My gaze follows the movement of the opposing pack, a stampede making their way towards the middle of the field while my pack behind me grows restless.

"Hold." I command, arms folded behind my back as I can hear the snarls ripple through the crowd and the scratch of nails against dirt. I tilt my head to the side when they reach the middle of the field, charging straight for us, waiting for the correct timing. "Fire."

I reminiscence on the arsenal of bullets, syringes, and more we'd discovered in the back of stolen car we obtained before reaching Sun Valley. Now I watch it rain down from the sky, bullets making impact with the various wolves running through the field and watch as their lifeless bodies hit the floor, causing other's to stumble over fallen bodies and crash into the ground.

I can make out Beckett's distant figure, falling to the back as the rain of bullets wipes out his front defenses before they can even meet mine. It is only after the shower of bullets end that I make the motion for the left perimetere to sweep in and take out the ones that charge forward, creating a circle around the wolves that emerge from his side. I turn to other's behind me, "flank from the back and take out the rest of his forces on the sides. Accept any surrenders from the wolves that no longer wish to fight and leave Beckett alive until he's properly dealt with. Go!"

I make eye contact with Liam for a brief moment before he runs off with the others, leading the pack with him as they diverge into the woods on my command, to the remaining second line -- which Stella leads -- I tell, "go to their compound and find the deserters. Seize the children and women; provide them with the choice of staying or leaving . After that, burn it all down."

They let out a chorus of howls and Stella leads the stampede in the opposite of direction of Liam's. The allied packs know to hold the surrounding area in chance of escapee's or a surprise attack from the side.

My task is solely to assist on the main field till I eventually plow my way through the field to the other side, and towards the old compound. There is a brewing desire inside of me to see it burn -- after any children or women are ushered out.

I shift in into wolf form, seeing one of my allied members get hit on the side from an opposing wolf while battling one in front of him. I sweep in to help him, jumping over and embedding my teeth into the soft spot of their neck. A yelp sounds as I shake them like a rag doll and press my paw into their back, a silent surrender being empathized. They squirm under my grip, unrelenting to give in; so I end it.

I push the lifeless body to the side and clench on to the hind legs of the other opposing wolfs, pulling him onto his body. His limbs grow lax, a clear show that he does not want to challenge. A silent surrender. I let him go and the allied members shows his thanks with a gentle nod before savagely taking down another member.

I cut a path through the fallen, glancing over some of the glassy faces of strangers and allies alike. I refuse to stop.

I make my way through the brush, seeing that my allies have successfully secured the outskirts, where the opposing wolfs find themselves crowded with my pack members. I near closer, catching the attention of the snarling wolves. I change back, standing in front of the immobile wolves as they are circled.

"Surrender and no one will be harmed," I say to them. One wolf tries to make a lounge for me, but Kieran -- a former Purgatory member -- strikes him before the wolf can and presses a heavy paw to the his chest. "Think of your children, your mothers, your fathers -- I will not command you to follow me, only that you stop fighting for Beckett." Another wolf grows restless and lunges itself at me -- familiar eyes gleam at me in hatred. I cannot recall who they are, but their appearance resonates with me.

The gun was previously tucked into the waistband of my pants, but now I brandish it as I fire a round into the hind leg. The wolf collapses with a howl of pain. "Your evident hatred for me likely cannot be cured," I inform the whimpering wolf. I battle internally on what I should do as I level the gun with the wolfs head. They peer up at me, lips bared. I wonder who they are and why they have harbored such resentment for me. "I'm sorry," I say. "I understand that what I did caused shockwaves throughout the pack, and now look where we are? I've disrupted your previously somewhat peaceful life. But understand Beckett does not care for your life, and that it was an act to be free from his oppression. I am no dictator and I play no God. Walk away, and I will let you."

The eyes hold questioning of my sincerity and I lower the gun to hand limply by my side. I gesture to the allied members that now part for them to leave. "Head 500 miles west. Return and I cannot guarantee your life, but if you go, start new. For your families."

The wolf seems hesitant to listen, but I suppose they realize the severity of the situation -- stay and fight for Beckett and I cannot ensure your life. Go, and never return, and they may begin again. For the few that choose to stay, I will make sure they are never oppressed in that manner once again.

