Evie hydes 的作品

The room they gave Theodore was small.Not unkind — there was a bed with a decent mattress, a window that looked out onto the side of the compound where the silver-barked trees began, a washbasin with clean water, and a folded set of clothes that were not his but were close enough in size to suggest someone had looked at him carefully before choosing them. There was also a door. Theodore checked it immediately, the moment the escort left him alone.Locked.Not a guest room then. A holding room with better manners than a cell.He washed the dried blood from his face and changed into the provided clothes — dark, practical, the same kind of thing the Ridge wolves had been wearing — and sat on the edge of the bed and let himself, for exactly sixty seconds, feel the full weight of everything.Jason. Captured or worse, out there somewhere in Atridge territory. The chase across the patrol path. The border crossing. The wolves that had frozen at the tree line like children afraid of the dark.

Theodore had been told three things about the Ridge Forest growing up.One: nothing lived there. Two: nothing that went in came out. Three: if you ever found yourself at its boundary, you ran the other direction and you thanked whatever you believed in that you had not crossed it.He was currently walking deeper into it, following a stranger who had offered his name like it was a minor inconvenience, and everything he had been told was unraveling with every step.Things lived here.He noticed it gradually — the way you notice a room has music playing when you have been standing in it for several minutes already. A pair of birds cut across a gap in the canopy above, their wings bright against the grey-silver light. Something small and fast rustled through the undergrowth to his left and was gone. The trees themselves were alive in a way that went beyond biology, their roots wove together above ground in patterns almost too deliberate to be accidental, forming natural archways and alcov

The forest had a heartbeat.Theodore felt it the moment his feet crossed the boundary — a deep, rhythmic pulse that seemed to rise from the earth itself and travel up through his soles, rattling his bones. He had always been told the Ridge was dead. A cursed stretch of woods where wolves went in and never came out. Where the trees grew too close together and the darkness between them was the kind that had teeth.He had believed it.Until thirty seconds ago when the alternative was being torn apart by twelve jet-black wolves with murder in their eyes.He ran.Low branches whipped across his face, drawing thin lines of fire across his cheeks. His lungs were already burning from the sprint across the patrol path and his ankle — the one jason had snapped back into place with brutal efficiency — throbbed with every stride. He ignored it. Pain was a conversation he could have with his body later. Right now his body needed to move.Behind him, he heard them stop.The growling cut off so sudd

I took few steps backwards as the men stepped forward steadily. Jason snarled. His arms dropped till he held one of my hands in a death grip. I had hoped it wouldn't come to this. The nearest patrol point was miles from where we were. We had ventured deeper into the woods today. Not even a scream can catch a patrol wolf's attention this far. Though we were still within packs boundaries, both of us area long way from home. I stared at jason. He turned to look at me. We shared a knowing look. If we were to survive and perhaps get home in one piece, there's only one thing we've got to do. Run. I ran alongside Jason. We snaked our way around trees, jumping fallen trunks. I could hear the growls of wolves behind. My lung burned as I drew in air as fast as I could. My face dripped with sweat as my hand threatened to slip from Marcus. I glanced briefly to see him return my stare. He was worried. So was I. We burst out into a path that leads directly to the pack. A little longer then we'

THEODORE POV"slow down... Jason". I shouted. I ran behind him."catch me". he replied as he changed into his wolf in mid-air, he raced faster into the woods leaving dust, rotten leaves and twigs in his wake.I groaned as I watch him disappear into the woods ahead. I hated that I couldn't shift into a wolf yet. A late bloomer, my dad always told me. It's been two years past the normal time for a young pup to shift at thirteen, while others can wait till around fifteen. I'm seventeen years now and six months but haven't done anything other than shift my eyes to my wolf's.“That's cheating”. I chased after his trail of dust, sweating profusely under the mid-day sun.Jason, calous is my best bud. We've been together since we were pups. He morphed quite earlier than usual, at twelve years ten months. It was surprising even to alpha derrick. His grey fur wolf was kind of big for his age – too big – which was funny as he was scranwy then. Now, he is medium built and tall at six feet compare

LAYLA POV The wind blew softly carrying with it the sweet smell of wet wood and lemon. I sniffed the air again and again as I drove closer to the pack house. I knew what the smell meant. my mate is close by. perhaps in the pack house ahead as the smell grew stronger. I fought against my wolf, shifting nervously as I drove faster. I have waited all these years for this. I could imagine the smile on mum's face when she finds out I have found my mate. I know dad would be happier. i wished my mate to be all I'd always imagined; tall, built, definitely not ugly and not to miss out, a war wolf. I have always had a thing for war wolves. Dad is the beta of the pack and a war wolf. He adores mum and my brother Theodore, if not for his loyalty to you alpha and the pack, dad's first priority would have been his family nonetheless it isn't too bad as it is his next priority. so, I guess I wanted my mate to be strong as well just like my dad. The scent of my mate hit me intensely as I drov

