Magnus
I hate coming here.
I hate the sll of smoke and frozen bark that clings to the air like the ghost of a long-forgotten fire.
I hate the soft, mournful lody of the wind chis, rippling through the stillness whenever the breeze brushes against the branches of the old oak tree.
I hate the mories that flicker through my mind the mont I step over the invisible threshold that separates this place from the rest of my world.
I hate that this place used to be my ho.
"It’s been a while," I murmur, my voice barely more than a breath, as I stand before my mother’s grave. "Did you miss ?"
Sothing twists painfully inside my chest at the sound of my own words. I feel small again—like a child clutching at a fading photograph, desperate to bring it to life, desperate to relive a mont that’s long gone.
Because mories of my mother are the only mories I can never let go of.
***
Magnus, 10 years old
"Shut your filthy mouth!"
I flinch at the sound of my father’s furious roar echoing from sowhere deep in the garden. I don’t need to look to know who his rage is aid at. Whenever his voice sharpens like that, I already know—it’s because of my mother.
Scrambling to my feet, I abandon my toys and slip out of my room, moving stealthily through the deep shadows of the orchard. My pulse hamrs as I hurry forward, clutching a makeshift wooden blade I crafted after my father’s last visit. I have to get there before it’s too late. I have to get there before I see my mother’s beautiful face marred with bruises again.
"How dare you disobey my orders, you fucking whore!" His voice rips through the night, the venom in his tone making the blood in my veins run cold, as though it might shatter and tear through each vessel.
"Do you know what you’ve done, you ignorant, selfish bitch? You killed a royal! Do you have any idea what I can do to you for that?!"
A sharp crack—louder than the wind—splits the stillness, followed by my mother’s cry. The sound of her body hitting the ground makes my chest clench so hard it feels like my ribs will snap.
That’s my cue to run. And I do.
Bursting from the bushes, I grip the wooden blade so tightly my knuckles burn, my vision tunneling into a blur of fear and rage. A roar tears from my throat as I raise my arm high, ready to strike. But before I can take a single step toward him, my father’s massive hand seizes my collar. The air is crushed from my lungs as he hurls like a ragdoll against the unforgiving bark of the oak tree.
The impact is imdiate—first cos the pain, sharp and searing, and then the tightness in my chest, an invisible fist gripping my lungs and stealing the air from . I heave, desperate to fill my chest again.
My mother drops to her knees, dragging them over the stinging blades of grass. Her trembling hands reach for my shaking body, and the mont she pulls against her chest, the tightness eases. Air rushes back into , and I can finally breathe.
My father stands over us, snarling. His sharp fangs scrape over his lips, and his dark eyes narrow with the seething rage that clouds his every thought.
"How many tis have I told you to keep this useless mutt locked away?" he growls, veins standing out on his forehead and neck. "Like mother, like son. Fucking useless."
He spits on the ground by my mother’s feet before turning and marching away, leaving the two of us huddled small against the wide oak tree—a looming, immovable prison guard to our freedom.
"Honey, are you alright?" my mother whispers, brushing my damp curls away from my sweat-slick face.
I nod and mirror her gesture, sweeping back her curls to reveal a raw, angry patch of red skin beneath her left eye. "Mom... I’m sorry..." My voice is small, and my eyes burn as tears threaten to spill. "Next ti, I’ll protect you. I promise."
She smiles. I don’t know how she can smile through pain like this, but she always does—she always smiles at . "You are so strong," she whispers, pressing a tender kiss to my forehead. "Your na matches you well."
"Mom?" I ask, my heart fluttering at the beauty of her smile. "Why... why was he angry this ti?"
For a mont, she only smiles down at , silent and serene. But then, a single tear slides down her bruised cheek. Her smile never wavers as she answers softly, "I killed his son."
***
I’m exhausted. I’ve spent the entire day buried in talks about politics and safety, but visiting my mother’s grave has drained completely. I just want to collapse—lay my head on a pillow and sleep. For hours. For days. Forever.
"Alpha?" The driver’s voice slices through my fog of fatigue, making flinch. I realize he’s waiting for to get out of the car.
"Thanks, Parker." I nod and dismiss him with a wave, feeling a small sense of relief that I hadn’t even registered the drive back to the mansion.
The mont the car’s engine hum fades into the night, another sound catches my attention—urgent, unsettling. My feet move before I even think, carrying toward the source of the commotion.
I’m t by my packmates. It feels like everyone is here—dragged from their beds, called back from patrols, drawn together by sothing ominous and heavy in the air. My muscles tense, heart pumping faster, harder.
"What’s going on?" I ask, scanning the room until I spot Aksel at the far side. "What is it?"
"A huge fucking problem, I’m afraid," he says, his voice dark and unflinching. There’s no exaggeration in his tone. "We lost three people. Females."
The world slows to a crawl. The only thing I hear is the deafening thud of my own heart pounding in my chest.
I search the crowd, scanning faces, counting heads, praying—
But my prayers go unanswered. "Where is she?" I mutter, my whole body trembling as frustration claws at .
She must be asleep. Maybe she didn’t hear the summons. Not everyone is here—she has to be fine. She has to.
"Where is she?!" My voice suddenly rises to a near-shout, my eyes burning as they lock onto Aksel’s.
His lips press into a hard line, and his eyes give the answer before he speaks.
"She’s... gone."
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