Sylvara thought it would take ages for the call to connect. She was wrong—the line picked up almost immediately.
“Sylvara,” a low, sharp voice rasped through the speaker, “don’t even think about playing games with me.”
She remained silent, letting the growl of his tone sink in.
“I’ve been hunting for you as long as you’ve been pining for Lucien. Seven years, icy as a frost wolf, and suddenly you’re giving in? What made you change your mind?”
Red Ralston. Her former mate, a high-ranking alpha in North Carolina’s elite wolf packs.
He had pursued her relentlessly for seven cycles of the moon. Once, she had almost pledged herself to him.
But on the night she was meant to decide, Lucien had appeared, offering her hope, promising warmth in the cold wilderness of her life. And so, she had left Red behind.
Faced with his sharp questions, she drew in a shaky breath. “I… I wasn’t thinking clearly. Forget what I just said.”
A sudden thump echoed over the line, loud and forceful, as though something heavy had crashed onto the floor.
“You don’t get to call me when it suits you and vanish when it doesn’t, Sylvara,” Red growled, his voice rising in pure alpha command. “You chose me this time. Don’t think about running away again.”
“I’m giving you thirty days,” he warned, teeth grinding faintly. “Deal with that… other wolf. After that, I’m coming for what’s mine.”
Before she could speak, the line went dead. A sharp click ended the connection.
A small, wry smile tugged at her lips. ‘Some things never change,’ she thought, shaking her head.
That night, Lucien did not return to the villa.
She spent the hours in silence, wandering through the villa, folding old belongings into boxes, sorting through memories. Dawn crept over the horizon by the time the front door finally creaked open.
He entered, still in his rumpled clothes from the night before, scent faintly of cedar and smoke from the hearth. “What are you throwing away?”
Sylvara flinched slightly but quickly straightened, tucking a stray lock of hair behind her ear. “Just some old things.”
He moved closer, leaning over a box, sniffing the air lightly. Clothes, mementos, gifts he had given her—all piled inside.
“You call these… old things?”
“Old gifts, old clothes,” she said lightly, voice calm. “They take up room. I thought I’d send them to the orphaned cubs in the Appalachian hills. Might even improve your reputation among the neighboring packs.”
Lucien’s lips twitched, the faintest curve forming, but his eyes remained sharp. “Hmm… clever.”
Relief fluttered inside her, but she did not let herself relax. He wasn’t convinced by words—he simply refused to waste more time on trivialities.
A sudden crash from behind made her spin.
Tahlia stood there, wide-eyed, a shattered statuette at her feet. Her smile was the kind that lured predators into traps, innocent yet subtly dangerous.
“Oops… sorry, Mondy, Avy. Didn’t mean to.”
Lucien didn’t even glance at the broken artifact. His attention went straight to Tahlia, checking her for injuries with quick, precise movements.
Seeing no sign of harm, his tension eased slightly. “It’s fine. Nothing matters more than you.”
But Tahlia’s gaze shifted to Sylvara, head tilted innocently. “You don’t mind, right, Avy?”
Sylvara’s eyes fell.
The sculpture had been one of a kind, carved after a trip to the highlands—a blend of both her and Lucien’s likenesses, infused with wolf-bond magic.
Now, it was reduced to fragments.
Years ago, she would have scolded Tahlia, perhaps even snapped, but now… she simply looked up and said, “It’s okay.”
A flicker of something—pride, envy, or satisfaction—passed over Tahlia’s face, gone before Sylvara could decipher it. “Aww… you’re so gracious,” she said sweetly.
Then Tahlia turned to Lucien without missing a beat. “With a sister like that, I’m sure she won’t object to my next little request either.”
Lucien didn’t even glance at Sylvara. His eyes focused on Tahlia as he spoke, authoritative and calm.
“Yannie’s back in North Carolina. Her parents aren’t in the territory, and she’s uneasy staying alone. In the meantime, she can stay here.
“And—your room faces the sunrise. She’s always been sensitive to the cold. Make sure she gets it.”
Sylvara’s jaw tightened, but she said nothing, letting the alpha of the house make his decisions as the new hierarchy of tensions quietly settled around them.
