Chapter 4 Never stopped being mine.
1274 Words
_Zarelle’s POV_
The tires crunched over the estate's gravel drive, each sound making my pulse jump. Through the tinted windows, the ancestral oaks stood like silvered sentinels, their branches swaying in a welcome I wasn't sure I deserved.
Cyric's hand settled on mine before I could start chewing my nails. "Breathe, little wolf."
I stepped out into air so thick with pack magic it made my teeth hum. Three years. Three years since I'd last smelled the crisp mountain sage woven through our territory markers, heard the wind chimes singing from the west garden where Mother's memorial stood.
The double doors yawned open before we reached them.
Father stood framed in the doorway, the morning light gilding his broad shoulders. The newspaper crumpled in his grip betrayed his pretense of nonchalance.
"So," his voice rumbled like distant thunder, "my runaway pup finally slinks home."
I didn't let him finish.
The collision knocked the breath from us both. His arms—those same arms that had swung me onto his shoulders when I was a cub—locked around me with terrifying gentleness. Vanilla and aged whiskey, the scent that had always meant safety, flooded my senses.
"You didn't even let me deliver my prepared Alpha speech," he grumbled into my hair. I felt his lips brush my temple. "Twelve bullet points about responsibility. Historical examples. Everything."
I laughed wetly against his chest. "Recite it now. I'll listen."
He held me at arm's length, his calloused thumbs wiping tears I hadn't realized were falling. When his gaze dropped to the faint scars circling my inner elbows, something feral flashed in his gold-flecked eyes.
Cyric's growl harmonized with Father's. The pack bonds thrummed between us, alive with shared fury.
No words needed. They'd seen everything. Known everything.
"Sunlight Ridge won't touch you again." Father's voice carried the weight of centuries-old Alpha bloodlines. "That Ashmoor pup wouldn't survive the conversation if he dared set paw on our territory."
I exhaled the last of Calden's hold on me. "I'm done with him."
Father's nostrils flared, testing my resolve. Whatever he found made him nod once before pulling me back into the shelter of his embrace. "Welcome home, princess."
Beyond the windows, the pack howls began—first one, then a dozen, then hundreds—a rising tide of voices celebrating the return of a daughter they'd never truly lost.
Father held me tight, his Alpha scent wrapping around me like armor.
"The Moon Goddess didn't make you to be some Alpha's footnote, pup." The words rumbled through his chest. "Your true mate will recognize your worth."
I leaned into his touch, the last of my tension dissolving. "I know."
Cyric's boots thudded against the hardwood as he sprawled across the sofa arm. "Reservation at Lutter & Wegner at eight. Private dining room."
Father's eyebrow arched—the only warning before his Alpha voice dropped like a gavel. "Shouldn't you be reviewing the Tokyo acquisition?"
"Delegated." Cyric flashed his canines in that reckless grin that always made our accountants weep. "Priorities, old man."
The corner of Father's mouth twitched. For all his bluster, he'd never been able to resist Cyric's charm.
"Speaking of priorities," Cyric continued, nodding toward me, "Elle's agreed to take her seat at the table."
Father's gaze sharpened. Three years ago, he'd been preparing me to oversee our European holdings—an omega breaking traditions in a world of Alpha CEOs. The fact that he'd kept the position open...
My spine straightened. "I'm ready to serve the pack."
No more chasing phantom love. No more shrinking myself to fit some Alpha's narrow expectations. Sunlight Ridge had tried to make me invisible, but here—
Here, I was a Feymere.
Father's approving growl vibrated through the room. "That's my blood." He clasped my elbow, steering me toward the grand staircase. "Tavion kept your nest ready."
"Uncle Tavion still remembers my midnight snack raids?" I laughed, the sound lighter than it had been in years.
"Please." Cyric rolled his eyes. "The man has a spreadsheet of your fruit preferences. Those Japanese grapes cost more than his monthly salary."
My childhood bedroom smelled of lavender and pack—of safety. Po the panda sat propped against the pillows, his threadbare arms outstretched as if he'd been waiting. I buried my face in his familiar softness, the last shards of Calden's hold on me crumbling to dust.
Father lingered in the doorway, his silhouette backlit by the afternoon sun. "Rest, pup. We'll howl the roof down tonight."
As the door clicked shut, I curled into the downy embrace of my nest. Somewhere beyond the leaded windows, the wind carried the distant chorus of packmates going about their day—the cooks preparing tonight's feast, the sentries changing shifts, the pups tumbling in the gardens.
The rhythm of a pack that had never stopped being mine.
***
_Alpha Merek’s POV_
The door clicked shut behind me with the finality of a vault sealing. After three years, my daughter was finally home.
Downstairs, my son Cyric waited like a shadow at the foot of the grand staircase—my heir in every way that mattered.
I settled into my study chair, the ancient leather creaking under my weight. The light sliced through the window blinds, painting tiger stripes across the dossier in Cyric's hands.
"Show me."
No pleasantries. No preamble. Just the command of an Alpha who'd waited three years for this reckoning.
No one could leave unharmed after using my baby girl.
Cyric's smile was a blade unsheathed. The glow from his tablet painted eerie shadows across the sharp planes of his face as he tapped the screen.
"Thessaly Ashmoor," he murmured, the name dripping with disdain. "Born Thessaly Voss. Former mate to Calden... until she traded up for his older brother Daelen."
I leaned forward, the leather of my chair groaning in protest.
"Smart move," Cyric continued, swiping to a coronation announcement. "Daelen was Sunlight Ridge's heir apparent. Until..." A tap brought up a grainy battle report. "That convenient border skirmish three years ago."
My claws punched through the armrests. "You're suggesting—"
"—That grieving 'widow' just happened to return to her childhood sweetheart before the blood dried?" Cyric's golden eyes glinted. "And then our girl has been bled dry to keep that viper alive?"
The air thickened with the scent of burning cedar—my wolf rising to the surface. Three years. Three years I'd allowed this farce to continue for Zarelle's sake.
No more.
"Dig deeper," I growled. "I want every skeleton in that she-wolf's closet. Every whisper about that 'accidental' death."
Cyric's fangs gleamed in the dim light. "Already on it."
Good. Let's peel back Thessaly's lies layer by layer.
I stood, my shadow swallowing the moonlit wall behind me. "There's another important thing."
"We're hosting a banquet. Make it worthy of our bloodline—and Zarelle's homecoming."
My heir didn't need notes. I saw the calculations flashing behind his dark eyes—caterers, security, the delicate balance of politics and power. "Guest list parameters?"
A slow smile pulled at my lips. "Every Alpha worth their fangs." I let my claws extend just enough to score the armrest. "And ensure those Ashmoor pups receive their invitations personally."
The emphasis wasn't subtle.
This wasn't just a celebration—it was a hunt dressed in silk and champagne. Let the entire werewolf aristocracy see my daughter radiant in Missatian jewels. Let Calden watch as the omega he'd treated as disposable reclaimed her birthright.
“Understood, Father,” Cyric bowed slightly before turning to leave. “I’ll ensure the invitations reach everyone who should be there.”
- Writer