I can see the cogs turning in their head, before determining that it best to silently leave. The wolf limps away weakly, and the rest follow with their heads bows and unwilling to meet my eyes. No sign of a challenge. The allied members follow, "If they choose to turn, kill them." I command to Kieran. He nods curtly before bounding after them. It is a harsh command, but I cannot have more enemies sprouting up. This will be the last war.

"Alpha Mars!" A voice calls to me. I glance at a familiar Purgatory member. "The compound has been secured."

I gesture for him to lead, and I follow after him as I watch the group of women and children being led from their homes. It is a small amount -- not much of the original members are left, after all. The few children peer up at us with big eyes, while the mothers hover protectively over them.

"I will not be led by a rogue teenager," a woman snaps sharply at a despondent Stella.

"You will not have to answer to anyone, Miss Cooper," I recognize the familiar blonde headed friend of Adam's mother. Another bystander during the time Beckett tried to force me to mate with Adam."Stay and I can ensure your safety, as we will own this land."

"And what makes you different from Alpha Beckett? What makes you better?" Another woman questions, deep bags under her eyes and pale, dry lips part in questioning. "You're burning our homes, making us flee -- why are you better?"

"Alpha Beckett would not have spared such a nicety as letting you leave with your lives," I wave towards their small children, "he'd have likely ripped you from them and molded them into what he wanted them to be. The moment you are not with him, is the moment you become dead to him. Look at the treatment of his son, the pillaging that Beckett let the Purgatory commit and the lives he gave just for his own greed and profit. If you stay, new homes will be resurrected in their place and your children will be free to believe and love who they wish. The old customs of arranged mating will be ridden of, and a new system will emerge; regardless if you wish it to or not."

The woman seems astounded by my response -- likely shocked that I am actually articulate -- and cradles her young son into her bosom. "You won't hurt the children?" She echoes hesitantly, glancing at the fellow woman.

"Never." I say confidently, because it is the truth.

"Okay," she agrees. The other reluctantly nod -- an ultimatum they make for the benefit of their children.

"You will all be led to our base for clothes and food, and the process of rebuilding your homes will be discussed to pertain to your wishes and done immediately so after the war is ended." Stella informs them diplomatically. "If you choose to leave, other pack members will provide you with transportation to the nearest bus station or airport..." Stella drones on, and the mothers agree. I watch them be led away by her, and it seems the battle will not touch the original pack houses. My allied members and pack have outdone themselves, and there are no breaches.

I spot Jeremy in the distance, the bright ginger fur gleaming as he gallops to me. He shifts midway, a wolfish smile on his face, "they've been pushed back, most have surrendered and are willing to leave. Some group of followers, huh?"

I smile in agreement before asking, "And Beckett?"

"He fled in this direction, that's why I'm here," Jeremy says. "Rosalyn skimmed the house, says he's got a stash of explosives in the basement -- I think that's where he wanted his finale."

"He knows we're here," my eyes sweep the tree line. "He's cornered and panicking. There's only one place left to flee to."

Jeremy meets my eyes slowly, understanding what I am saying. I watch Alfie pick up a piece of dry wood, holding it over the newly erected fire. The pieces supporting it are from surrounding, meager homes, like mine that lies closer to the woods.

"Alpha!" Alfie calls, holding the makeshift torch out to me, "you want the honors?"

I near him, taking the burning piece of wood in my hand as I turn. My feet are on autopilot as I walk towards my former shabby home and I place my free hand on the rough wood of the entrance door. My heart swells in a way that I cannot describe, and I take the time to memorize the grain of the wood. My father had helped build this house.

I enter the home and Jeremy remains away from door, watching through the crack as I stare at the disjointed house. It's been ransacked; furniture flipped and the little possessions we had torn and strewn. Like the few family photos, and the drawings that had once cluttered our small space.

I find that my room is barren, except for a derogatory word spelled out on the wall in red spray paint. I don't know who thought I'd ever come back to see it, or why they'd felt so compelled to do it, but I examine it silently. Whoever did strongly hated me. I wonder if they're still alive.

