2

Ayla

“Pack your bags. Now,” I said, my tone sharp. My body tensed as I fixed my eyes on the back door.

The once-warm cabin was rapidly turning to ice, frost creeping up the windowpanes like a predator taking its time. I turned my gaze to Snow and Leo. The thick wooden walls groaned once, deep and low. The twins had already grabbed their small backpacks, their little faces instantly shifting from playful children to alert survivalists.

The scent hit me again, thicker this time, laced with years of sleepless nights and suffocating rage. The supernatural summit was being held near the neutral borders, but I had never imagined Dave would venture this close to the sanctuary line. I forced my frozen limbs to move and grabbed my coat.

“Let’s go,” I whispered, ushering them through the back door and straight into the dense fog. We moved through the trees with practiced precision as the wind howled, the scent of forest fire and crushed mint growing blindingly thick behind us.

If we could just reach the neutral town center, the peace treaties would protect us. With Jasper’s help, I had been quietly running this sanctuary as a way to keep Snow and Leo’s powers hidden in plain sight. But the forest wasn’t letting us go easily.

A low, guttural snarl rattled the earth. Out of the heavy fog, a massive, scarred rogue wolf burst through the brush, its yellow eyes locking instantly onto Snow and Leo.

“Get behind me!” I yelled.

It bared foam-flecked fangs, muscles bunching as it prepared to spring. I stepped squarely in front of my children. Beneath my skin, my dormant Lycan aura flared hot and demanding. I didn’t care about hiding anymore; I was ready to tear the beast apart with my bare hands to save my babies. 

But before the rogue could leap, the shadows of the forest detached themselves from the trees. A towering silhouette descended like a falling star.

The earth shook beneath our feet as a monstrous wolf—nearly twice the size of a standard Alpha—interposed itself between the rogue and me. I watched, frozen in pure shock, as its pitch-black fur glistened under the starless night.

With a single, devastating sweep of its massive paw, the giant wolf pinned the rogue to the dirt. A sickening crack echoed through the trees as it effortlessly crushed the rogue’s neck, tossing the heavy carcass aside like trash.

I gasped. The monstrosity turned, its golden-crimson eyes locking onto me before drifting down to the twins. I held my breath and raised my chin, refusing to show fear even as the suffocating pressure of a god-Alpha filled the clearing, making it hard to breathe.

A sharp crack of bones split the silence. I staggered back as the beast shifted, its body unraveling into human form with terrifying grace.

He was dangerously handsome, possessing sharp, aristocratic features, midnight-dark hair, and a commanding presence that screamed absolute royalty. A heavy, fur-lined black coat was draped over his tailored black suit, and silver rings glistened under the moonlight.

Ragnar Storm. The Alpha King of the elite Northern Pack—and Dave’s deadliest, most feared corporate and political rival.

A chill ran down my spine as I caught a familiar glow out of the corner of my eye. Panic seized me. There was still a faint, shimmering silver mist clinging to Leo’s aura. Ragnar’s highly trained eyes wouldn’t miss it.

Sure enough, a slow, intrigued smirk touched his lips. He unclipped his coat without a word and stepped forward. I should have moved back. I didn’t.

My body trembled slightly as he leaned in, gently draping the warm, fur-lined fabric over my shoulders. His large, calloused hand lightly brushed against the bare skin of my neck, and something ancient deep in my blood went completely still. Not from fear. From recognition.

I didn’t trust it. I didn’t trust him. But I didn’t take the coat off either.

“Your secrets are safe with me, little wolf,” he murmured, his voice low enough that only I could hear it. He stepped back, his eyes darkening as he glanced at the path behind us. “Walk with me. Let me be your shield.”

I hesitated, and he arched a dark eyebrow.

“Your past is catching up with you,” Ragnar warned. “Your ex-mate is tracking your scent right now. We have to leave immediately.”

I nodded quickly, grabbing Snow and Leo’s hands. I didn’t want to trust a man like Ragnar, but I didn’t have a choice. Anyone was better than Dave.

“Let’s go,” I told the twins. We walked out of the thick brush and onto the main sanctuary path, flanked entirely by Ragnar’s terrifying, protective aura.

We had barely made it to the iron gates when a group of elite werewolf bodyguards in dark suits surrounded us. I squeezed the children’s hands tighter, but their eyes were fixed on Ragnar. The dark king turned around, calmly counting the guards before letting out an amused chuckle.

“There’s one missing,” Ragnar said, his tone dripping with dark amusement.

Immediately, the wall of men cleared a path.

I knew he was there before I even saw him. The air suddenly turned cold. It was a familiar, painful cold that I had spent five years trying to forget—the kind that didn’t just chill the room, but reached deep inside my chest and made it hard to breathe.

Then he stepped through the crowd.

Dave Nightclaw. Alpha King of the South.

He stopped dead in his tracks the moment he saw me.

Dave looked older. His face was harsher, hollowed out, and his bloodshot eyes exuded a deep, permanent misery. The rumors were true, then. People whispered that the mutated rejection bond had punished his wolf with chronic, agonizing pain and insomnia. After five long years, he was standing in front of me, and I could finally see the toll it had taken.

A dark, vicious satisfaction flared in my chest. It was his karma for ruining my life.

Then, his gaze dropped to Ragnar’s coat on my shoulders. His eyes moved to the twins. He froze, completely still.

Breakable silence stretched between us before his gaze violently snapped back to mine, his pupils dilating until they were almost entirely black. For one terrible second, he looked exactly like the man who used to hold me close—the man he was the night before he ruined my life. I hated that I noticed.

“Ayla…” his voice broke, a raw, strangled sound. He took a desperate step forward.

Ragnar stepped closer, casually placing a possessive hand on the small of my back. Dave’s eyes flashed with pure, unadulterated rage. A thin layer of ice spread in a violent circle beneath his boots.

“Storm, what is the meaning of this?” Dave snarled, his voice trembling with fury. “Why are you with my—”

“Your what, Dave?!” I interrupted, stepping into his space and daring him to say the word.