Chapter 3

  “Leaving”

             Amara’ POV

With a loud bang, Immediately my trance was broken and the scent was gone. Lead Omega Cassie is standing in front of me. " What are you doing?" she says with a snippy tone. " Wasting time or just trying to get out of work?" lowering my head I start to respond " N... nothing Ms. Cassie. I was just..." trying to get the words out but Cassie quickly cut me off " Just what?" she interrupts with the taste of venom on her words. Immediately I shot my head up and straightened my posture; all the while, I glare at her, " I'm just going to get back to work, sorry for slowing down the process!" I say to her with a slightly elevated voice. Realizing my tone of voice, I swiftly shut my mouth, proceeding to walk away. Not even giving Cassie the chance the reprimand me for my so called “ignorance”.

               Once all the chores are completed, I return to my room, my personal space even though it isn't much. Sitting on my bed I start to think to myself. I wanted to leave this pack behind. No one here would think about an orphaned pup. I want to become a rouge, a wolf or lyacn without a pack; they want me dead anyway so death and being a rouge are the same thing. Reality hit me, I haven’t trained enough to be on my own, even though I do some training it is not enough. Everyone else here gets pack training, except for me. I’m not allowed. It has been forbidden for a long time now. When I do try to train, they all beat on me like I have had the chance they have had to train when they know I haven’t. At that point my self-conscious said I must push myself to the max, but it is not enough. Once I realized that I had to train harder and push myself I also realized that I could leave here. With only a few days left I must train the hardest I can in my spare time. Naturally I have always been stronger, faster, and quick minded than the other wolves. So, it’s not like I can’t do it. It’s not like I’m not strong enough to leave now.

I just know I must be stronger. I only had three days. On the day the night of the third day, before midnight I would be leaving. This way I get a good distance away from the pack; hopefully I can be out of pack territory. Making it easier to renounce the Munnin pack and break the tether. I know there will be pain, but I must endure it so I can leave. Breaking the tether to the alpha makes sure you’re a rouge unless accepted by another pack. Alphas also feel the tether break of a pack member leaving or one that has died; or so I have heard. Apparently, the alpha gets weak physically and mentally but just for a few moments. The pheromones just ooze off you: screaming “rouge”! Anyone can smell you. They kill rouges here on sight here in this pack. I must make it another day after leaving. Living one day in life on my own without the bullshit I go through here.

I was steady, hands placed firmly on the old wood floor of my room. While holding myself in the air on just my hands I start to push up and down. A few loose strands of my hair fell into my face and tickled under my jawbone a little bit. Honestly, I wanted to laugh but I kept pushing. Sweat dripped from my forehead to my nose then on the floor. By the time I reached my 50th push up my body felt like it was on fire, but I had to keep going. Letting myself down after 75 hand stand push-ups I go to stretch Getting prepared for a different workout; pausing for a moment, I thought I heard someone approaching my space.

A hush settled once more. For a long moment, I just lay there, breath coming in shallow bursts, ears straining for the slightest sound. Had I imagined the presence at the door? No—the memory of those careful footsteps and that strange, mouthwatering scent was too vivid to dismiss. I tried to steady my thoughts, but something about that encounter—fleeting as it was—had set my nerves alight.

Shakily, I rose from the floor, muscles trembling both from exertion and adrenaline. My thoughts swirled around the figure behind the door, the way hesitation had hung in the air like a held breath. Who had been there? And why had they left so suddenly, as if fleeing from a realization neither of us could name?

I shook my head, forcing myself to focus on the days ahead. There was no room for distractions, not when every ounce of my energy had to be poured into survival. Still, as I stretched and pulled my hair into a tighter bun, a persistent curiosity tugged at the edges of my resolve—one more secret in a house already brimming with them.

Somewhere beyond these walls, the rest of the pack moved through their routines, oblivious or uncaring about the storm that brewed inside me. I caught my reflection in the glass: wary, wild-eyed, but unbroken. Only three days. I repeated it like a mantra, letting the words solidify my determination.

And yet, I couldn’t help but wonder about the person at the door—their presence lingering in the room even after they’d vanished, as if their very scent had woven itself into the air I breathed.

That night, sleep refused to claim me. My body ached from training but my mind spun restless, replaying the strange encounter at my door—those footsteps, that intoxicating scent, the sense of being seen and then left behind. When I finally drifted into a shallow slumber, dreams tangled with memories and half-formed fears: running through the woods, chased by shadows that wore familiar faces, until the forest dissolved into the bare walls of my room.

Dawn broke with a sullen sky. The first rays crept through my window, painting hesitant gold across the floor where beads of yesterday’s sweat still lingered. I dressed and slipped out before the others were awake, treading the halls with practiced stealth. I couldn’t afford to be caught shirking duties, not now, not with so little time left. Every day was a test—a reckoning of my resolve, of whether I’d survive outside these walls or be devoured by them.

