Chapter 5 I need closure.
1512 Words
_Calden’s POV_
Three years ago, Zarelle Stormy had been nothing more than a transaction.
A nameless omega with RH-negative blood—rarer than moon-touched silver. The council saw its value, and I'd cared only about the clinical details: her blood compatibility with Thessaly, her lack of pack ties, the convenience of her desperation.
She wanted marriage. I needed her veins.
It should have been a fair exchange.
Then why—
Why does her absence feel like an open wound?
I drain my whiskey, the burn doing nothing to settle my wolf. The initial report from my enforcer glared up at me from the desk—three pages of nothing. No travel records. No credit card activity. No trace of an omega who'd lived in my territory for years.
Like smoke. Like she'd never existed.
I clenched around the crystal tumbler. That wasn't possible. Every wolf left traces—scent markers, financial breadcrumbs, something.
Unless she knew how to disappear.
The thought lodged like a bullet between my ribs. Who was this woman who could vanish from a secured Alpha's estate without triggering a single alarm? Who'd endured three years of being treated as less than a Luna without ever fighting for more?
My wolf snarled at the emptiness in my den. The closet where her few simple dresses had hung stood barren. The bathroom lacked her vanilla-and-rain scent. Even the kitchen, where she'd sometimes left herbal tea steeping for me after late council meetings, carried only the stale odor of disuse.
"Alpha?" Aldrin hovered in the doorway, tablet in hand. "The clinic footage shows her entering a black Rolls-Royce with tinted windows. No license plate visible."
My spine went rigid. "A Rolls?"
"Custom Phantom, by the looks of it. Quarter-million at minimum."
Impossible. Zarelle owned nothing but the clothes he'd provided. She'd arrived at Sunlight Ridge with a single duffel bag and—
I caught my breath.
Had she ever truly been penniless?
Memories surfaced like shards of broken glass: The way she'd hesitated before signing contracts. The too-perfect penmanship for someone claiming to be uneducated. The quiet confidence when speaking to my business associates that had always struck me as...unnatural for an omega of no standing.
Aldrin cleared his throat. "There's more. The car turned northeast at the highway junction."
Northeast. Toward Missatian territory.
I shattered the glass against the wall, staring at the amber liquor dripping down the wall like blood.
"Run a deep background check," I growled, vibrating with Alpha power. "Not just blood type this time. I want to know who the hell Zarelle Stormy really is."
No matter what you had hidden from me, Zarelle, I'd dig it out.
***
_Zarelle's POV_
The growl of a Maserati's engine shattered the estate's tranquility. I knew that sound like my own heartbeat—Elsa Sterling had arrived in her signature silver MC20, the one she'd christened "Moonchaser" after our wild midnight escapade at seventeen.
She emerged in a whirlwind of designer silk and Alpha-born confidence, her emerald eyes locking onto me before her stilettos even touched stone.
"Zarelle Feymere!" Her shriek could've woken the dead. Then she was crushing me in a hug that smelled of Chanel No. 5 and home. "Three years! Three damn years playing Cinderella for that backwater pack—"
I buried my face in her rose-gold hair, the familiar citrus-and-cinnamon scent unraveling knots in my chest I hadn't known were there.
Elsa held me at arm's length, her manicured nails digging into my shoulders. "Look at you," she breathed, taking in my hollowed cheeks. "My god, what did those animals do to you?"
I opened my mouth—
"No." She dragged me toward the house. "First tea. Then war plans."
In my bedroom, Elsa prowled like a caged tigress while I sipped jasmine tea from my grandmother's bone china.
"Darling." She plucked at my sleeve. "We need to talk about your wardrobe situation. You’ve been through hell, and that’s exactly why you need to look absolutely stunning. The best revenge is living well, and looking even better.”
I laughed, a sound that surprised me with its lightness. “You haven’t changed at all, have you?”
"Please." She flopped onto the bed, sending Po the panda tumbling. "You're Missatian royalty. You'll wear couture and watch that savage Ashmoor choke on his own tongue."
The mention of him made my teacup rattle.