I contemplate if I should take any of my own clothes, or scavenge through the tipped over drawers for anything of sentimental value, but I find I don't want to. Anything here is now tainted and I wish to have no recollection of such an item. So I journey back into the kitchen, into the cabinet where I know dad always kept his alcohol and find a half way finished bottle of brandy. It's reminiscent of what I'd done previously, with Beckett's clear message and the box, and I splash it over my room and the couch in the living room before smashing the bottle on the ground.

With a last solemn glance to my childhood and past, I throw the torch into the center of the room and watch the scattered books and papers catch before growing. I can hear the alarmed cries of Jeremy as I stand amidst the burning room. My feet are anchored the ground as my twin bed is shrouded in flames, and the dresser follows as the room grows increasingly hot and stuffy.

I pivot and leave as the fire draws near, and bound out of the house to an awaiting Jeremy. "Make sure it doesn't spread too far," I tell Jeremy, but I end up reiterating it to Alfie as well.

"Ron!" A shrill cry is heard and I turn in to see Stella at the mouth of the woods, "the lake!"

It had been my estimated guess, but I quickly shift and dash past her in that direction. I know the way like the back of my hand at this point.

Jeremy and Stella follow behind me in their own forms, and the run is seemingly short -- only about a mile or two away -- as I catch sight of the murky water and clustered forms. One of them is Liam, who pins down one of Beckett's members by the throat. Alpha Beckett is in the center, nearly in the water as he is affronted.

I resort back to my human self as I watch him stumble, the golden fur growing a muddy brown while he backs into the water. I use to admire this man, and now I feel some ounce of empathy -- not for him, but for my only blindness.

It is a turning of tables, and one I feel odd in as I stand before him. "Shift," I tell him. "You are outnumbered. Your allies will die, you will die but at least do it with some dignity."

He snarls at me and I can hear the whine and last howl from one of the four men that foolishly stood by him. It is the last I will likely ever hear from him.

I notice one of them appears familiar as he is unable to maintain his form due to his injuries, and the crumpled man before me, I recognize, shares the same features as Cliff. My jaw clenches as I search him out in the crowd, only to find he is in the front, staring down at his father. "Cliff," I begin, unsure of how to phrase on how I should handle this -- he knows this man. This man is his father, and I am juggle his life in my hands. Just like I do with Adam's father.

"He disowned me when I left Beckett's," Cliff answers my unspoken question. The bloodied man that is a mirror reflection of Cliff merely grimaces, narrowing his eyes into slits up at his son. "I let him brain wash and control me. You said this was a time for retribution, and it is, and his life is up to you, Alpha Mars."

He falls back into the crowd as the man chokes and spits the red-tinted saliva from his mouth. "He won't live long," Belle murmurs from beside Alfie. "He took two syringes, and one of the pack members slashed him pretty hard. He'll die, as it is inevitable."

"Cliff will have a say in what happens to his body, as it is his father," I inform them. Cliff nods to me in a simple show of thanks, "as for the others, allowing them to live is a risk," I say this more to myself than anyone else, "but one I will allow if they surrender."

"I'll die before I ever do that," one of the others respond -- he is an older gentleman, with salt and pepper colored hair but angry brown eyes. I study him silently.

"Then so be it." I declare, and I motion to Liam to take care of that situation. He does, and only one man is willing to essentially betray Beckett for his life. Perhaps it is a self-serving motive, but a smart decision atlas. I give the same directions that I gave to Kieran, but the man is terribly injured and is practically cradling his gashed stomach that I doubt he will last long enough. Not with the serum in his system, as it disables him from being able to heal at an accelerated rate. He'll die before they reach it.

Kieran recognizes this as he passes me. We share a silent look and Liam also knows, as he gives a swift pat to Kieran's shoulder as he passes. It leaves us alone with Beckett; the last standing man. And the one that will likely never surrender.

I like to argue with myself that even if he had decided to, I might have been kind enough to show some semblance of mercy, but the thought is void, as I find I won't be able to ever sleep peacefully again, knowing he might still be out there. Not after the death of Anna, my father, my mother, and so many more. I'd like to pretend I am that much bigger of a person, but the truth is that I am not.

