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Chapter 129
~Author’s POV~
South Region – Golden Claw Pack
The gates of the Golden Claw estate creaked open as Zade’s black Range Rover rolled onto the gravel path, and the late sunset light glead faintly off the sleek vehicle.
The estate itself stood tall—a fortress of prestige and tradition, tucked deep in the southern woods.
The air was thick with pine and lavender, a scent his ancestors once deed calming to warriors before war.
Zade didn’t feel calm.
Not today.
He pulled to a stop in front of the pack house, where two oga maids waited dutifully at the steps, hands folded neatly in front of them.
One of them stepped forward. "Alpha Zade, welco ho. You have a visitor waiting in the main room."
He raised a brow, pushing his sunglasses up into his thick, blond curls. "Visitor?"
The second oga gave a small nod. "Lady Tempest."
His expression shifted, a faint, nostalgic smile tugging at the corner of his lips.
Tempest.
It had been a long ti.
"Thanks," he murmured as he stepped out of the vehicle, adjusting the dark jacket over his shoulders.
He moved with that smooth, casual power that ca naturally to him, as if his very presence commanded the wind to hold its breath.
As he entered the main room, he saw her before she turned.
Tempest—barefoot, regal as ever in a flowing burnt orange kaftan, her natural curls wild and unbothered, gold hoops dangling from her ears. She turned the mont she felt him enter, her smile stretching wide as her eyes lit up.
"Hello, Tempest."
"Zade!" Tempest laughed, walking forward to embrace him tightly. "It’s been what, brother-in-law—two years since we’ve seen each other?"
Zade chuckled, shaking his head as he returned her hug with one arm. "Always the drama queen. It’s been just a year and a few months."
Her eyes crinkled at the corners as she stepped back. "And I’m the drama queen? Zade, back in the day—eighteen years ago, or even ten—we saw each other all the ti. . You. My twin, your wife. The kids. Snow and—"
"Zara," Zade finished for her, his smile slowly fading into sothing quieter as his gaze lowered.
"Yeah." Tempest’s voice dropped with his.
Zade sighed, shoulders visibly heavy. "I know. But tis changed and..."
"And you secluded yourself from the family, Zade," Tempest cut in, not unkindly, but honestly. "Yes, Zara was your sister. But Snow was my little brother. And Aira? My twin. I didn’t just lose a brother and sister-in-law. I lost my family. And you... you just disappeared."
He ran a hand over his jaw, jaw tensing. "Tempest, it hasn’t been easy. I lost Zara twice now."
"I know. By the way, where is Aira?"
Zade shrugged lightly before letting his gaze glance around. "Don’t look at like that, Tempest. I just got ho."
She blinked. "So did I."
They stood in silence for a beat.
Just then, one of the oga maids slipped into the room, bowing her head respectfully. "Alpha, Luna Aira is in her workshop. She’s painting and didn’t want to be disturbed."
Zade glanced toward the hallway that led up the stairs. His shoulders softened just slightly.
"She still paints?" Tempest asked, surprised. Her voice dropped with sothing almost hopeful. "I thought she stopped after Snow and Zara..."
"She did," Zade cut in before she finished the words, dismissing the maid with a small nod. "But she picked it up again about a year ago. Since then... she’s been painting more than ever."
Tempest’s brows furrowed. "What does she paint?"
Zade gave her a small smile, sothing sad behind it. "Co. It’s better if you see it yourself."
Without another word, he led her to the staircase, the two of them walking up the stairs side by side.
Tempest’s fingers brushed the bannister, the golden etchings catching in the morning light. mories floated between them—old laughter, family dinners, whispered gossip after long pack etings.
At the top of the stairs, Zade stopped before a white double door. One hand reached for the handle.
"Shouldn’t we knock?" Tempest whispered.
Zade shook his head. "She told once: ’If you have to knock, you’re not family.’"
With that, he pushed the door open gently.
Tempest stepped inside first, her feet sinking into the thick carpet.
Then she froze.
For a mont, the Zephyr heiress didn’t move, nor did she speak as her mouth fell slightly open, eyes wide as they swept across the room.
The walls were covered in canvases—so large, so small. But all... unmistakable.
Paintings of Snow, Zara and Valerie or as Zara used to call her—Violet.
There were dozens of portraits, each capturing a different mont in ti. Aira had painted them as though she were trying to preserve every expression, smile, and shade of sadness they ever carried.
Snow’s grin was warm and mischievous, Zara’s fierce, knowing eyes, Valerie’s childlike face—growing older with each canvas, her silver hair with blue and violet streaks fading into the tip of her hair, and her piercing gaze, stubbornly set to her jaw.
Tempest’s hand flew to her mouth, a soft gasp escaping.
Then ca the tears.
They rolled silently down her cheeks as she stepped forward, reaching out but not daring to touch.
There was a series of paintings lined up in the corner—Valerie as a toddler sitting on Snow’s shoulders. Another, Zara holding her as a baby wrapped in silver linen.
And one in particular—Valerie in the rain, looking skyward, face blurred like Aira had painted it from mory, but couldn’t quite grasp Snow’s daughter’s expression.
Zade stood silently beside her, watching the emotions ripple through his sister-in-law.
"She never stopped loving them," he said softly. "Not for a second."
Tempest wiped her cheek roughly. "She paints to rember."
"To keep them alive," he added.
Tempest turned, her voice cracking. "Does she... does Valerie know she’s rembered like this?"
Zade didn’t answer. His expression turned unreadable. "I don’t think Aira would know how to show her. Not yet. But she’s trying. This is her way of speaking."
There was a long silence between them.
Tempest stepped closer to one particular painting—Zara and Snow seated on a garden bench, their fingers intertwined, Valerie asleep between them.
"They look so happy," she whispered.
"They were," Zade replied, eyes softening. "Before everything shattered."
He looked at Tempest then. "She’s not just painting for them. She’s painting to rember."
Tempest turned to face him.
"She will," she said firmly, voice steel through tears. "And when she does, we’d better be ready to receive her smile and sadness."
Zade’s gaze didn’t waver. "I will."
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