Freya
After parting with Victoria outside Harris Garden, her words echoed in my mind: *"Fight for what is yours."* The question haunting was whether Silvano still wanted to be mine—and after seeing him with my father, whether I still wanted him to be.
I drove toward the Shadow Pack estate, my thoughts churning. The sprawling mansion ca into view through the ancient pines that had protected generations of our pack. Once, the sight had filled with pride. Now, it twisted my stomach with anxiety.
As I parked and approached the grand entrance, I caught sight of Elder Emma Wilson through the window. She was the forr human mate of the late Beta Tiny, and Luna Victoria’s best friend. After Silvano and I were mated, I had always called her Aunt Emma. Humans tend to age faster than us, but she was forever full of passion and vitality, which earned her the respect of the pack.
What she was even more famous for was her insatiable curiosity. I watched as her eyes narrowed, scrutinizing .
"Freya—" she began, clearly ready to lecture about my absence.
"Mom’s here!" Isabella’s voice rang through the marble foyer as she rushed down from the second floor. My heart clenched at the sight of her—my beautiful girl with Silvano’s dark hair and my gray eyes. It had been over two weeks since we’d last seen each other.
She launched herself into my arms, nearly knocking backward. "Mom!"
Sothing inside broke and nded simultaneously. Selene howled with joy as I wrapped my arms around our pup, inhaling her scent.
"My little wolf," I whispered against her hair, unable to say more as emotion clogged my throat.
Aunt Emma’s stern expression softened as she watched our reunion. "Isabella has been quite insistent that we needed you here today."
Isabella pulled back, her eyes bright. "Mag, will you make tea for Grandma Emma? No one does it like you do."
"Mag" was her childhood nickna for , coined when she couldn’t pronounce "Mama." Hearing it again made my chest ache.
I’d learned the traditional wolf tea ceremony as part of my Luna training—one of the few areas where even Aurora couldn’t find fault with my skills. The careful, ditative practice had always centered .
"Of course," I replied gently, stroking Isabella’s cheek. "But it’s almost dinner ti..."
Maria, Silvano’s aunt and our pack’s social coordinator, appeared from the dining room. "Yes, we’ll be starting dinner soon when Silvano and York return from the border patrol." She barely acknowledged my presence—a clear indication of where her loyalties lay.
As if summoned by her words, the front door opened, and Silvano entered.
He greeted Aunt Emma first, then Stella, the pack’s head housekeeper, both with proper respect. When his gaze finally landed on , it was a fleeting thing—there and gone like a shooting star, his expression unreadable.
Isabella imdiately abandoned my embrace, running to him. "Dad!"
He caught her with ease, his face softening in a way it never did for anymore. "Little wolf," he murmured, the nickna a mirror of my own for her. His eyes continued scanning the room, and I knew he was looking for Aurora.
York, Maria’s son, bounded in monts later. Still in his late teens, he had all the energy and exuberance of youth. He vaulted over the sofa with casual grace, landing on the cushions.
"Were you all waiting for ?" he asked with a grin that was pure charm.
Maria cuffed him playfully on the head. "Yes, we’ve been starving waiting for you, pup!"
The dynamics were clear to anyone watching. Silvano was the strong, silent Alpha—the rock upon which the pack was built. Maria was quick-tempered but equally quick to laugh. York was the joy of the pack, beloved by all, his presence easing tensions wherever he went.
Even Stella’s perpetually cold expression thawed slightly at his arrival, and Aunt Emma visibly brightened. Noticing the hour and sensing everyone’s hunger, she ordered dinner to be served.
With just nine of us present, we moved to the smaller dining room rather than the formal hall used for pack gatherings. I imdiately noticed the seating arrangent—Aunt Emma had positioned Silvano, Isabella, and together. A clear attempt at reconciliation.
"Bella," the Aunt Emma smiled, "switch seats with your father. Let your parents sit together."
I caught Maria’s eye roll. After my relationship with Silvano hit rock bottom, his family’s attitude towards had changed 180 degrees. Though Silvano clearly disliked Aunt Emma’s ddling, he wouldn’t challenge her openly on such a small matter.
"It’s fine, Aunt Emma," I said softly, offering her a gentle smile. "Let’s stay as we are." I wouldn’t force my presence on a mate who clearly didn’t want it.
Aunt Emma looked montarily defeated. In her eyes, I knew, I was too passive, too accommodating with Silvano. She believed I’d wasted countless opportunities over the years to assert myself as Luna.
As dinner began, conversation flowed around like water around a stone. I remained quiet, head down, focusing on my food while Selene curled defensively within . More than ten minutes passed without Silvano and exchanging a single word—not even the basic courtesy of acknowledging each other’s presence.
This was our normal now. Everyone at the table had grown accustod to it, no longer finding it unusual—a sad testant to how far we’d fallen.
Isabella, I noticed, now habitually turned to Silvano when she wanted sothing, rather than to . The change had happened gradually after I’d stopped calling every day, stopped fighting so hard for her attention.
But when the server brought out a platter of large shrimp—her favorite—Isabella’s eyes flickered toward . In better days, I would always peel shrimp for both her and Silvano, removing the shells with practiced precision that neither of them could match.
"Mom," she said, her voice carrying a note of our old familiarity, "can you peel the shrimp for ? Dad always leaves bits of shell."
My heart swelled at this small request—this tiny acknowledgnt that there were still things she needed for. Selene perked up, eager to provide for our pup.
"Of course, little wolf." I reached for her plate, our fingers brushing. The familiar motion of cleaning the shrimp for her—careful, thodical—felt like coming ho.
As I worked, I could feel Silvano’s eyes on . Through our bond, I sensed a flicker of... sothing. Not quite longing, but recognition. A mory of countless als where I’d perford this sa service for him.
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