Chapter 8 Hunter and Tara

Old Wounds and New Rage

James pov

I was under the hood of a 2015 Ford pickup when the scent hit me like a sledgehammer to the chest. Pine and leather, with that underlying note of dominance that marked an Alpha's bloodline. A scent I had known since Hunter Blackwood was a pup running around the pack grounds, getting into trouble and charming his way out of consequences.

My hands stilled on the wrench I had been using to adjust the carburetor. For a moment, I wondered if my mind was playing tricks on me—four months of looking over my shoulder, of jumping at shadows, of expecting pursuit that never came. But wolves didn't mistake scents, especially not scents that carried such emotional weight.

Hunter Blackwood was here. In Silver Creek. Less than fifty yards from where Tara was shelving books at the library across the street.

I straightened slowly, my joints protesting after hours bent over the engine. Through the open bay door of Murphy's Garage, I could see the main street of our small adopted town. Normal Thursday afternoon traffic, a few pedestrians going about their business, nothing that looked immediately threatening.

But the scent was getting stronger.

"Jimmy?" Murphy's voice called from the office. "You got that Ford figured out yet? Mrs. Henderson wants to pick it up before five."

"Almost done," I replied, my voice steady despite the rage building in my chest. I wiped my hands on a shop rag, buying myself time to think, to plan, to decide exactly how I was going to handle this.

Because Hunter Blackwood showing up here, now, after we had spent four months rebuilding our lives, wasn't a coincidence. It was a threat to everything we had worked for, everything Tara had sacrificed to achieve.

I moved to the front of the garage, ostensibly to grab a different tool from the main workbench, but really to get a better view of the street. I didn't have to look long.

Hunter stood outside Rosie's Diner, three buildings down from the garage, studying something in his hands—probably a photograph. He looked different than he had four months ago. Thinner, more worn around the edges, like a man who hadn't been sleeping well. His dark hair was longer, less perfectly styled, and his clothes were travel-wrinkled.

But it was definitely him. The man who had destroyed my daughter in front of our entire pack, who had called her "insufficient" and "unworthy" with the casual cruelty of someone discussing the weather.

My hands clenched into fists, my wolf rising dangerously close to the surface. Four months of watching Tara cry herself to sleep, of seeing her jump at shadows, of helping her rebuild her shattered self-worth piece by careful piece. Four months of my own rage, carefully controlled and channeled into productive activities like work and planning our new life.

All of it came flooding back in a tidal wave of protective fury.

Hunter looked up from whatever he was studying, his gaze sweeping the street with the methodical precision of a trained tracker. When his eyes landed on the garage, I stepped back into the shadows, but not before our gazes met across the distance.

Recognition flashed in Hunter's gray eyes, followed by something that might have been relief. He took a step toward the garage, then another, and I realized with crystalline clarity that this confrontation was happening whether I wanted it or not.

*Good.*

"Murphy," I called toward the office, not taking my eyes off Hunter's approaching form. "I need to take a quick break. Family emergency."

"Sure thing, Jimmy. Take your time."

I moved to the side door of the garage, the one that led to the narrow alley between buildings rather than out onto the main street. If they were going to do this, it wouldn't be where Tara might see them through the library windows.

Hunter appeared at the mouth of the alley within minutes, moving with the confident stride of someone accustomed to getting what he wanted. But I could see the tension in his shoulders, the way his hands hung loose at his sides in preparation for potential conflict.

Smart boy. He was going to need every advantage he could get.

"James." Hunter stopped about ten feet away, maintaining what he probably thought was a respectful distance. "I was hoping we could talk."

"Talk." I let the word hang in the air like a challenge. "Interesting choice of words from someone who spent four months hunting us down like criminals."

"I wasn't hunting—"

"What would you call it?" I stepped closer, my voice dropping to the dangerous growl of an alpha wolf defending his territory. "Tracking us across three states, hiring investigators, following leads until you found our new home? What exactly would you call that behavior?"

Hunter had the grace to look uncomfortable. "I call it trying to fix the biggest mistake I've ever made."

"Your mistake?" I laughed, but there was no humor in the sound. "Your mistake was thinking you could destroy my daughter and then waltz back into her life whenever it was convenient for you."

