(Almira’s POV)The drive home is silent. The twins sit in the back, holding their new toys. I catch glimpses of them through the rearview mirror—Hazel tracing patterns on the window, Asher staring at his lap, lost in thought. I know their young minds are full of questions, but for once, they don’t ask. Maybe they sense my stormy mood.My grip tightens around the steering wheel. My mind replays the scene at Lysander’s house over and over. His smug voice. The way he watched me. The way he called them our children.I want to scream.He has no right. No right to show up after all these years. No right to buy a house next to us. No right to see the kids and act as if he had ever been there for them.Yet, the way Hazel looked at him. The way Asher clenched his fists when I pulled them away. They felt something. A connection, a curiosity. My worst fear is already coming true—he’s planting himself in their world, slipping into their lives without my permission.I blink back my frustration and
(Lysander's POV)I lean against the window frame, eyes fixed on the house across the street.The blinds are half-closed, the curtains drawn just enough to make a statement—not fully shut, but not welcoming either. Still, I catch flashes of life through the narrow gaps. Hazel laughing, her voice faint but bright. Asher sitting silently with a book in his lap, the way his brow furrows in concentration achingly familiar. Little pieces of me, unknowingly on display, oblivious to the storm brewing just outside their fragile peace.Almira thinks she can shut me out. That she can erase me from the picture like I was never there to begin with.I take a slow sip of whiskey, letting the burn settle in my throat before shaking my head.She should know better by now.I’ve followed her across continents. Spent more money than I care to count. Broken rules—my own and others’—just to be close. Just to catch a glimpse of the life I should’ve had.She can run. She can hide.But I always find them.The
(Mid’s POV)I don’t trust Rachelle. I never liked her as my Alpha’s Luna, but I had to accept her in order to respect Alpha Reginald’s choice. It was her who made me think that werewolf bonds are nothing when the people are too greedy for power.That’s why I don’t like her.Not that I ever really did, but lately, something’s… off.She’s different.At first, I thought it was just the pregnancy. Maybe she was happy because she finally had something to tie Alpha Lysander to her, something to hold over his head. Everyone knows she’s head over heels for Alpha Lysander, even as a kid. I heard rumors about her begging her father to sell her off as a slave to Alpha Lysander, which I found really weird.I thought it was cute—a girl who would do anything for the man she loves. But then I slowly realize that what she feels for my Alpha isn’t love—it’s obsession. She would do anything to make him her mate.I have been watching her for years. I honestly felt bad for her at one point. I witnessed h
(Lysander’s POV)*RING!* *RING!* *RING!*The phone buzzes in my pocket for the fifth time in an hour. I don’t have to look to know who it is.The Werewolf Council has been demanding my return to America as if my entire existence depends on it.I let it ring out again, exhaling slowly as I watched Hazel and Asher from a distance. They’re playing on the porch, completely unaware of my presence.Another call.I grinded my teeth before finally snatching the phone out of my pocket.“What?” I snapped.“Alpha Lysander,” a deep voice greeted me. Elder Roland. He’s always been the most persistent of the bunch. “We’ve been trying to reach you. You cannot keep ignoring us.”“I can and I have,” I replied, leaning against the wooden railing of the balcony. “Try harder next time.”“This is not a request,” he said, his voice cool and authoritative. “Luna Rachelle is carrying your heir. You are needed here to ensure the proper succession.”I barked out a laugh. “My heir? You’re kidding, right?”“You
(Lysander's POV)I walked through the pack grounds. I'm heading straight to the council office. My mind is already prepared for what’s coming. I'm sure that the Elders will try to pressure me into accepting Rachelle and her child. They think they can control me, but they’re wrong. I have no intention of bending to their will.Before I can reach the building, Beta Mid steps into my path. His face is pale, eyes darting around as if he’s afraid someone will hear him."Alpha Lysander, I'm sorry but I have something to tell you. Now," he says in a low voice.I narrowed my eyes. "Make it quick."He hesitated, glancing over his shoulder. "It’s about Rachelle. I know what the council is trying to do, but you can’t let it happen. I’ve seen—"The doors to the council office swing open before he can finish. The Elders stand there, like they've been waiting since forever. I can feel the weight of their expectations."Alpha Lysander, welcome back," Elder Darius says smoothly. "Please, come in."Be
(Lysander's POV)I walk through the packhouse halls, my jaw tight, my fists clenched. Beta Mid’s words still echo in my head. I need to see Rachelle for myself. Need to hear whatever twisted excuse she has for this.I don’t knock. I push the door open, and there she is, sitting gracefully on a velvet chair, her hands resting over her stomach like she’s already playing the part of some beloved Luna. Her eyes lift to meet mine, and a slow, knowing smile spreads across her lips.“I was wondering when you’d come,” she says smoothly, standing up. She moves toward me with a familiarity that makes my skin crawl.“Lysander,” she purrs, reaching fo my cheek.I pull back sharply. “Cut the act,” I snap. “Tell me what kind of deceitful game you’re playing.”Rachelle tilts her head, feigning innocence. “Game?” she echoes. “Lysander, we spent a night togethr. Is it really so shocking that it led to this?” Her hand brushes over her stomach, her expression soft, like she’s cradling something precious
(Almira's POV)I shove another shirt into the bag, my hands working fast. There’s no time to second-guess this. Lysander is back in America. That means he’s no longer lurking around, watching us from a distance, waiting for the right moment to make his move. If I don’t act now, I might lose the chance forever.The room is dimly lit, just the bedside lamp casting a soft glow. My heart pounds as I fold a small hoodie and tuck it in next to the other clothes. The twins will need warm clothes where we’re going. It’ll be safer.I hear the door creak open, and I freeze for a moment before exhaling when I see Rich step inside. His hair is messy, and he’s rubbing sleep from his eyes.“They’re awake,” he mutters, voice thick with grogginess. “Why’d you tell me to wake them? It’s still early.”I zip up the bag and turn to him. “Because Lysander left for America. We need to move now.”Rich frowns, stepping further into the room. “You mean—you’re taking them to the base pack?”I nod. “I have to.