After chores, I stole a quiet moment in the back corridor, ears alert for footsteps. My senses felt sharper than ever, as if my body was adjusting to the coming ordeal. I caught the faintest traces of that scent again—pecans and warm syrup—drifting from upstairs. My heart hammered in my chest, a wild percussion urging me to run, to hide, or to seek out whatever, whoever, had left that imprint on the air.

But I forced myself to turn away, focusing on the day ahead. Training. Planning. Enduring. I repeated my mantra—three days—letting it build a wall inside me, brick by brick. I was almost ready to break my tether, to run for the tenuous promise of freedom.

Even as I tried to banish all thought of that presence, I knew a quiet thread of curiosity would pull at me. The unknown had a gravity I couldn’t deny, a force as real as the pull of the moon on the tide. For now, survival demanded discipline. But soon, I would step out into the night, carrying all my questions with me into the dark.

 Caden’s POV

               After my mother gave the announcement, I politely remove myself from the table. Making my way up the stairs to somewhere other than my room. Seeing a peculiar staircase, I walk towards it wondering why I never noticed it before today. Looking in the stairwell I start my ascension, for some reason I climb the stairs with caution and as quietly as possible. It’s like I know that there is something or someone up there. The closer I get to the door the more I start to smell something faint but mouthwatering. I can’t quite stick my finger on it, but I must see where or what the smell is emanating from.  I know my nose is good but to pick up this scent, something so.. so different, I can’t help myself.

Ripping the door open, all I see is space. Empty space.  The stairwell was dim, dust motes swirling in the single shaft of morning light. Each step I took was slow, deliberate, as if my body wanted to delay the inevitable. My pulse thrummed in my ears, matching the silent rhythm of Caden’s cautious ascent somewhere between memory and reality. I pressed myself against the cool wall, breath shallow, listening. Those footsteps—the ones I’d imagined all night—echoed above and below, threading the air with anticipation.

               Before I can even contemplate what I’m going to do when I get to the door, I’m already opening it. I can feel my heart start to beat harder and faster as I slowly push the door open. The adrenaline coursing threw my veins. The scent here Is so much more intoxicating. The scent is making my mouth water while the sweat on my body increases. Whatever it Is smells of pecan and waffles. Fenrir, my counterpart is trying to take over, I can feel him forcing the shift so we can quickly find the intoxicating scent however I push him back to the far part of my mind. If we force a shift it will be one thousand times more painful.

 It takes everything I have to subdue him; I hear him within my mind, “Mate, mate” he says over and over, prancing around in the back of my mind like a pup.  Our eyes lock onto each other making me feel like I was in a trance. Staring into her hazel, yellow and green eyes, getting this feeling she is looking straight into my soul. With her dark brown sugar skin complexion looking so soft. I can’t help but notice she dripping in sweat. Makings her look even more appetizing. The brown sugar colored woman with kinky of hair tucked into a messy loc bun. Some hairs are covered in sweat probably from them hanging over her face. She was in a handstand position with perfect balance. Moving her body up and down, steadily holding herself up in the air while muttering to herself. I’m guessing she is counting to herself; I wonder what number she is on. Before I knew it her concentration was broken, and a loud thump followed as her body hit the floor. She manages to contain the oof noise from parting her lips. Then it hits me, that scent, it’s coming from this woman!

 She is about 5 foot 2 inches with an appealing tone to her body. Brown sugar colored skin, multi-colored eyes. The mixture of hazel, green and yellow are mesmerizing. She has black hair tied int a bun. Skin dripping sweat, I know she is training on her own which is forbidden. None the less I love she courage and will to learn on her own.  “At-least the musky smell of sweat doesn’t affect her natural scent” my Lycan says to me!

Looking at her, taking in every motion, noticing the beads of sweat trickle down her forehead to the tip of her nose, from her nose it forms into a droplet of sweat, then collides with the hardwood floor.

“Mate” Fenrir states again, the second time in my head. “NO” I said, snapping myself back into reality. How could the moon goddess give me such a fated mate. Slamming the door shut I quickly begin my descension down the staircase. Fenrir pushing me to go back to her, overjoyed with the scent of his mate; I can’t blame him. Part of being lycan is accepting the fact that part of you is primal. Something you can’t control, but someone you can always count on. How can we smell our mate, and we aren’t 21 yet? I ask my Lycan. “I’m not too sure”, he says back to me. Amara doesn’t even have a wolf or lycan. She has never turned. Obviously, there is something wrong.  Fenrir lets out a deep, low growl in my mind. He is letting me know not to talk about his mate like that. “Caden” my mother mind links me. “Where did you run off to? We have things to do.”

