My Sister Stole My Mate, And I Let Her

Chapter 516 IN THE AFTER

SERAPHINA’S POVI woke before dawn the next morning.

Not because I was rested—I wasn’t—but because my body no longer knew how to remain fully still.

The only comfort was Kieran’s arms around me when I opened my eyes.

Even in sleep, his hold on me remained firm, and when he blinked awake seconds after me, I recognized the same exhaustion in his eyes that I felt in my own bones.

By the time we stepped out of our room, Nightfang was already in motion.

The packhouse corridors carried a low hum of anticipation, footsteps overlapping as people moved purposefully from one task to the next, voices kept deliberately subdued.

Everyone understood that today was not a celebration—not yet, at least.

It was reckoning.

The main hall had been prepared in advance, the long chamber lit with softened daylight filtered through high glass panels.

The table stretched wide enough to accommodate every Alpha of the Allied forces, their presence filling the space with a gravity that pressed against the air itself.

I paused just inside the doorway.

Mirek was already there, seated with his arms folded, his expression carved into something unreadable but alert.

Callister stood near one of the side columns, speaking quietly with Maxwell, who looked as though he hadn’t slept in days.

Helen sat upright with composed stillness, though her fingers tapped faintly against the edge of the table in a rhythm that betrayed impatience and maybe a little anxiety.

And then there were others—Alphas whose names I had only heard in passing before this war forced us all into the same reality.

Each of them carried the same thing in different forms: exhaustion, frustration, grief, the lingering tension that none of us had yet managed to shake.

Ethan stood near the far end of the table.

And beside him—

“Maya!” Her name left my lips as a sigh of relief.

She turned, and for a second, neither of us moved.

Then the distance between us disappeared, and suddenly I was pulled into an embrace so tight it stole my breath.

She smelled like familiarity and warmth and something that made my chest ache.

“Seraphina, you absolute fucking legend,” she whispered against my shoulder, her voice thick.

I choked out a laugh, remembering when she’d said those exact words to me after winning the LST.

When we finally pulled apart, I took her face in my hands, scanning her.

“And you? Are you okay? The baby—how are you both?”

She gave me a soft smile, a hand sliding over her still-flat stomach.

"We’re fine," she said quietly. "You were gone for three days, not a year, Sera."

Something inside me loosened, and I exhaled slowly, pressing my forehead against hers.

“Besides, I should be the one asking about you, dumbass,” she added, brushing her thumb lightly over my wrist.

Before I could reply, Ethan appeared at my side and pulled me into a bear hug.

“I was so worried,” he mumbled into my hair.

I tightened my arms around him.

“I’m here,” I assured him. “We won.”

When I pulled back and looked into his eyes, I saw relief, yes, but also a depth of concern that had not fully lifted.

“I heard about Mom,” he said softly.

I swallowed against the sudden lump in my throat.

“She’s in the medical wing,” I told him. “We’ll go see her after this.”

He nodded stiffly.

Kieran stepped up beside me a moment later, exchanging a hug with Ethan. Even Maya wrapped her arms around him.

“If you came back without her, I would have killed you,” she said softly.

He let out a dry chuckle, patting her back. “I don’t doubt it.”

Soon after, the room settled, and the briefing began without ceremony.

Alois spoke first, recounting the objective events with painstaking detail while projecting faint, shifting diagrams of residual psychic readings into the air.

Corin sat further down the table, his focus sharp, occasionally exchanging low remarks with Brett and Maris, who also looked like sleep had eluded them.

The air thickened as data filled the silence.

Then, various delegates began presenting reports.

Casualty counts. Recovery updates. Rogue detentions. Medical stabilization of affected victims. Structural collapse assessments from the island site.

Each sentence added another layer to the weight we were already carrying.

After the reports, the conversation shifted, and all eyes slowly turned toward Kieran and me.

I went first.

I spoke of what I remembered most clearly—the fight with Jack, the descent into the underground facility, the cathedral-like chamber that had stretched beyond rational architecture, filled with suspended bodies and corrupted ritual infrastructure that felt more like a violation of reality than anything built by human hands.

My voice held steady, and the room shifted as I described it. Even the most experienced Alphas fell quiet and couldn’t hide the awe and horror on their faces.

I didn’t tell them about the dreamscape Catherine had trapped me in—it was too personal, too intimate.

Kieran took over when I faltered, unable to fully articulate the sheer malevolence of the personified darkness.

His tone was lower, more controlled, but there was something haunted beneath it that even he couldn’t fully mask.

“The control wasn’t Catherine’s alone,” he said.

That sentence tightened the room.

Idris leaned forward. “Explain.”

Kieran exhaled once, as though choosing the exact shape of what came next.

“There was something deeper,” he said. “A presence. Not physical. Not fully manifested. But threaded through everything she was doing.”

A shiver ran down my spine at the memory.

"We believe that...influence was the genesis of everything," Kieran finished.

Silence pressed in as everyone ingested that new piece of information.

Then Rowan let out a disbelieving sound. “You’re suggesting possession?”

“Not possession,” I said quietly, finding my voice again. “More like...orchestration.”

Kieran nodded once. “Yes.”

Maya’s gaze sharpened. “So what—there’s another psychotic force out there we need to worry about?”

Kieran hesitated.

“Yes...and no.”

And then, carefully, he added: “Malachar.”

The name sank.

Even among Alphas trained to remain composed under any circumstance, there were involuntary reactions—an inhale too sharp, a shift in posture, a strangled sound muffled too late.

"The Dark Lord?" Helen scoffed. “That’s a myth. A boogeyman tale to make pups behave.”

Kieran shot her a dry smile. “Says a veritable werewolf Alpha.”

Her lips pressed into a sharp, thin line.

"Even if that’s true," Mirek said, "the Dark Lord was supposedly sealed away by the last Alpha King."

Kieran nodded. "By his last breath, but evidently, that seal was broken."

"And you two...defeated him?" Idris asked skeptically.

A muscle ticked in Kieran’s jaw as he nodded.

Rowan’s voice came out quietly. “Only a member of the royal line has the power to battle a force like Malachar’s.”

Kieran nodded again. “Correct.”

The implication hung in the air, and I watched the room recalibrate, taking in Kieran with new, mostly wary eyes.

Rowan spoke again, slower this time. “And you believe he was behind Catherine.”

"We saw this manifestation with our own eyes," Kieran said. "We spoke to it."

I’d never seen fear laid so bare among people who commanded so much power.

“He wasn’t controlling her like a puppet,” I continued. “He was shaping her. Feeding her. Guiding her until she believed it was her own will.”

“And now?” Idris asked, his voice tight.

Kieran answered that. “Now he’s been cut off. We dealt him a severe blow. Whatever remains of him, wherever he exists, he cannot re-emerge for at least ten to twenty years.”

The number landed differently than the name had.

Not forever.

But enough.

Enough time for rebuilding.

Enough time for healing.

Enough time to prepare for something that would eventually return—but not today, not tomorrow.

Silence held for a moment longer before Mirek spoke.

“And the victims?" His expectant gaze slid to me. "Seraphina once promised rehabilitation for them.”

I straightened. “And I intend to deliver. The ones who were affected mentally—those whose minds were fractured, overwritten, or held under prolonged psychic influence—I can reach them. Not all at once, but over time.”

Alois gave a single, measured nod. "Containment phase is complete. Recovery phase begins now.”

Those words eased the tension in the room a bit and, in a way, felt like closure.

For the first time since the island, since Catherine’s cathedral of horrors, since everything had begun collapsing into itself, I allowed myself to believe something I had been too afraid to trust before.

That we were finally in the after.