(Almira's POV)This is the right thing to do. I know that. I just hope that Lysander doesn't find his way to us. I can't let him have my children.The hum of the engine is the only thing filling the silence of the car. My hands grip the steering wheel tightly as the sun creeps higher over the trees. The twins are sitting in the back, unusually quiet.I know they're confused about our sudden plans to leave our house. I just told them that I'm pulling them out of their school to leave for a new place. It's not exactly something they wanted to do right now.“Where are we going again?” Hazel piped up.I glanced at her through the rearview mirror and force a calm smile. “A little trip, sweetheart. Just for a few days.”“To where?” Asher pushed. “We didn’t even pack our toys.”“It’s not about toys this time,” I said.“We just… need a little break from the city.”Asher folded his arms. “Is this about the new neighbor? The one across the street?”I blinked. “What?”“Yeah,” Hazel joined in. “Th
(Almira's POV)It’s raining again.Not the kind of storm that rips trees apart or makes the sky look like it’s bleeding—just a soft, persistent drizzle. It slicks the earth, darkens the windowpanes, and blankets the world in a hush. Everything feels quieter in the rain.I sit curled up in the large armchair by the hearth, an old, knitted shawl draped over my shoulders. My fingers absently trace the rim of the mug in my hands—lukewarm tea now, the scent of ginger and lemongrass still clinging to the steam.Hazel is humming under her breath as she braids wildflowers into her doll’s coarse black hair. She talks to it as she works, whispering stories about ancient queens and brave daughters. The stories sound suspiciously familiar—versions of mine that I thought she was too young to remember.Asher is attempting to levitate an apple again. His brow is furrowed in concentration, little fingers twitching in midair.I feel the power swirl around the fruit—a low thrumming that vibrates just b
(Almira’s POV)The night smelled of blood.Not wolf blood. Not human either.Magic.Ancient. Rotted. Old as the bones buried beneath this cursed land.I crouched low against the balcony stone, my hand wrapped tightly around the dagger hilt strapped to my thigh. The wind tore at my cloak as voices rose below — one I knew like the rhythm of my own breath.Lysander.And the other?Sweet. Sultry. Pretending to purr even now, even with the scent of death hanging in the air.Rachelle.I should’ve known. I *did* know. Every inch of my body had screamed it from the moment she looked at Hazel and Asher like they were keys instead of children. But I needed proof. Not just instinct. Not just rage.And tonight, I had it.I watched them through the cracked marble archway. Lysander stood stiffly, shoulders taut, his silver blade slick with fresh blood — not his own. The scent was still risi
(Hazel's POV)The honey cakes taste too sweet. Like they’re trying to cover something up.I chew slow, just like Mama told me—never trust sweetness too fast. Especially from someone who talks too soft and smiles too much. I keep my eyes half-closed, the way wolves do when they’re watching something dangerous.Rachelle’s voice is like syrup, sticky and fake. “I want to help you, Hazel. You and your brother. I want to teach you how not to be controlled.”I blink at her.That word. *Controlled*. I don’t like it. It sounds like cages and chains and being told what to do with the thing that burns under my skin. I don’t know what I am yet—but I know I’m not a tool. And neither is Asher.She leans closer, like she thinks we’re sharing secrets now. “People are always scared of what they can’t control. Even your mother.”I sit up straighter. “My mom&rsquo
(Rachelle’s POV)Later that eveningThe night is soft and heavy with the scent of pine and late-blooming jasmine. The wind hums outside my window, stirring the curtains like a lullaby. It should be calming.But I’m wired.Because they didn’t push me away today.Hazel didn’t glare as hard. Asher actually asked me a question. It was small, meaningless to someone who doesn’t know what to listen for—but to me? It was everything.“Can you do magic too?”A casual question from a curious boy, sure. But it meant he was wondering. Wondering if he could learn something from me. Wondering if I had answers that no one else had given him. And most of all—if I was different from the grown-ups who only saw his power as something to control.That’s how it starts.It always starts with wonder.Hazel, though… Hazel is different.She’s the hard one. Not