"If you do not fight, then I will be more humane about it," I tell Beckett. It seems he cannot resist not being able to actively communicate back, as his form slowly mends back into his human one and he stares up at me with such intense hatred, but it no longer shakes me -- not like it use to.

"There is nothing humane about killing someone," he retorts. A gash across his lip trickles with blood. "It will still make you a murderer." He pushes himself to stand -- the cuff of his pants are drenched with water, but also with stained with blood -- and I can see Stella's smirk from my place, and I don't have to wonder where he got it from. "Like you, like your mate, like all of you," he gestures to crowd that gathers around him. It's the Tragedy of Julius Caesar, and I suppose I am Brutus, and the question of heroism is unclear.

I almost suspect Stella to be the one that deals the first blow, but she is still in her place with her hands neatly folded over her chest. Her eyes dart to him before turning to the tree line; she's clearly worrying about Adam.

"You tried to force Ronnie to mate with your son, when you were aware she found her true mate," Liam interjects. His jaw is clenched as he watches the man. "While also feeding information to the hunters and Purgatory alike, essentially endangering your pack and others."

"But it grew our compound, did it not?" Beckett retorts, redirected at me. "You killed numerous amounts of people. Liam Farley; that name use to be notorious, and now look at you." His eyes flicker over Liam, "never pictured you as a Luna."

"Stop antagonizing," I cut in sharply, as that what Beckett once. It's the typical speech villains in movies rehearse, and I have no desire to hear it. "Trust me when I tell you that I would love to be the one to kill you, but I'm afraid I've reserved the rights for someone else." Beckett's brows furrow in confusion, and most of the Purgatory look bewildered -- as does Liam, who seeks to meet my eyes as I pivot and hold my hand out to the forest in presentation.

A bruised and solemn Adam appears, the faded green shirt he wears hangs off his frame, exposing the prominent jut of his collarbones and the yellow-ish bruises on his chest. His left eye is swollen, and he looks positively weak as he manages to carry himself over to us. My heart lodges itself in my throat when he nears, grasping my extended hand and I can feel the sweat on the palm of his hand. His fingers are cold and shaky in mine, and I squeeze his to ask quietly, are you sure?

His good eye meets mine, and the swift nod of my head confirms it.

Initially, when Adam had requested he be the one to do it, I had startled. I knew Adam strongly disliked his father -- with good reason -- but I had not realized that another person sought for such heavy handed retribution as I did. Adam deserved to do it if he wanted to -- as he had grown up with the man, remained under his torment, and what would likely affect him for the rest of his life.

So I'd agreed, because we had started this together, and it only seemed fitting to finish it together.

I slide the gun from the back of my pants, motioning for the serum filled bullet from Jeremy. He hands it to me, and I slide it into the slot. I press it into Adam's hands, feeling the acid in my stomach slosh around -- akin to when you shake a snow globe. Anxiety settles through me -- this is practically an execution -- and I'd once thought this was what I wanted to see, but now I only feel the want for it to end.

I keep my hand on Adam's arm as he grips the death instrument within his hands -- it is one thing to kill someone in wolf form, but it is another to do it like this. Nonetheless, staring into the eyes of his father.

He weighs the gun in his left hand, and my hand remains clenched in his right. Liam watches silently, with his lips parted before steeling himself and watching Beckett's furrowed brows. His eyes skim the ground quickly -- this is a humiliation to him. His own son has -- in Beckett's point of view -- betrayed him, and now he will end his own fathers life.

"Adam," his father breathes, his voice suddenly softer than the abrasive tone he took up with me.

"Don't tell me you're going to make a pathetic plea," Adam's upper lip curls in disgust. "You wouldn't deserve mercy even if you begged. You tortured me, you allowed other people to hurt me, and you tried to place the wool over my eyes; now, I see."

"I gave you the girl," Beckett hisses in response, "I let you pick her. That was more than you ever deserved, and look where we are."