The ring still caught the light in a way that surprised Alexander. Five years later, and he still noticed it—still paused sometimes, mid-thought, when it flashed against glass or polished stone. Not because it felt new, but because it felt real. Chosen. Earned. He adjusted his cufflinks in the mirror of the penthouse bathroom, the city stretching behind him in soft twilight. The penthouse no longer felt like a fortress or a reward. It felt lived in. Books stacked where they didn’t belong. A throw blanket Elias insisted on draping over every chair. Framed photographs that weren’t curated, just… kept. “Alex,” Elias called from the bedroom. “If you’re overthinking your tie again, we’re going to be late.” Alexander smiled to himself. Some things really didn’t change. He stepped into the bedroom, where Elias stood by the window, already dressed for the gala. Five years had sharpened him, not hardened—confidence settling into his posture the way comfort does when it’s finally all

The club hadn’t changed.The lights were still low, warm gold bleeding into shadow. Music thrummed beneath the floor, familiar and steady, vibrating through bone and memory. The mirrors still lined the walls—sleek, deliberate, once designed to obscure and divide.What had changed was how they walked in.Alexander entered first, posture calm, shoulders relaxed, no longer braced for impact. Elias followed at his side, close enough that their arms brushed with every step. There was no attempt to separate, no instinctive pause before crossing the threshold. They didn’t scan the room for danger or recognition.They were seen immediately.A few heads turned. Conversations stuttered, then resumed. Recognition flickered—surprise, curiosity, something like respect. Not everyone smiled. Not everyone approved.Alexander didn’t flinch.Elias felt the moment settle into his chest, not as fear but as weight—real, solid, survivable. He reached for Alexander’s hand openly this time, fingers threading

The apartment smelled like rosemary and warm bread—comforting, familiar, earned.Elias stood at the kitchen counter, sleeves rolled up, fingers dusted with flour as he shaped dough with slow, practiced movements. Outside the tall windows, the city hummed softly, dusk settling in like a held breath. One year ago, this hour would have carried a different weight. Panic. Anticipation. Fear of headlines refreshing every few seconds.Now, it carried something steadier.Behind him, Alexander adjusted the table settings for the third time, aligning the cutlery with unnecessary precision. Elias smiled to himself without turning around.“You’re going to wear a groove into the table if you keep nudging that fork,” Elias said gently.Alexander paused, then exhaled. “I know. I just—” He stopped himself, shook his head, and let his hands fall to his sides. “Old habits.”Elias turned then, leaning back against the counter. He studied Alexander openly, the way he did now without hesitation. The sharp

The club is quiet in the morning.Not empty—never empty, but hushed in a way Alexander rarely allowed himself to notice before. The lights are dimmed low, the velvet curtains drawn back just enough to let thin bars of daylight slip across the polished floor. It smells faintly of citrus cleaner and last night’s incense, a mingling of care and history.Alexander stands at the edge of the main floor, hands in his pockets, looking at the space that once felt like both sanctuary and prison.This place was born out of survival.He knows that now, in a way he didn’t before.Elias joins him, leaning lightly against his side. No performance, no role to play, just presence. They’ve learned how to stand together without filling the silence with tension.“Do you ever think about what it could have been?” Elias asks softly.“All the time,” Alexander admits. “And what it still can be.”They walk slowly through the club, passing rooms that once existed solely for secrecy. Each door feels different n

Alexander has always known how to endure silence.It’s a skill learned early—through boardrooms and dining rooms, through a father whose affection came packaged as expectation and approval as performance. Silence, for him, was never empty. It was judgment withheld. Love conditional.Still, this silence feels different.It has been weeks since the family meeting. Weeks since the public fallout, the interviews, the carefully measured chaos. Weeks since his father last spoke to him.No calls. No messages. Not even anger.Just absence.Alexander sits alone in the study of the penthouse, late evening shadows stretching across the floor. The city glows beyond the windows, indifferent and alive. He has a legal pad in front of him, pages already half-filled with writing that will never be mailed.The letter started as an exercise his therapist suggested. Write what you need to say, not what you expect to hear back.He hadn’t expected it to hurt this much.He reads the last line he wrote, jaw

Elias almost doesn’t answer the call.The phone lights up on the kitchen counter while he’s rinsing a mug, sunlight spilling across the floor in lazy afternoon stripes. The name on the screen tightens something deep in his chest—instinctive, reflexive.Mom.For a moment, he just stares at it, heart ticking too fast. He hasn’t spoken to her since the night everything broke open, since the shouting and the silence that followed. Since being told without words that love came with conditions she didn’t know how to renegotiate.Alexander watches him from the doorway, saying nothing. Just present.Elias exhales and answers.“Hi,” he says.There’s a pause on the other end. Long enough that he wonders if she’ll hang up.“Hi,” his mother says finally. Her voice sounds… different. Not sharp. Not defensive. Tired. “I was wondering if you’d be willing to meet me. Just… talk. No pressure.”Elias closes his eyes.“When?” he asks.The café she chooses is quiet, tucked between a bookstore and a flori