(Hazel’s POV)That night, I didn’t sleep.The cake Rachelle brought was still sitting on my windowsill, getting all stale and sticky. I didn’t even take a bite. I just looked at it, trying to decide if it smelled weird. It didn’t. But it still made my stomach feel funny.Not the cake.Her.I curled under my blanket and hugged Bramble, my stuffed bear. I told Mom I was too big for him now, but I wasn’t ready to let him go. Bramble didn’t judge me when I was scared, or when I had to think real hard like tonight. He just stayed.“She’s not like the others,” I whispered to him.He didn’t answer, but I pretended he was listening.Rachelle’s eyes were too shiny when she smiled. Not in a nice way, like Mom’s when we do something good. No, it was the kind of shiny that hides sharp things. Like when a fox pretends to be a friend.I touched the charm she gave
(Rachelle's POV)Hazel is quiet the rest of the visit, but she doesn’t push me away.She watches. Listens. And when I say I should get going, she stands and walks me to the door."Will you come back tomorrow?" she asks, her voice feather-light, almost fragile.I blink, surprised. “If you’d like me to.”She nods slowly. “I think I would.”And just like that, I win a sliver of trust. Or so I think.Or so I believe.The next day, I return with more treats—berry tarts this time, and a little charm I enchanted myself, something subtle. A protection token. Fake, of course, but believable enough for a child.Hazel accepts it without a word. But when I sit across from her, I notice something... off.She’s smiling.It’s small. Barely there. But it’s a real smile. And it’s not for me—it’s for herself.“Do you like ridd
(Rachelle’s POV)Reginald is an idiot.A powerful idiot, yes—but still an idiot. He thinks I’m working for him. Thinks I’m here to win *his* little power struggle against Almira. He thinks I’m just a jealous mate, clinging to my position and my unborn child like it's all I’ve got.He has no idea.As I leave his office, I let my expression shift slowly back into a soft, concerned smile—just enough for the omegas walking by to see. I even rub my stomach as I pass them. Let them think I’m maternal. Harmless. That’s how you survive in a world of wolves.You act like the sheep.But I’m not here to be Reginald’s puppet or Almira’s shadow. I’m here for the twins.Hazel and Asher.I saw them once—just a glimpse—when Almira brought them inside. Hazel’s eyes locked on mine for barely two seconds, but I felt it. Raw energy. Magic that made the hairs on my arms rise.They're different.And I want them.Not because they’re cute or royal or whatever Reginald imagines. No, I want what’s *in* them. P
(Reginald’s POV)I slam the crystal tumbler down onto the desk. Whiskey sloshes over the rim and soaks into a pile of reports I’ve already read twice. Nothing in them helps me. Just more useless updates from spies, empty words from the council, and—worst of all—nothing about how to control the damn twins.They’re under my roof, eating my food, breathing my air. But I can’t touch them. Can’t use them. Can’t even speak freely around them without Almira sniffing out my intentions.She ruined everything.She stormed in like some returning hero, claiming motherhood and moral high ground like a prize. The pack flocked to her like sheep. Even Mid—my Beta—has started tiptoeing around her like she owns the damn place.I stand up, pacing across the room. My heels echo off the marble floor, loud and angry.The children—Asher and Hazel—are something different. My Beta confirmed it. Hazel nearly melted through a silver pot in the kitchen, and Asher? He looked at one of the patrol guards, and the g
(Almira’s POV)The best way to catch a snake is to make it feel safe in the grass.So I pretend. I act like I’m softening. Like I believe Rachelle’s cooing and concern. I start inviting her more often to “bond” with the twins. I don’t hover—but I watch from a distance. I let her think she’s winning.Mid and I set everything carefully.We pick a day when Damon is out with the border patrol. The pack house is quiet. The kids are painting in the garden. I leave a worn leather journal on the garden bench—the one that supposedly contains notes about the twins’ powers and some fake “ritual symbols.”It’s bait.Rachelle arrives exactly on cue.“Almira,” she says, all sweet and surprised. “You’re letting them paint outside alone now?”I smile. “They’ve been so calm lately. I think it helps them feel… grounded.”She nods. “May I?” she gestures toward the kids.“Of course,” I say. “I’ll be in the herb room. Call if you need me.”I walk away slowly, but not too far.I wait.Minutes pass. Then I