not just of his, but yours as well and I would be wise to keep me around for as long as possible, seeing how we both have motivation to take down Zion if Nixon cannot."

"Motivation?" I ask, not knowing if I am to trust this male. "Motivation for me is the possibility of Zion having killed my husband, lover, and father of my unborn child. What motivation could you possibly have?"

"Zion is not just a demon in your eyes alone nor has only attacked your haven, Lily, but many others as well. There is a reason why Nixon has trusted me with this, a reason why Nixon has placed you in charge of Zion's black book." I remain silent as I know this male is going somewhere. "There are others like us, Lily, others burned by Zion's flame that can soon be put out. There are people, Alphas, Betas, Lunas, rogues, and warriors that wish to see Zion fall, but they are waiting for the right moment, for a time when they can raise a fist and join together."

"They just are waiting for the black book to be released to the public," I suggest, looking over my shoulder to make sure that the warrior from before is actually gone. "They are waiting for me to pull the trigger and then they will join together. I am not wanting to start another war."

"Zion's downfall does not have to be in war, Lily, but an assassination, a step down from the throne-

"I would rather see Zion dead, buried in a shallow grave, and no respect given to his burial site than watch him live," I interrupt. "If Zion kills my husband, I will even go to the palace and kill him with my own human hands."

The male laughs, as if mocking me for the way I go about the hypothetical situation facing us. "Thus why Nixon has me to work alongside you, because the political side is so much more." I stay silent, biting my tongue as I wish for the male to continue with what Nixon has exactly planned through with this. "I am so close to Zion, closer than you could even think, and at this moment, I could easily pull the trigger and watch Zion die, but I know the inner workings of governments, of how the public is so very dumb, of how people like us, people smarter than they appear, more educated, more than just a logical or emotional thought-process, how we can see the flaws in a flawed rebellion. We play by my rules and you will not just watch Zion fading away into the shadow of the king he once was, but his world crumble around him, his last allies abandon him, and his thoughts become those of sadness and regret as soon enough, he will take his own life."

"How do you know this to be exact?"

There is a short pause. "No one knows Zion better than me, not even the woman his kingdom calls their Queen and Zion calls his wife. I know the inner-workings of his tainted brain."

"Just make sure that Nixon returns home to me, alive."

"Elijah."

"What?" I realize what he has given me.

"I,  Elijah, will do what I can to make sure Nixon returns home to you."

"And if not?" I ask, looking to a picture hanging from the wall behind me, one of Nixon and I kissing as we tie the knot, as I wear white, my veil pushed back, and Nixon holding me like a piece of glass, afraid I may break.

"If not, then I swear to you that Zion's downfall will be your justice."

<><>

With the book tucked under my arm, my winter boots clicking against the wooden floors, and my presence the center of attention, I enter the pack house as an oncoming storm, hair combed back out of my face, dark sunglasses covering my gaze, and black trench coat, the pack watches me like hawks. Eyes following my figure, I head past the multiple members of Crimson Lock, mind focused on my destination as I try and keep my calm. These people have not seen me since last night, but yet so much about  me has changed since then, since how I hold myself, conduct myself. Last night I was a woman dreading the hour her husband would leave for potentially digging himself his own grave. Since last night I have become a woman who keeps a stern and emotionless exterior as I know that on the inside I am broken. With the brief conversation between myself and a man called Elijah finished and having taken place two hours ago, I feel as if a new door has been presented to me, a door of another path to take. There are multiple ways that this day could end, multiple doors to choose from, but I only know of three main doors: one where Nixon returns to me in one piece, one where Zion kills my husband and I am mourning for the rest of my days, and one where Zion kills my husband and I become a woman Lillian Rice would be friends with. Being a friend of Lillian Rice would mean I would have to have blood on my hands soon enough, my hands tainted, my soul dark, and my only purpose in life besides raising my child is to watch Zion fall into an abyss with no escape but his own death. It all depends on these next few hours.

As I shut the door, I enter into my office, the room remodeled as I decided to have done a week ago, the floor changed to a white marble with black streaks, the walls painted a cream, and a white, modern, and flawless desk placed before a wall filled with books. Books not of classic literature or fantasy works, but those of history, or war, or treason, of laws, magic, and an outline of how to make Zion face the justice he may just deserve if today goes badly and I choose that last door. I take a seat at my black chair, facing the windows before me as the set of French double doors remain shut, two warriors outside, guarding me as Nixon had instructed. With my feet placed upon the desk, my black winter boots are what I focus on, the curvature of the material which covers my toes, the thick material that protects me from the ground on which I step. A book lies open on my desk, one with a navy cover, the ink black, and the pages stained from years of use, the book old but useful, one that Nixon would never expect to find me reading. A book on manipulation, one written by a coven of witches who sought revenge upon a man that had murdered a child of one of the witches, and rather than kill him, they made his life a living hell. Halfway done with the journal of one of the witches, I have found it quite useful and have taken mental notes.

Nixon is right about one of his heart-wrenching words that he spoke, how he said just because his life ended...does not mean that mine has ended as well. Just because his book ends, does not mean that mine does too, but rather a chapter of my life, a new one to start on the next page. My next chapter of life may be darker, may be one filled with loneliness and hate, but when this child arrives, she will brighten that darkness for the greater good.