"I know what I did was wrong—"

"Do you?" I was close enough now to see the exhaustion in Hunter's eyes, the fine lines that spoke of sleepless nights and endless guilt. "Do you really understand what you did to her? Or do you just miss having your mate bond intact?"

Hunter's jaw tightened. "I understand that I was a coward. I understand that I chose politics over the woman the Moon Goddess chose for me. I understand that I humiliated her in the worst possible way because I was too afraid to stand up to my father's expectations."

"Understanding and experiencing are two very different things." I could feel my wolf pushing against my control, demanding satisfaction for the pain my daughter had endured. "You want to understand what you did? Let me help you with that."

I moved faster than a human eye could follow, my fist connecting with Hunter's jaw in a satisfying crack that sent the younger man stumbling backward. Hunter caught himself against the brick wall of the building, his hand moving instinctively to his face.

"That's for the public humiliation," I said conversationally, flexing my fingers. "For making her stand there in front of everyone she'd ever known while you tore her apart with your words."

Hunter straightened, wiping blood from his split lip. To his credit, he didn't fight back, didn't even raise his hands in defense. "I deserved that."

"You deserve a hell of a lot more than that." I hit him again, this time in the stomach, doubling Hunter over. "That's for every night she cried herself to sleep because she thought she wasn't good enough for you."

Hunter gasped, struggling to catch his breath, but still made no move to defend himself or retaliate. I grabbed him by the front of his shirt, hauling him upright and slamming him back against the wall.

"And this," I snarled, my forearm pressed against Hunter's throat, "is for having the unmitigated gall to show up here and think you can just apologize your way back into her life."

"I don't," Hunter managed, his voice strained but steady. "I don't think an apology will fix anything. I just... I need to see her. I need to tell her I'm sorry, that she deserved better, that rejecting her was the worst thing I've ever done."

"She knows all of that already." I pressed harder, watching Hunter's face begin to flush. "You think she needed you to show up and confirm what she already figured out? You think your guilt matters more than her peace of mind?"

"No." The word came out as barely a whisper. "I think I'm selfish enough to need to try anyway."

The honesty of it caught me off guard. I had expected denials, justifications, the kind of alpha posturing that usually accompanied confrontations like this. I hadn't expected raw self-awareness and acceptance of fault.

I loosened my grip slightly, allowing Hunter to breathe more easily. "She's happy here. Do you understand that? For the first time in four months, she's starting to heal. She has a job, she's taking classes, she's building a life that doesn't revolve around pack politics or mate bonds or any of the things that brought her pain."

"I'm glad," Hunter said, and I was surprised to hear that he meant it. "She deserves happiness. She deserves a life free from the complications I brought into it."

"Then why are you here?"

Hunter was quiet for a long moment, his gray eyes distant as he struggled with the answer. When he finally spoke, his voice was barely audible above the distant sounds of street traffic.

"Because I love her. Because I've loved her since before I knew what the word meant, and I was too much of a coward to admit it until it was too late." He met my eyes directly, unflinching in his honesty. "Because even if she never forgives me, even if she never wants to see me again, I need her to know that rejecting her wasn't about her worth. It was about my cowardice."

I studied the younger man's face, looking for signs of deception or manipulation. All I saw was exhaustion, regret, and a desperate kind of hope that reminded me uncomfortably of Tara during those first terrible weeks after they'd left Silverstone.

"She doesn't need your guilt," I said finally, releasing Hunter and stepping back. "She doesn't need your regret or your explanations or your desperate need to feel better about what you did."

"I know."

"But?" Because there was always a 'but' with alphas like Hunter, always another angle or justification.

Hunter straightened his shirt, wincing as the movement pulled at what were probably bruised ribs. "But I need to try anyway. I need to know I did everything I could to fix what I broke, even if it's not fixable."

"And if seeing you undoes all the progress she's made? If your presence here sends her spiraling back into the depression it took months to pull her out of?"

"Then I'll leave," Hunter said without hesitation. "I'll walk away and never bother either of you again. But I have to try, James. I have to at least try."

I wanted to hit him again, wanted to keep hitting him until some of the rage that had been building for four months finally found an outlet. But looking at Hunter's battered face, seeing the genuine remorse and desperate hope in his eyes, I realized that violence wouldn't solve anything.

This wasn't about my need for revenge. This was about what was best for Tara.

And what was best for Tara was a choice only she could make.