I honestly didn’t think he’d pick up so fast.
I expected at least a few rings—enough time for me to panic, second-guess myself, maybe even drop the call before he heard my voice.
But he answered on the very first tone.
“Lyriana.”
Corvin Draven’s voice slid through the speaker, deep and cutting, like metal dragged free from a sheath. “Tell me you’re not playing games with me.”
I didn’t respond right away.
Sometimes silence kept things from breaking. Sometimes silence kept me from breaking.
“I’ve been hunting after you for as long as you’ve been throwing your heart at that bastard Moises Blackwood,” he growled, voice crackling with frustration. “You—cold as a damn glacier for the last three years—and suddenly you call me out of nowhere? What changed, Lyriana? What finally made you wake up?”
Corvin Draven.
My almost-mate.
My once-lover, if fate hadn’t twisted its knife.
He wasn’t just an Alpha—he was a force that thundered rather than walked. The true heir of the Draven Pack, yet he chose the life of a rogue. Not because he was exiled, but because he preferred the freedom of the wild to the chains of a throne. His pack was infamous—not a collection of rejects, but a tribe of warriors who followed him by choice, not fear. A pack woven from ancient strength and untamed fury.
And he wanted me.
For years, he watched me as though he could see the truth beneath my bones. As though he recognized something in me I hadn’t yet dared to claim. He followed not with claws or teeth—but with a gaze so fierce it stripped me bare.
I almost let myself fall.
Almost let him claim me completely.
But then Moises gave me the illusion of a future—a single drop of hope I mistook for an entire ocean. A lie I clung to long after it cut me open.
So I turned away from Corvin.
Now, hearing him again, with my heart worn thin and my soul scraped hollow, I managed, “I shouldn’t have called. Forget it. I wasn’t thinking straight.”
The silence that followed wasn’t empty. It vibrated.
Then: a violent crash. Something heavy hitting stone or glass.
“You think,” Corvin said slowly, voice dropping to something raw and dangerous, “that you can summon me when you’re breaking… then pretend I don’t exist when you’re done? Is that who I am to you?”
His wolf pushed forward—his voice roughened, thickened, something primal bleeding into every syllable.
“You chose me tonight, Lyriana,” he said, every word a promise and a threat. “Don’t even think about running again.”
My breath faltered.
“I’m giving you one month,” he bit out. “Finish whatever you need to finish with that coward. After that, I’m coming for you. And next time? I’m not letting you walk away.”
The line clicked off with icy finality.
I stared at the phone, the sting in my chest dragging me backward through years of regret and what-ifs. A humorless smile tugged at my mouth.
He hadn’t changed.
Still thunder wrapped in skin.
That night, Moises never returned.
And I didn’t wait like I used to.
I moved through the packhouse without making a sound—slipping from room to room like a restless ghost. My hands packed mechanically, folding away the remnants of a life built on cracks: gifts from moments he wanted forgiveness, tokens from battles he won, expensive silks meant to cover wounds he gave.
They were meaningless now.
My wolf didn’t whimper, didn’t speak. She was exhausted—tired beyond tears, beyond anger.
Morning crept in quietly, warm light spilling across the floorboards, when the front door finally opened.
Moises stepped in, wearing the same clothes he’d left with. Sweat clung to his skin. Lust clung stronger. Not a trace of guilt touched him.
“What’re you clearing out?” he asked, gaze landing on the stacked boxes.
A tiny flinch escaped before I forced myself to straighten.
“Just tossing out a few things,” I replied, flicking a strand of hair over my shoulder. “Things I don’t need anymore.”
He strode over and glanced inside the nearest box. His expression darkened.
Inside lay every single gift from him.
“You’re calling these trash?”
I shrugged lightly. “Old clothes, old presents. They’re taking up space. I figured I’d donate them under your name. ‘Alpha of the Blackwood Pack donates to mountain orphans.’ Sounds good for your public image, don’t you think?”
A faint smirk tugged at his lips. Familiar. Hollow.
“You always did make me look good.”
But those eyes—those unreadable, icy eyes—didn’t show concern. Or pain.
Or anything, really.
He didn’t believe my excuse.
He just didn’t care enough to ask.
A sudden crash shattered behind me. A sharp, ringing echo.
I spun around—dread rising like bile.
Veronica stood near the shelf, her eyes wide and shining, a broken sculpture at her feet. She wore innocence like perfume—pleasant, sweet, and suffocating.
“Oh—oops,” she breathed. “I didn’t mean to! I’m so sorry, Alpha Moises. Sorry, Lyriana.”
And just like always, Moises didn’t look at the shattered art piece or at me.
He marched straight to her.
His entire scent shifted—concern, softness, urgency.
“Are you alright?” he asked, cupping her cheeks gently.
She shook her head, but her lips trembled only for effect. “I’m fine.”
“Good.” His voice dropped to a soft murmur as he tucked her hair behind her ear. “I was worried something happened.”
My lungs tightened.
Nothing is more important than you…
Not me.
Not the mate fate bound to him.
Not the wife he pushed into the shadows.
Not the woman he was supposed to protect.
Veronica turned those wide doe-eyes on me, false guilt shimmering. “You don’t mind, right, Lyriana?”
I lowered my gaze to the broken sculpture.
It had been a custom piece from a mountain artisan—commemorating our first run outside Blackwood territory. Our faces carved into the stone. A memory I once cherished.
Now it lay in jagged pieces across the floor.
Years ago, I would have growled. Would have demanded an apology. Would have defended myself.
Now?
“It’s fine.”
Two simple words. They tasted like blades.
Something flashed in Veronica’s eyes. Satisfaction. Triumph. But she hid it quickly behind a sugary pout.
“Oh, you’re always so understanding.”
Then, twisting the dagger deeper, she added, “Since she’s so generous, I’m sure she won’t mind what I ask next.”
Moises didn’t even look my way. He didn’t need to.
“She just got back to North Carolina,” he said, “and with the Blackthorns out of town, she’s not comfortable staying alone.”
My heart sank.
“Let her stay here,” he continued.
My wolf bristled beneath my skin.
“And,” he added, as if gifting away scraps, “your room gets the morning sun. She hates the cold. Give her that one.”
The command settled like ice over my shoulders.
That was when it hit me—truly hit me.
He had never been mine.
Never tried to be.
Never wanted to be.
He had always belonged to her.
But his reign over my life was almost over.
Soon, he’d learn what it meant for a wolf who had already died once to rise again—reborn in fire and fury.
He had thirty days.
Just one month left.
