"I'm fine," Sharon said, her voice tight and clipped. She didn't wait for him to respond, instead sidling around his massive frame to push open the front door. She stood there, one hand on the heavy wood, gesturing pointedly for him to exit. "Now, if you please, I have some errands to run. Thank you for dropping by to check on me, Luthor, but I don't need your help. Not today, not ever."
Luthor paused in the doorway, looking back at her with a flicker of genuine surprise before his face smoothed into his best, most lupine smile. It was a predatory expression, one that promised he was seeing much more than she was showing. "Naturally not. You’re doing fine on your own, aren’t you? Quite the independent life you’ve built in this little hole in the wall."
His eyes scanned the interior of the cottage one last time, taking in the frayed rugs and the mismatched furniture. Sharon stood stock still, her heart hammering against her ribs like a trapped bird. They both knew the truth. This wasn't a home; it was a burrow, a place where a frightened creature had holed up to hide from the sun.
"Don't worry, though," Luthor added, his voice dropping into a low, intimate register that made her skin crawl. "Your secret is safe with me."
Sharon opened her mouth to snap a sharp rebuttal, to tell him she had no secrets and no fear, but he held up a hand to silence her. "I'm not here to fight you, Sharon. At least, not yet."
For a second, it appeared she was going to lung anyway. He could sense the refusal coiling in her throat, the way her magic hummed just beneath the surface of her skin, ready to lash out. But then, as if the weight of the last seven years had finally crashed down on her shoulders, she sighed. The tension dissipated from her body, leaving her looking small and fragile in the doorway.
"Please," she whispered. "Just leave."
Luthor felt a twinge of disappointment. Part of him had wanted her to scream, to throw something, to give him an excuse to stay and dominate the space until she remembered exactly who he was. He didn't like the way she looked at him—like he was a monster she had outgrown. But he could see she was at her breaking point, and he had no desire to deal with an Omega’s total emotional collapse in the middle of a gravel driveway.
"As you wish," he said. He gave her a mock salute, the gesture dripping with unearned arrogance, before turning on his heel and descending the porch steps.
He didn't miss the audible sound of relief that escaped her as the door thudded shut and the deadbolt slid home.
As Luthor walked toward the tree line, his mind was a chaotic storm of conflicting instincts. The only thing he truly wanted to do was turn back, kick that door off its hinges, and demand to know why she had left. He wanted to scoop her up, throw her in the back of his car, and drive back to the Tenzclaw lands where he could lock her in his suite and never let her out of his sight again.
She had lied to his face. That fact alone infuriated him, a hot coal burning in his gut. But he had seen the terror in her eyes, and he knew she was only holding out because she expected him to act like the tyrant she remembered.
I won't force her, he promised his inner wolf, which was currently pacing and snarling for a taste of her skin. She’s going to be my mate. That means I treat her right. Even if she doesn't get it yet.
If she needed to feel like she had a choice, he would play the game. He would give her the illusion of agency, however thin. He wouldn't like it, and it would test every ounce of his restraint, but Luthor Michaels always got what he wanted in the end. And right now, he wanted a family that looked at him with loyalty, not just fear.
By the time the sun dipped below the horizon, Luthor hadn't actually left the neighborhood. He had reached the edge of the property line, but something about the way Sharon had practically pushed him out the door set off every alarm bell in his head. He knew she was lying about the boy being at a sleepover—the scent of milk and young shifter was too fresh in the house for that—but there was something more. A frantic energy in her scent that suggested she wasn't just hiding; she was preparing.
Instead of heading to a hotel, he circled back through the dense woods behind the cottage. He found a vantage point beneath a sprawling cedar, where the shadows were thick enough to mask his heat signature. The house was dark and quiet, save for a single amber light glowing in the kitchen window.
He stood there, perfectly still, observing for nearly half an hour. He felt like a fool. What was he doing? Was the Great Alpha of the Tenzclaw reduced to lurking in the bushes like a common stalker, hoping to catch his ex-lover in a lie?
He needed a plan. His wolf was agitated, hating the way things had been left unresolved. If he pushed too hard, she’d run again, and this time she might find a way to disappear for good. He couldn't risk losing Alexander again.
He exhaled a long breath, resting the back of his head against the rough bark of the tree. The temperature was dropping fast. Even though the spring day had been warm, the coastal night was turning brittle and cold. He only had on a light jacket, and while his shifter blood kept him warmer than a human, he wasn't exactly looking forward to freezing his ass off while staring at a silent house.
Just as he had convinced himself that a warm bed and a steak at the local inn were a better use of his time, a light flickered on inside the cottage. Then another.
