Chapter 3

FREYA

He walked in the next morning like it was any other day.

I was in the kitchen when I heard the front door, and for one second my whole body went still, the way it always did when I was deciding something without actually deciding it. Then I picked up my mug and kept drinking my tea.

Brian came in and stopped when he saw me at the counter. He looked tired around the eyes, which could have meant anything.

He ran a hand through his hair and gave me that particular smile of his, the one that was supposed to make things easier.

"Hey," he said.

"Hey," I said.

He leaned against the doorframe and watched me for a moment. "Are you still upset about last night?"

I looked at him over the rim of my mug. "You thought I was faking being attacked while it was actually happening."

"Freya—"

"There are scrapes on my hands, Brian."

He leaned away from the doorframe and came over, reaching for my wrist. I let him look. He frowned at my palms for a second, and something crossed his face. It might have been guilt or something entirely different.

"Why didn't you say something more clearly?" he said.

I took my hands back.

"I said wolves, collar, ground," I said. "I'm not sure what being clearer looks like."

"You could have—" He stopped, then started again. "Okay. I'm sorry. I should have taken it more seriously." He squeezed my shoulder. "I'll make it up to you. The honeymoon we talked about, the cabin by the northern lake, we'll go this week. And I got you something for your birthday." He smiled again, easier this time.

I didn't say anything.

He showered, while I sat in the kitchen and drank the rest of my tea, thinking about my mother's voice on the phone the night before, sounding steady and unsurprised, like she'd been waiting for this call.

I was still sitting there when the knock came.

I frowned and went to the door. Standing on the step was Lena, wearing a yellow sundress and carrying a small, ribbon-wrapped box. She looked surprised to see me, though I couldn't tell if it was real or not.

"Freya!" She smiled brightly, looking warm. "I didn't know you'd be home. I just wanted to drop this off for Brian." She held out the box. "Just a little thank you. He's been so helpful lately."

I looked at the box. Then I looked at her.

"Come in," I said, because I wanted to see what she'd do.

She came in and set the box on the counter with a little flourish. "I'm sorry I missed your birthday dinner last night! I heard it was lovely."

"Where did you hear that?" I asked.

She blinked. "Oh, I think Brian mentioned—" She stopped, then smiled again, smoothly. "I just assumed."

Brian came out of the bedroom then, still buttoning his cuff, and stopped when he saw Lena. Something flashed across his face. It would have been too quick for most people to catch, but I'd known this man my whole life.

"Lena," he said. "I didn't know you were coming by."

"I just wanted to drop something off," she said, all lightness and ease. "I'll get out of your way."

She left. Brian set about being apologetic, saying it meant nothing, that she was just grateful for the pack's support. I nodded and smiled at the right moments, and eventually he stopped talking and went to take a call in another room.

I didn't open my bedroom door for him that night.

I lay in the dark and listened to him knock twice, say my name, then go quiet. Then I heard the front door slam, his car starting and driving away, and then nothing.

* * *

In the morning, my best friend Annie’s name lit up my phone before I'd even woken up properly.

Her first message was just a link. The second message said: “Don't be mad that I'm the one telling you.”

I sat up and clicked the link.

It was a picture of two figures on a beach, with the sunset behind them, and white sand all around. This was the kind of scenery you'd see on a honeymoon brochure. Brian had his arm around Lena's waist. They were both laughing at something.

I looked at the photo for a long time. Then I typed back: “I'm not mad at you.”

She called immediately. "Freya, I'm so sorry. I didn't know until this morning or I would have—"

"It's fine," I said.

"It's not fine."

"No, it’s not," I agreed. "But I already knew."

Annie was quiet for a second. "What are you going to do?"

"I'm going to end it," I said simply. "I'm going to go to the main house today and tell his family that I want a divorce."

"Do you want me to come with you?"

I thought about it. "No. I need to do this part myself."

* * *

Brian's family home was the largest building in the pack's main area. It was built with stone and timber, and it had an old money look in a way that packs with ambition always projected.

I'd been welcomed here once. Celebrated here even. But the air felt different as I walked in today.

Brian's mother, Jane Norwood, was in the main room when I arrived. She looked up from whatever she was reading and set it aside.

"Freya," she said, in that particular tone that was polite and warning at the same time.

"I want a divorce," I said, deciding not to bother with any preambles. "And I want the return of my pack's territory and the mining company my father built."

The room went very quiet.

Jane stood. She was a tall woman, poised in the way of someone who'd spent decades making sure people understood exactly who held the power.

"Sit down," she said.

"I'd rather stand."

Something shifted in her expression, her politeness receding. "You want to blow up this pack over a quarrel? While Brian is managing everything you used to have? Everything your father's collapse left behind?"

"He took Lena on my honeymoon," I said.

"Brian is the Alpha of this pack," she said. "He makes decisions—"

"That weren't his to make. That land was my father's. That company was my family's. Brian manages it because I trusted him with it." My voice stayed normal. I was actually surprised by how normal it stayed. "I'm not trusting him anymore."

Jane's face turned hard. She reached out and swept the glass off the side table without looking at it. It shattered on the floor. A shard caught my hand on the way down, slicing a clean cut across the back, and I looked at it for a second before looking back at her.

"You are an orphan," she said pointedly. "Your status, your income, your position, and everything else you have, came from this pack. From my son. You should ask yourself why you think you have the right to walk in here and make demands."

I pressed my hand against my dress to stop the bleeding. I looked at Jane Norwood as I thought about my father, what he'd built, and what he would have said if he could see what was happening in this room.

Then I turned around and walked out.