My cellphone lays right next to the book, all other notifications turned off, I am only to pick up the phone if Nixon calls me...or if news comes that makes me want to shut the world out and be in a life without happiness. To raise a child without her father, to rule a pack of wolves as a human sounds insane. I have never heard of a human running a pack of wolves, much less a powerful pack that many others respect and fear. If anything, Nixon has given me all the means necessary to run the pack, how his Beta is insightful, he has many journals left from him and his father that explain complex treaties and laws, and this pack holds so much respect for me that they would be with me every step of the way, but what scares me even more is raising my daughter while I run this pack if Nixon does not return. I do not want to be a mother who allows a nanny to raise their child as I am shut within the walls of my office, locking out the world that could offer me a haven in rough patches of life. I refuse to become a mother than rarely sees their child, Nixon would not want that. Hell, even with him holding the task of Alpha he would spend every second he would with this child and I if he returns. He would do so much to make sure he creates so many happy moments with us and be there for us as we are for him.

Resting my eyes, I try and clear my head, trying to at least remain calm mentally as I need to, as I need to not be stress and make it hard on myself to make it through these next hours. No matter what, no matter what outcome, it will be stressful. Even if Nixon returns, a new government will be set in place, Nixon an enemy of many, new rules set in place, more power given to him, more decisions to be made, and peace minimal for months to years. But I would have my husband, my lover, my mate, and my soulmate. Nixon Evan Maxwell is my soulmate and I would travel the world to make sure every person heard of my love for him. If anything that I regret with out relationship, I hate how long and what we had to go through for this love to take place in its true form and remain the winner of our fights and irrational decisions that made the other shout and scream. I once hated this man, once thought he was the devil, and he was at many moments, his demons no longer held back behind a wall, but soon enough, his demons became tame, the wild animal trained to hold itself back as I did the same with my own demons, allowing us to truly see the beautiful relationship we were born to find with one another. Not even this form of true love did I ever see with my parents when I thought no couple could be happier than them.

As the minutes tick by and I find myself soon sitting upon the white couch before the windows that allow a full display of the snowy earth, a warm mug of hot chocolate in my hands as I watch the snow fall gently to the earth. A piece of my mind goes to Sybil, Zion's wife, to how this day will end for her. It is either her husband or mine when it comes down to it, the battle of the century as Zion finds it as a battle to settle an old score. Yes, Nixon sees it as that too, to settle an old score overdue from years ago when Lillian died, an old score, yet also recent, to when Zion showed up here, the intent of killing me, yet to find himself unsuccessful as he came back with words that fueled the fire. But for Nixon, this is so much more, as we both know this is more than our own little inner circle, but also for the kingdom, to put out the flame of a king who misuses his power and roll in a new government where justice is wise rather than foolish.

Once my tea is finished, I head for the doors of my office, wondering if there is any talk beyond my office walls, wondering if news has reached the pack before me. No words, only a silent hallway as I know there are at least three warriors outside my door, making sure I am not disturbed unless for news I am waiting for. Leaning my back against the white French doors, I look to my desk, to the white frame sitting beside my computer, the picture of our wedding day standing there. With Nixon's hands on my waist, kissing me as our vows were taken, my veil lifted and removed, I see the ring upon my finger in the picture, the position of our bodies, how our eyes are shut and we seal our vows with a kiss. We took vows to protect one another, to always be there for one another. We took vows to love one another until death do us part, but I know that even if Nixon dies today, my love for him will never fade away. The love for my husband will never fade away, for my one true love, for the man I would marry again and again, every day, and would never wish I had parted with.

A piece of me wonders if Nixon felt that way with Lillian, if their love was strong, or if he every truly loved her, or if it was her manipulation and his want to be superior to Zion that made them take those vows. I know I should not even focus on their marriage and relationship, a relationship where the husband murders the wife that aborted every child of his, slept with his enemy, wanted to keep that man's children only to miscarry, and planned to murder her own husband only to be beat to the action. It cares me how alike Zion and Nixon are, yet how differently I place them in my mind. Zion is the devil in many opinions of mine, how he tried to kill me and my unborn child, rules a kingdom without a right expect his bloodline, murdered his wife's parents so she would not leave him, and yet, in his own sick and twisted way, has found love with Sybil. Nixon may have a different story, many pieces of the puzzle missing for me to compare the two fully, but when it is all said and done, both have killed, both have loved, and both have married woman no one from their status would have. Zion married a rogue, and although it may have been to sway rogues to join his war, he married a werewolf with a low status and he holds the title of King. Nixon, a warlord Alpha married me, a human, a young and once innocent human, from a race other Alphas find to be weak and would make their power lessen in other's eyes.

Both have done wrong, both had been caught in the trap of Lillian Rice, both have killed, both have ruled, and both have loved.

But today, one must be no more. Today, Sybil and I are placed against the other, one of our husbands to die, and I only hope and pray that it is Zion who takes a bullet to the brain.

As I take in a deep breath, the sound of a buzzing interrupts my train of thought and the world seems to move slower than ever. The beating of my heart echos in my ears, my mouth becoming dry, my head pounding, and my body tense. My feet move on their own, numb as my knees want to give out, my hand reaching out, grabbing the metal device as the cold glass touches my ear. As my finger swipes across the green button, I take in a deep breath, a beautiful pair of navy eyes flashing through my mind as tears begin to stream down my face. With my voice sounding yet my tongue feeling numb, I await the news, the familiar voice reaching my ears as he said he promised he would call when something happens that will change the course of werewolf history. Will change my future as well as my child's.

I bite my lip, the news received as I nod my head, my knees giving out as I fall into my chair, Nixon's laugh sounding in my mind as I can recall that laugh from so many moments in our time together. So many memories that we shared together come back to me, so many moments of us smiling, of us screaming, yelling, fighting, holding each other, staring into the other's eyes, laughing together, and loving the other together. All of those memories flood my mind as I put down my phone, remembering how Nixon told me he loved me. So many memories. So many moments.

And so here is the moment when the person who gave me so many memories...has become a memory himself.