               Immediately, my mother’s mind link snapped me out of the trance I was in. shrugging my shoulders I knew there is no way that wreched, good for nothing adopted sister was m mate. If it was I wouldn’t have been able to just leave her. Plus an omega is far beneath me. Turning my attention to my mother,  I knew she was talking about the mating gathering for unmated wolves and lycans. To be honest I don’t really care. My father has been training me to be alpha since I was a young pup. I remember the first time he showed me his wolf. Or at least I thought since mom was a wolf. 98 percent of the time wolves’ mate to wolves and Lycans to Lycans. Sometimes the moon goddess can mate a Lycan to a wolf. And my father was indeed a Lycan.

Reminiscing, Alpha Victor, my father took me to the highest hill in our region during a full moon at the start of winter solstice. Other people from our town were there too along with people I didn’t recognize.  Turning to me, placing his hand on my shoulder; he said to me “son, we are of a different line. We are not like the others” he backed away from me, slowly he started to grow. Hearing his bones break, watching his deep dark fur come out. He lands on all fours. The cracking of his bones was enough to make me cringe, the end result was worth it. His lycan, was jet black , tall and husky. Gathering his thoughts, he stands on 2 legs. His lycan is at least 6 and a half feet.  

My mind immediately returns to the thought of Amara. I can’t and won’t be mated to a person that doesn’t have any inkling of a wolf or lycan. I will reject her next chance I get.

I stalked down the stairs, Fenrir clawing at my consciousness, torn between relief and confusion, anger and longing. My breath came in short, heated bursts as I tried to steel myself—tried to feel nothing, to erase the image of her from my mind. But the scent lingered, sweet and maddening, trailing after me like a question I had no answer for. Even the echo of the encounter thudded in my chest, the weight of fate pressing down until I thought I might break beneath it.

I found myself wandering the halls, avoiding the curious gazes of others, slipping into shadowed corners where the world seemed quieter. My mother’s presence flickered at the edge of my mind, her summons insistent, but I ignored it, needing space to collect myself. The thought of the upcoming gathering gnawed at me—a parade of unmated wolves and Lycans, all searching for something I wished I could refuse.

But my mind refused to let go of Amara. Her eyes—those impossible colors, that steady, challenging gaze—haunted me. Why her? Why now? Fenrir whined, restless, but I shoved him down, locking every feeling behind iron bars.

Time blurred. I paced, brooded, tried to convince myself that rejection was what I wanted, was the only thing that made sense. Yet the echo of her scent, the memory of her skin glistening with effort, invaded every thought. I clenched my fists and pressed my back to the wall, willing myself to breathe, to forget, to harden.

But fate does not care for what we want. It only cares for what must be endured.

The day slipped by in a haze of restless energy and unresolved thoughts. I drifted through the manor, my mind a battlefield between what I wanted and what had been written in the stars. I couldn’t find peace—not in the echoing halls nor in the comfort of familiar duties. The world outside spun on, preparations for the gathering swelling to a fever pitch, but inside I was only an observer, a shadow among the living.

Night bled into morning, and fatigue clawed at me, but I didn’t sleep. Instead, I paced, replaying moments with Amara over and over—the way her gaze challenged me, the confusion blooming in her eyes, the subtle trembling in my own resolve. I heard laughter from below, the clatter of decorations being set, and all I could think was how desperately I wanted to escape this fate, and yet how tightly it bound me to her.

I tried to tell myself I was ready. I rehearsed the words in my mind, steeled myself for the confrontation I knew was coming. Rejection. It was the only way to break free, the only way to regain control over a life that felt increasingly foreign. Fenrir’s protests were a low, steady growl in my mind, a primal ache I refused to indulge.

                

Amara’s POV

Noticing someone coming into my space, my concentration is broken. Thump is the sound made when I hit the floor.  Gathering myself or attempting to anyway we make eye connection. It’s Cesare, not sure why he is here, he has never come here before. I started to get this feeling inside. Like body heating up from the chest down. Starring blanky at each other I notice his pupils go back and dilate. I guess we are both in shock, since no one knew I was up here ever since I was tossed away. After a few seconds he quickly shuts my door, and I hear him descending the stairs.

Letting out a huff, now that my focus is broken. I might as well finish getting what I’m taking with me together. Making sure my satchel was all packed I tucked it away. Everything I need to survive for about 1 month is ready. 3 more days I sigh to myself. 3 long days until I can leave without a trace. Laying down for a nap I quickly drift to sleep.

Three days blurred into a restless waiting, every tick of the clock tightening the knot in my chest. Routine became a thin veil; I moved through the motions, silent and watchful, careful to avoid Amara but unable to escape the echo of our encounter. The manor was thick with anticipation—festivity in the air, tension beneath every smile. I watched from shadows as the pack prepared, their laughter an alien melody to my ears.

