Chapter 4 Hunter and Tara

Broken Pieces

James pov

The Blue Moon Motel sat like a forgotten relic on the edge of Highway 49, its neon sign flickering weakly in the gray morning light. Three hundred miles from Silverstone territory, it existed in the liminal space between pack lands—neutral ground where supernatural beings could rest without fear of territorial disputes or political

I sat on the edge of one of the motel's sagging twin beds, my weathered hands clasped tightly in my lap as I stared at the closed bathroom door. The sound of running water had been constant for the past forty minutes, accompanied by something that made my heart break a little more with each passing second—the muffled sound of my daughter's sobbing.

The small room smelled of industrial disinfectant and decades of transient occupants, but underneath it all was the sharp, metallic scent of magical residue. The witch who had helped us disappear—a weathered woman named Celeste who lived in a cabin deep in the neutral territories—had done her work well. Our scents were completely masked, our wolf signatures hidden beneath layers of protection spells that would last for weeks.

But magic couldn't heal a broken heart.

I rubbed my temples, exhaustion weighing on me like a physical force. We had been driving for eight hours straight, stopping only for gas and the occasional bathroom break. Tara had barely spoken during the entire journey, sitting in the passenger seat with her face turned toward the window, watching the landscape blur past as we put miles between ourselves and everything we had ever known.

The water shut off abruptly, and I tensed, waiting. For a moment, there was blessed silence. Then it started again—great, gasping sobs that seemed to tear from the very depths of her soul. The sound of a young woman's world collapsing in on itself.

I stood up, my joints protesting after the long drive, and moved to the bathroom door. "Tara?" I called softly, pressing my palm against the cheap wood. "Sweetheart, are you okay?"

The sobbing hitched, then resumed with renewed intensity. Through the thin walls, I could hear her moving, probably sitting on the floor of the tiny shower stall, letting the hot water wash over her while she fell apart in private.

"I'm fine, Dad," she managed to choke out, her voice thick with tears and clearly audible through the door. "I just... I need a few more minutes."

*Fine.* The word was laughable under the circumstances, but I understood. Sometimes you needed to lie, even to the people who loved you most, just to maintain some semblance of dignity while your world crumbled around you.

I returned to the bed, sinking down onto the lumpy mattress with a heavy sigh. On the nightstand beside me lay my phone, powered off to prevent any possible tracking. We had left our old lives behind so completely that we might as well have died—at least as far as the Silverstone Pack was concerned.

The thought should have brought me some satisfaction. After all, we had executed our escape flawlessly. Celeste's magic had worked exactly as promised, erasing our scent trail so thoroughly that even the pack's best trackers would find nothing. They had cash, fake identification papers, and a plan that would take them far from werewolf politics and pack hierarchies.

But sitting in this dingy motel room, listening to my daughter's heart break in real time, I felt nothing but helpless rage.

Twenty-three years. Twenty-three years I had served the Silverstone Pack with unwavering loyalty. I had bled for them, fought for them, followed orders without question even when those orders sent me into situations that nearly cost me my life. I had raised my daughter to believe in the pack bonds, in the strength that came from belonging to something larger than yourself.

And in one night, Hunter Blackwood had destroyed all of it.

The bathroom door opened with a soft creak, releasing a cloud of steam into the already humid room. Tara emerged wearing one of the cheap terrycloth robes provided by the motel, her dark hair hanging in wet tangles around her shoulders. Her eyes were red and swollen from crying, her face blotchy and raw. She looked younger than her eighteen years, vulnerable in a way that made my protective instincts flare to life.

"Feel better?" I asked gently, though we both knew the answer.

She managed a weak smile that didn't reach her eyes. "The hot water helped a little. Thank you for... for giving me space."

"You don't have to thank me for that, baby girl. You needed to let it out."

Tara moved to the window, pushing aside the heavy curtains to peer out at the parking lot. A few cars sat scattered across the cracked asphalt—travelers like themselves, people caught between one place and another. "Where are we exactly?"

"About fifty miles outside of Millbrook. Still neutral territory, but far enough from any major pack lands that we should be safe for a few days."

"And then?"

I studied her profile, noting the way she held herself—shoulders rigid, spine straight, as if she were bracing for another blow. "That depends on what you want to do. We have enough money to start over somewhere new. Maybe head west to the coast, find a small town where we can blend in with the human population."

"Live as humans?" The idea seemed to surprise her.

"If that's what it takes. There are others who've done it—wolves who've left pack life behind and integrated into human society. It's not easy, especially during full moons, but it's possible."

Tara was quiet for a long moment, her gaze fixed on something outside that I couldn't see. When she spoke again, her voice was barely above a whisper.

"I keep thinking I'll wake up and this will all have been a nightmare. That I'll be back in my room at home, getting ready for my birthday celebration, and none of this will have happened."

"I know."

"But then I remember the way he looked at me. The disgust in his voice when he called me 'insufficient.'" She pressed her forehead against the cool glass of the window. "How do you come back from something like that, Dad? How do you rebuild your self-worth after someone you're supposed to love looks at you like you're nothing?"

The question hit me like a physical blow. In all my years as a warrior, facing down rogues and rival pack members, I had never felt as helpless as I did in this moment. I could fight external enemies, could protect my daughter from physical harm, but this kind of damage—the kind that came from within, that ate away at your sense of self—this was beyond my ability to fix.

"You remember who you are," I said finally. "You remember that his opinion doesn't define your worth. That boy—and that's all he is, despite his fancy title—he's a coward who chose politics over his own happiness. That says everything about him and nothing about you."

"Does it?" Tara turned from the window, and I was startled by the raw pain in her eyes. "Because from where I'm sitting, it feels like the Moon Goddess herself made a mistake. Like I'm some kind of cosmic joke—not good enough for my own mate."

"The Moon Goddess doesn't make mistakes."

"Then why does it feel like she does?"

I stood up, crossing the small room to pull my daughter into my arms. She came willingly, collapsing against my chest like she used to when she was small and the world seemed too big and scary to handle alone.

"I don't know," I admitted, my voice rough with emotion. "I don't understand how the divine plan works, or why sometimes good people get dealt terrible hands. But I know you, Tara. I know your heart, your strength, your capacity for love and loyalty. And I know that someday, when this pain isn't so fresh, you're going to realize that his rejection says nothing about your worth and everything about his inability to see what's right in front of him."

She cried again then, but these tears were different—quieter, less desperate. The tears of someone beginning to process grief rather than drowning in it.

"I loved him," she whispered against my chest. "Even before I knew he was my mate, I had such a crush on him. I used to imagine what it would be like if he noticed me, if he thought I was special. And when I scented him last night, when I realized we were meant to be together... for just a moment, I thought all my dreams were coming true."

"I know, sweetheart."

"How do I stop loving someone who doesn't want me? How do I turn off feelings that are supposed to be permanent?"

It was another question I couldn't answer, another wound I couldn't heal. All I could do was hold her while she grieved for the future she'd lost, for the mate who'd thrown her away, for the girl she'd been before last night's brutal awakening.

Outside, the morning sun climbed higher in the sky, marking the start of their first full day as rogues. Somewhere behind them, Hunter Blackwood was probably just waking up, probably dealing with his own pain from the severed bond. But that was his problem now.

My only concern was the broken young woman in my arms, and figuring out how to help her put the pieces of herself back together.

Even if I had no idea where to start.