"Speaking of that," My expression grew serious. “I do need to go back. I need to retrieve the divorce decree and officially complete the proceedings.”
Elsa’s jaw tightened. “That bastard Calden and his family put you through enough. Are you sure you want to face them again so soon?”
“I need to do this, Elsa. I need closure, and I need to reclaim what’s mine. Will you come with me?”
Without hesitation, Elsa reached over and squeezed my hand. “Try and stop me. We’ll show them exactly what they lost.”.
.
.
The iron gates of Sunlight Ridge loomed before us, their ornate scrollwork suddenly laughable compared to the ancient stone arches of my homeland. Elsa's Maserati purred to a stop, the engine's growl scattering a group of lounging enforcers like startled jackals.
I stepped out into air thick with the scent of pine and pettiness.
"Well, well." A familiar sneer cut through the murmurs. Garrett—Calden's least intelligent enforcer—swaggered forward, his boots kicking up gravel. "If it isn't our runaway blood bag."
Laughter rippled through the crowd. Grace, the beta female who'd always resented my presence, twirled a lock of hair around her finger. "Did you rent that car by the hour, sweetheart? Or is your new Alpha paying for—"
The crack of Elsa's car door silenced them.
Every head turned as she emerged in a cloud of vanilla and venom, her Valentino stilettos sinking into Sunlight Ridge dirt like daggers. The Sterling ruby gleamed at her throat—a declaration of power no werewolf could mistake.
Garrett's smirk died when his wolf recognized hers. A dominant.
"Apologize." My voice surprised even me—cold and clear as winter runoff. "To my sister. Now."
Grace's nose wrinkled. "Sister? Since when do blood whores have—"
Elsa moved faster than human eyes could track. One moment she stood by the car. The next, her claws rested against Grace's jugular.
"This," Elsa purred, "is Alpha Sterling's heir you're speaking to. And that—" Her other hand gestured to me with deadly grace, "—is my dear friend. Your former Luna."
The pack's collective inhale was almost comical.
The guard's face turned ashen, his Adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed hard. Everyone knew the Sterlings didn't make threats—they made examples.
Elsa's smile could have frosted hell. "Apologize. Now." Her manicured finger tapped her chin. "Or shall I call Daddy and tell him Sunlight Ridge needs...reminding about manners?"
But before the confrontation could escalate further, another voice cut through the tension.
“What is going on here?”
Former Luna Amara descended the pack house steps, her designer wrap fluttering despite the absence of wind. The scent of her bergamot perfume clashed violently with the aggression in the air. Her cold gaze swept over me, curling her lip.
"Back like a bad penny, Stormy?" The way she spat my former name made it sound like an insult. "Come to pester my son again? Haven’t you caused enough trouble for this family?"
My claws unsheathed with an audible snick. Three years. Three years of my veins being tapped like a keg for her son's precious Thessaly, and this hag dared to call me pestering her son? I caused her family trouble?
I dragged on deep breaths to stop myself from lashing out. No need to waste time with them. I was here just to get my things and leave.
"I just want my belongings," I ground out. "Then I'll gladly never smell this wretched place again."
Amara's laugh was the sound of ice cracking. "You think you can waltz into my son's private chambers? You're nothing but a discarded—"
"—Oh shut your wrinkly trap, you bitter old crone!" Elsa's voice rang out like a gunshot. Every pack member within earshot froze. "Before you call anyone a b***h, maybe take a look in the mirror at that face even your Alpha son can't stand to look at."
I had to admit, pride swelled in my chest. Elsa Sterling for a reason.
The color drained from Amara's face, her perfectly botoxed forehead actually wrinkling in rage. "How dare you talk to me in that manner?! Do you know who I am?!
"Do you think I really care?" Elsa took a predatory step forward, her Sterling ruby flashing like a warning beacon. "Respect is earned, you bitter crone. And you? You're not worthy of even my boot polish."
Amara's face turned an alarming shade of purple, her ears practically steaming with rage.
"Guards!" she shrieked, her voice cracking. "Seize these insolent bitches and throw them out!"
- Writer
