Liv POV:
Four years.
Four years of salt spray, biting wind, and silence.
The island was a fortress of nature. Cliffs of grey stone plunged into a churning sea, while behind me, the forest stood dense and ancient. It was a place for survival, not luxury.
And I loved it.
I stood on the edge of the precipice, watching the waves shatter against the rocks below. The wind whipped my hair across my face, but I didn't feel the cold. My White Wolf blood kept me warm, a furnace burning against the chill.
"Mama! Look!"
I turned. A small boy was running towards me, triumphantly holding a crab by one leg.
Finn.
He was four years old, but he looked six. He was tall, sturdy, with messy blond hair like his father and my dark eyes.
"Careful, Finn," I said, letting a smile soften my face. "He looks pinchy."
Finn laughed. The sound was pure joy, bright and untainted.
But as he laughed, the air around him rippled. A low growl vibrated in his small chest, a sound too deep for a child. His eyes flashed gold—pure, bright Alpha gold.
The crab in his hand suddenly went limp, paralyzed by the aura of a predator far larger than a child.
"Sorry, Mr. Crab," Finn whispered, dropping it gently back onto the sand.
I walked over and smoothed his hair. The amulet around his neck hummed, working hard to suppress his scent. Even with the magic, his power leaked out. He was going to be stronger than Michael. Stronger than anyone.
"Did you practice your letters?" I asked.
"Yes. And I practiced hunting!" He pointed to a pile of sticks he had arranged into a crude but effective snare.
"Good job."
I wasn't raising a prince. I was raising a warrior.
Later, I went into the cabin. It was simple—wood and stone. I had learned to cook, to fix the roof, to fish. The Hayes princess was dead.
I sat at the table and opened the laptop. It was my only connection to the outside world, routed through six different secure servers.
An email from my mother was waiting.
*Subject: Update*
*The Thorn Pack has lost its status. They are no longer a Top 10 pack. The Council is considering dissolving them.*
*Serena was exiled two years ago. Michael threw her out when her fake scent faded and she couldn't produce an heir. She is running with Rogues now.*
*Michael is... unwell. He rejects all challenges. He refuses to take a new mate.*
I closed the laptop with a sharp snap.
"Mama?"
Finn was standing by the door, clutching his blanket. "Why are you sad?"
"I'm not sad, baby. I'm thinking."
"About the Bad Man?"
I froze. The air left my lungs. I had never told him about Michael. I only told him that his father was gone.
"Why do you say that?"
"I dream about him," Finn said matter-of-factly. "A big grey wolf. He is sad. He cries at the moon."
My heart skipped a beat. The blood connection. It was stronger than distance. Stronger than death.
"It's just a dream, Finn."
That night, I couldn't sleep. My *Inner Wolf* was restless. She kept pacing the cage of my mind, sniffing the air.
*Danger,* she whispered. *Change.*
I got up and walked down to the beach. The moon was full, casting a silver path across the water.
I let go.
*Shift.*
Bones cracked and reshaped. It didn't hurt anymore; it felt like release. Fur sprouted, white as snow.
I stood on four paws, a massive White Wolf. I was twice the size of a normal female wolf.
I ran. I tore through the sand, letting the speed burn out my anxiety.
Then, I stopped.
Something was washing up on the shore.
I trotted over, sniffing. It was a piece of driftwood. But it wasn't natural. It was carved.
I shifted back to human form, shivering slightly in the night air. I picked up the wood.
It was a totem. A wolf carving.
Burnt into the wood was a symbol. A thorn wrapped around a rose.
The crest of the Thorn Pack.
My blood ran cold. This hadn't drifted here by accident. The currents didn't flow this way from the mainland.
Someone had dropped it. Or lost it nearby.
I looked out at the dark ocean.
"He's coming," I whispered.
I ran back to the cabin. I checked the locks. I checked the magical wards.
I went into Finn's room. He was sleeping, his thumb in his mouth.
"I won't let him take you," I vowed.
The next morning, Jennings arrived on the supply boat. He looked grim.
"Jennings," I said, holding up the totem. "Look."
He took it, his face paling. "This is fresh work."
"Is he here?"
"We haven't seen any unauthorized boats," Jennings said. "But... there have been reports of a Rogue swimming the channel. A madman."
"Swimming?" I asked, incredulous. "That's twenty miles of shark-infested water."
"Desperation makes wolves do impossible things," Jennings said quietly.
He hesitated.
"There is something else, My Lady. We hired a new hand for the island maintenance. A drifter. He had good references, kept to himself. But..."
"But what?"
"He refuses to look anyone in the eye."
"Bring him to me," I said.
My protective instincts were screaming.
An hour later, Jennings returned. Walking behind him was a man.
He was thin, gaunt even. His clothes were ragged, hanging off a skeletal frame. He had a thick, unkempt beard and long, matted hair that covered his face. He walked with a limp.
He smelled like salt, sweat, and... old grief.
"What is your name?" I asked, standing on the porch, my arms crossed tightly over my chest.
The man didn't look up. He stared at his boots.
"Martin," he rasped. His voice was rough, like he hadn't used it in years.
"Look at me, Martin."
He slowly lifted his head.
His eyes were shadowed, bloodshot. But deep within the grime and the pain...
They were blue.
A jolt of electricity shot down my spine. My *Inner Wolf* sat up and let out a confused whine.
*Mate?* she asked. *Enemy?*
I narrowed my eyes. He looked nothing like the arrogant Alpha King I had left. He looked like a broken beggar.
"Can you cook?" I asked, my voice steady despite the trembling in my hands.
"Yes," he whispered.
"You stay in the outbuilding. You do not come near the main house unless summoned. You do not speak to my son. Is that clear?"
"Yes, Luna," he said.
The way he said *Luna*. It wasn't a title. It was a prayer.
I watched him limp away towards the shed.
I gripped the railing until the wood splintered beneath my fingers.
I knew those eyes.
