Three

Five Years Later

The sizzle of onions in the pan was a comforting sound in the small kitchen that had become my sanctuary.

Sometimes, five years felt like a lifetime. Other times, it felt like I had only blinked.

I separated the ground meat into two pans. One got a shake of chili flakes and cayenne; the other, a touch of salt and herbs.

“Jace! Jermaine! Lunch is almost ready!” I called my boys. “I need to leave in an hour to check out those new schools!”

This new life was a world away from the pack I had grown up in. We were in Wild Fangs now, a huge territory three times the size of Creek Keepers.

Back home, everyone knew everyone’s business. Here, you could scream in the middle of the street, and no one would blink.

I loaded two plates onto a tray with glasses of water and walked to the boys’ room.

“Okay, my little gremlins, time to...”

I pushed open the door and froze. One of the twins, Jermaine, was lying motionless on the floor.

My world stopped. “Jermaine!” I screamed, rushing to his side and pulling him into my arms.

“Baby, wake up! Please, open your eyes!”

Jermaine had been born with a weak heart. We discovered it when he was a year old, after a string of fainting spells. He wasn’t dying, but he was delicate.

He was thinner than his brother, with a paleness that never quite left. More than half my salary went to his medical bills and a savings account for the surgery he would one day need.

His brother, Jace, turned from the medicine cabinet. “He’s fine, Mommy,” he said, grinning.

Jermaine’s eyes flew open.

“Gotcha!” he shouted, laughing.

Relief hit me like a tidal wave. It was a prank. I should have been angry, but I could only laugh. Tears of fear turned to tears of joy as I hugged him tightly.

“You naughty, naughty boys,” I scolded, kissing both their foreheads. “You almost gave your poor mother a heart attack.”

My boys were the center of my universe, the twin suns around which my broken world revolved. They were the best gifts to come from the worst night of my life.

I still remember the terror of leaving my dad behind as he watched his pregnant daughter walk into the unknown with nothing but a slim wad of cash and a letter of release from the man who had broken her heart.

That letter, a cruel parting gift from Ethan, became my passport out of hell and into Wild Fangs. I spent the first few weeks in a homeless shelter. Then came the job at the microfinance bank. And with the job came Eve, my friend and roommate.

After what Claire had done to me, the idea of trusting another woman made my skin crawl. Claire had been my best friend since childhood. If she could betray me so completely, then no one was safe.

But Eve was different. When she found out I was pregnant with twins and living in a shelter, she offered a solution. The bank provided shared accommodation for some of its staff, and she pulled strings to get me in as her roommate.

Slowly, she worked her way past the walls I had built around my heart. She was the one who massaged my swollen ankles, who made sure I took my prenatal vitamins, and who covered my shifts when morning sickness left me unable to stand.

Eve wasn’t a saint. She was having an affair with our boss, Noah, whose wife had died six months earlier. The affair had started two years before the wife’s passing.

At first, it disgusted me—a remnant of the old Savannah who still believed in goodness and moral clarity. But Eve told me love was a battlefield, and you had to take your wins where you found them.

“Besides,” she once said, “it was an arranged marriage. He never loved her.”

After everything I had been through, my conscience had become more flexible. Being good hadn’t saved me from Ethan or Claire.

My dad had tried to fight for me. He kept demanding answers from the hotel. The last time he went to Ethan’s house, Claire sent pack guards out. They beat him so badly he was hospitalized for three days.

He sent me pictures. The sight of his bruised, swollen face broke me.

In Wild Fangs, any citizen could report a crime to the police. In Creek Keepers, the Alphas were the police.

Eve, in a moment of righteous rage, planned to sneak back into the pack and beat a confession out of Claire. I told her it was useless. My people had already condemned me.

The boys lunch, chattering about their requirements for the new school. Jace, the energetic one, wanted a huge playground full of toys. Jermaine, the quiet thinker, wanted a library with lots of books. But they both agreed on one thing: it had to have plenty of snacks.

I laughed. In my mind, though, I had only one requirement. It had to have a good clinic. I needed to know that if Jermaine ever had a real emergency, he would be safe.

I was waiting for Eve to get home when she burst through the door, arms full of sweets and snacks. The boys cheered and tackled her in a group hug.

They adored their “Cool Aunt Eve,” who spoiled them with screen time and sugar.

“Don’t take too long, Sav,” she said, winking. “I’ve got a date with Noah tonight.”

“Yes, lover girl. I’ll be back soon.”

The first two schools were nice, but their clinics were afterthoughts. In a world where werewolves were usually healthy, an ill child was odd.

But the third school, Northwood Academy, was perfect. It had a playground for Jace, a library for Jermaine, and a fully staffed medical wing. It checked every box. It was also ridiculously expensive.

I stood outside the reception area, staring at the f*e schedule. I could manage it, but it would cost my emergency fund.

I hated the idea of depending on Eve and Noah’s generosity or the little bit my dad managed to send each month. As I stood there doing frantic calculations, a bright voice cut through my thoughts.

“Mommy! Mommy, you’re here!”

I looked up. A little girl, maybe four years old, was running toward me, her face full of joy.

I smiled. That kind of happiness reminded me of my own boys. I turned, expecting to see her mother behind me.

But the girl didn’t run past me. She hugged my legs tightly.

“Mommy!” she cried again.

I was amused. “Oh, sweetie, I’m not your mommy,” I said gently, patting her head.

Her next words chilled me. “Yes, you are! You’re alive! We thought you were dead!”

I laughed nervously. “No, honey. I’m really not.”

She looked up at me, her eyes wide. “I’m going to tell Daddy you’re here!” she said, then ran off toward the parking lot.

I felt sympathy for the man she was dragging into this fantasy.

Then I saw him. He stepped out of a black Jeep. Tall, maybe a few years older than me, and strikingly handsome. He wore dark sunglasses.

The little girl grabbed his hand and pulled him toward me.

He stopped several feet away. Slowly, he removed his sunglasses. His hazel eyes widened in disbelief. He looked at me as if he had just seen a ghost.

“Sasha?” he whispered.

My heart began to race. This was too strange. I looked around, but no one else seemed to notice.

He stepped closer, then rushed toward me. Before I could react, he wrapped me in a hug. He smelled like pine and cedar after a storm.

“I’m sorry for your loss, sir,” I stammered, pushing against him. “But I’m not your wife.”

He pulled back. His eyes were wet, but he laughed softly. Then he froze and leaned in. He inhaled against my neck and suddenly went rigid.

“You returned,” he whispered. “You returned as my fated mate.”

The moment the words left his lips, it happened. A jolt of electricity shot through me. My wolf surged forward, recognizing him.

The fated mate bond snapped violently into place.

I shoved him away, panic overriding the pull.

Was this a prank?

My fated mate? This wealthy, intense man with a daughter who believed I was her dead mother?

I tried to run, but he was too fast. He grabbed my arm.

“Leave me alone!” I yelled. “I’m not your wife!”

He looked at me like I was the one who had lost my mind.

“Sasha, what happened to you? Did you have an accident? Did you lose your memory?”

The little girl began to cry again. “Mommy, don’t leave!”

Two receptionists stood in the doorway, watching helplessly.

“Help me!” I screamed, but they didn’t move.

He scooped me into his arms.

“I have to get back home!” I shouted, struggling.

He carried me to the Jeep, set me in the passenger seat, and locked the door.

He got in on the other side, and the engine roared to life.

We sped away from the school, from my life, from my sons.

My fated mate was abducting me.

Shock turned to ice-cold terror. What twisted drama had I fallen into now?