"You wanted to control me," the gun wobbles in Adam's eyes and the emotion is thick in his throat. I grasp his hand tighter in my mind, and Liam looks particularly uneasy. "You got us here, dad! You abused me, mentally and emotionally! And for what? Your own amusement. Because you could." I watch the trail of tears that stream from his eyes, "you killed Ronnie's mother, and you threatened her life as well, and I let you." Adam eyes flicker to mine, "I am sorry for that Ronnie."

I offer a grim smile, as I have already forgiven him for all of it. We were all Beckett's puppets once, after all.

"I won't beg," Beckett declares after Adam's spiel -- that's all he takes from it. "I did what I did, and now you get your justice, Adam. Go ahead. Look me in the eyes and at least be a man about it, what I tried to mold you to be."

And so Adam listens.

A single gunshot rings through the forest -- I swear the whole world can hear it -- and the splash of water as his body meets the ground. The water is tainted a bloody red at our feet, and Adam simply flicks the safety on the gun before discarding it on the sand, promptly releasing my hand and beginning his journey back to the compound. Stella trails after him silently, and I watch him continue to wipe the tears away.

Liam rushes to my side as the crowd solemnly recognize the win, though it hardly feels like victory. Not after Adam.

He presses my head to his chest, and the rush of tears flow from my eyes, unable to contain them. "It's over," he whispers against my forehead. "It's over." He plants a kiss there, and burrows his finger into my hair. I lean my forehead against his, pressing a desperate kiss to his. We're free. It's over. But the weight is heavy, and one that likely will only decrease with time.

The pack drags Beckett's body to the fiery compound, and we watch it burn with the rest. Tendrils of ash float into the sky, and the others come to gaze upon it silently.

The rebuild is slow, and the nights after Beckett's death still linger in my mind. Sometimes in my nightmares.

Two weeks later, I oversee the first foundation of a home being built. The ones that had chosen to stay actively communicate on where they will lay down roots, and the families are prioritized to ensure they have a home as soon as possible. The compound is cramped, and no place for mated couples and single mothers.

Marcelo and Belle's sister decided to move away, and Belle made it evident she would follow. They'd been separated once, and she would never allow it again; in result, Alfie obviously vowed to follow. It was too painful for her sister to remain here, and I understood that perfectly. She'd developed a bond with Marcelo, and they sought new surroundings. I hugged them tightly to me the day they left, memorized Belle's blue hair, and commanded she return sometime.

They agreed, and some of the rest that surrendered chose to depart. Rosalyn and Jeremy decided to move into a home together, so they reserved their own spot and Liam and I reserved ours; a future home for us, as we were in no rush to depart from the compound when things still needed overseeing.

Adam and Stella remain glued at the hip, especially after the battle, and I often catch them silently sitting by one another. Sometimes a laugh sounds, and other times Stella winds up with her arms around Adam, or vice versa. They're healing each other, slowly, like the rest of us.

Liam grips me to him when the third week rolls around, and I am seated firmly in front of my first drawing in a long time. The days have become somewhat mundane, but it's a change of pace that is unusual to get use to.

"What are you drawing?" He mumbles against the bare skin of my shoulder, and his lips tickle against it.

"Don't you recognize it?" I point to the lines that have morphed themselves into slow lapping waves, and the rising sun just over the horizon that I begin to fill in with a soft orange.

"The lake?" Liam frowns, obviously confused why I would paint such a thing.

"Yes, I told my aunt I would send her some," I reply.

"I thought you would view it differently after what occurred," he responds. I place the colored pencil down, angling my body towards him. "See the child?" I point to the small toddler I'd painted in the sand, similar braids to my own.

"It's you, isn't it?"

I smile, pressing my lips into his before pulling away and brushing a strand of his own hair from his eyes. "No. It's the future."

"The future?" He echoes in response.

"Yes," I respond. "And hope."

"Hope." He repeats, and we smile.

-----------------------------------------------------------

It's been awhile.

Understand that this past year has proved difficult, and I placed writing on the back burner for the sake of my mental health. The epilogue should be up soon (I always say that!) but this time I reeeeeeally mean it.

Thanks for sticking around, and sorry for the wait.

- CeCe.