Sleep eluded me. Each night I wandered, haunted by memory and regret, Fenrir’s presence simmering beneath my skin—a beast denied, a heart divided. I told myself again and again: rejection was survival, severing the cord before it strangled us both. But each time I closed my eyes, I saw hers opening wide with shock, with pain, with something I dared not name.

I kept waiting for the world to shift, for the weight to lift, but instead the hours pressed closer, suffocating. The ritual loomed. My body ached to run, to chase, to surrender—but my will held steady, ironclad and brittle. When I heard footsteps in the hall, I tensed, fearing she’d seek me out, demand answers I could not give.

2 days until the gathering, I stood at my window and watched the sun rise, gold spilling over the preparations below. Balloons swayed, flowers were arranged, the yard transformed into a fairytale I wanted nothing to do with. The only thing certain was the ache in my chest and the hollow hope that, once this night was over, I might finally be free.

Caden’s pov

Time crawled forward, each hour stitched with dread and anticipation. The house—once a sanctuary, now a gilded cage—pulsed with the rumble of preparation for a future I no longer recognized as my own. Faces flickered past me in doorways and corridors, laughter trailed behind them, but I remained anchored to the edges, a ghost amidst their joy. My thoughts spiraled: escape, confrontation, acceptance, regret—each possibility weighed heavy as iron.

I caught glimpses of Amara from afar: a flash of her hair at the top of the stairs, the determined set of her shoulders as she disappeared into shadow. She moved with a purpose I envied, and yet, I sensed the same storm trapped within her. Even the sunlight seemed unsettled, slanting through the windows at odd angles, painting everything in anxious gold.

Two days before the gathering, arriving cloaked in expectation, the air thick with scents of earth, fresh-cut flowers, and something wild beneath it all—a promise and a warning. I dressed in silence, every movement deliberate, my reflection in the mirror a stranger with haunted eyes. Downstairs, voices rose and fell in a steady tide. Somewhere in that commotion, I knew our fates would soon unravel, threads pulled tight until they snapped.

I lingered at the threshold of the festivities, heart hammering against my ribs. Doubt rooted me to the spot, but still, I listened: the distant clink of glasses, the hum of low conversation, the music swelling as the sun crept higher. The pack gathered and celebrated, oblivious to the quiet wars waged in the hearts of those who lingered on the outskirts—those like me, and like her.

But I cant take her as my mate. I just can’t

My lycan scoffs at me with annoyance and returns back to where I pushed him.

It’s easy to pretend, in the chaos of celebration, that nothing is wrong. I tried, truly—I let my eyes flicker over the riot of color in the yard, let my breath settle with the scent of earth and life, let the music threading through distant rooms wrap around me. But the ache inside me never dulled. Every detail of the coming gathering felt like a dress rehearsal for someone else’s story, and I was just an understudy, waiting in the wings, bracing for my cue to vanish.

On the second morning, I found myself drifting through the corridors, every step echoing the question that gnawed at my resolve: Was there still time to run? Or was I already too entangled in fate’s weaving to break free? I saw Amara from a distance, her movements brisk, focused—unlike me, she seemed to have found some rhythm within the whirlwind. I envied her strength, even as I feared what the next hours would bring for both of us.

The day blurred and bled into dusk—shadows stretching, scents deepening, the whole house trembling with the anticipation of things unspoken. I watched as lanterns were set out in the garden, their soft glow promising warmth I could not feel. My mind kept circling back to her: the things I should have said, the truths I never let surface. Regret pressed down like a second skin.

I almost went to her room, almost called her name, but the words curdled in my throat. All I could do was hope—hope that, when this night was over, we’d both find the freedom we’d been denying ourselves.

Amara’s POV

               For the next 2 days everything basically stays the same. Well with one exception, everyone is just buzzing about the mating gathering. Everyone except me, I plan to play my part, help get things together.

Luna Lina is all over. She has a florist over by the yard, creating a walkway lined with pre-grown 6-foot-tall groups of elephant ears that carry different colors. She has good taste thinking to myself. They have a mixture of Blue, Purple, Light green, Dark green and a deep burgundy color elephant ear. In between those are Coleus flowers, they are multicolored with white and yellow, 5 different shades of greens, pinks and purples with black mixed in. It truly is relaxing here.

               In the middle of the yard there are people building the stage for live music, seeing the beginnings of a juice bar, and pile of tables waiting to be set up and placed just right. One thing I can say about the luna is she knows how to throw a party. Wishing I could see it, unfortunately I won’t be here to experience this one. Letting out a sigh of relief, at least I don’t have to clean up.