Luthor tensed, his body dropping into a low, predatory crouch. He stopped breathing, his eyes locked on the front door.
Moments later, the door creaked open. Sharon emerged, but she wasn't the defeated woman he’d left an hour ago. She was dressed in a black pullover and leggings, her dark hair pulled back into a high, severe ponytail. An overloaded backpack was slung over her shoulders, and tucked tightly under her arm was a large, blanket-wrapped package.
She moved with a frantic, quiet grace, using her foot to pull the door shut behind her. She didn't lock it—she didn't have time. She made a beeline for the beat-up sedan sitting in the driveway.
Luthor’s mind raced. There was only one explanation: she was making a run for it. She was going to disappear into the night, taking his son into the unknown just to keep him away from his father.
He could have stayed put. He could have let her get into the car and then followed her from a distance, but his wolf was done with waiting. The beast inside him demanded a confrontation.
He stepped out from the shadows, his boots crunching on the dry needles and dead leaves. In the suffocating silence of the forest, the sound was as loud as a gunshot.
Sharon froze. Her entire body went rigid, her hand hovering over the car door handle. She turned slowly, her eyes burning with a desperate, trapped anger.
"Going somewhere, Sharon?" Luthor asked, his voice a low, dangerous rumble that seemed to come from the earth itself.
The bundle in her arms wriggled. Sharon gasped, clutching it tighter to her chest, but it was too late. The blanket shifted just enough, and for the first time in seven years, Luthor caught the full, unmasked scent of his son. It was a mix of Sharon’s sweetness and his own raw power—a scent that slammed into his chest and made his vision blur with a sudden, violent protective urge.
"Get away from us!" Sharon hissed, her voice shaking with a terrifying intensity. "Luthor, I mean it. Stay back!"
"You were going to run," Luthor said, his voice dropping into a register that made the nearby trees seem to shiver. He took a step forward, his eyes glowing a brilliant, terrifying gold. "You were going to take him and hide again."
"I was protecting him!" she screamed, her eyes flashing with a sudden burst of silver magic. "You don't get to just show up and claim him like he’s a piece of property!"
The bundle in her arms began to cry—a small, sharp sound that cut through Luthor’s heart like a knife. Sharon rocked the package instinctively, her face contorted in a mask of maternal agony.
"Let me see him," Luthor commanded.
"No!"
"Sharon, don't make me take him from you," he warned, his own wolf rising to the surface, his fangs beginning to ache behind his gums. "I am his Alpha. I am his father. Let. Me. See. Him."
Sharon backed up against the car, her chest heaving. She looked at the woods, then at the house, and finally at the man who had been the villain of her story for seven years. She realized she had nowhere left to go.
Slowly, her hands trembling, she began to peel back the heavy wool blanket.
Luthor took a cautious step closer, his breath hitching in his throat. Emerging from the folds of the fabric was a small, ruffled head of sandy-blond hair and a pair of wide, startled blue eyes. The boy looked exactly like the photos Luthor had imagined in his head, but a thousand times more real. He was beautiful, he was fierce, and he was undeniably a Michaels.
"Alexander," Luthor whispered, the name tasting like a prayer on his tongue.
The boy stopped crying, staring at the giant man with a strange, solemn curiosity. He reached out a small hand, his fingers brushing against the air as if trying to catch the golden light in Luthor’s eyes.
"Is he the man from the window, Mama?" the boy asked softly.
Sharon didn't answer. She just held him tighter, her tears finally spilling over and tracking lines through the dust on her cheeks.
Luthor looked from his son to the woman he had once broken. He saw the duffel bag in the backseat, the fear in her posture, and the incredible, stubborn love in her eyes. The anger in his gut didn't vanish, but it was suddenly joined by a heavy, soul-deep weight of responsibility.
"Put him in the car, Sharon," Luthor said, his voice no longer a snarl, but a quiet, iron-clad command.
"Where are you taking us?" she gasped.
"I'm not taking you anywhere yet," Luthor said, reaching out to brush a stray tear from her cheek with his thumb. His touch was surprisingly gentle, though his eyes remained fixed on her with an intensity that promised her life would never be the same. "We’re going back inside. We’re going to sit down, and you’re going to tell me everything. And then, we’re going home."
Sharon looked at the dark forest, then at the car, and finally at the Alpha. She saw the truth in his gaze. The run was over. The hiding was done.
"He's not like you, Luthor," she whispered as she turned back toward the house. "He’s kind. Don't you dare ruin that."
Luthor followed her into the cottage, his shadow looming large over the small porch. "I didn't come here to ruin him, Sharon," he murmured as the door closed behind them. "I came to make sure no one else ever gets the chance."
