I replayed the memory like an old scar that never truly healed. My father's voice, my mother's urgency, the instinctive pull she must have felt when a child—only six winters old—stood on the edge of death. In our world, no pack-born wolf could ignore that kind of call. Even the weakest omega would have bared their teeth for the helpless.
Soon, the truth I had carried for years began to shift inside me, like old instincts rearranging themselves. My mother had gone because she believed in protecting the weak, just as any pack-mother would. That belief had cost her life.
"I don't blame you or your grandmother," I finally said, though the words felt heavier than stone. "But that doesn't mean I can erase what happened."
The bond between us—fractured, complicated, impossible—tightened painfully in my chest. I could feel Elliot's Alpha presence shift immediately, like a predator reacting to emotional distance. His instincts didn't like rejection. Not from me.
