Little Wolf

Three years later.

I curled up on our secondhand couch, afternoon sunlight streaming through the living room window of my apartment 

It wasn't much—peeling paint, creaky floors, a bathroom door that didn't close all the way—but it was mine. [At least from the company I worked for] And that meant everything.

My phone buzzed for the tenth time that day. I glanced at the screen and immediately silenced it, my jaw clenching hard enough to make my teeth ache.

"Who keeps blowing up your phone?" Brielle emerged from the kitchen, two mugs of coffee in her hands. She passed me one and flopped down beside me, her blonde curls still damp from her shower.

"My mother." The words tasted bitter.

Brielle's eyebrows shot up. "Sheila? I thought you blocked her number."

"I did. She got a new one." I took a sip of coffee, welcoming the burn. "She's been calling for three days straight. Leaving voicemails. Texting. The whole desperate routine."

"What does she want?"

"The usual." I set my mug down harder than necessary. "Claims she's changed. Says she's been through rehab. Wants to 'reconnect' and 'rebuild our relationship.'" I made air quotes with my fingers. "It's bullshit, Bri. It's always bullshit."

Brielle was quiet for a moment, studying me with those thoughtful blue eyes. "What if it's not? What if she really has changed this time?"

"You didn't grow up with her." My voice came out sharper than I intended. "You didn't watch her choose drugs over food. Didn't have to step over her boyfriend passed out in the hallway. Didn't have to—" I stopped myself, swallowing the memories that threatened to claw their way up my throat. "I spent three years building a life away from all that trauma. I'm not letting anything drag me back."

"I'm not saying you should move back in with her or anything." Brielle reached over and squeezed my hand. "But maybe... I don't know. Maybe she deserves one chance? People can change, Kira. What if she's really trying this time and you never know because you didn't give her the opportunity?"

I wanted to argue. Wanted to list every broken promise, every time I'd hoped and been disappointed, every scar—physical and otherwise—that Sheila had left on me. 

But before I could respond, my phone rang again.

"Jesus Christ." I snatched it up, my thumb hovering over the decline button. Then something made me pause. Maybe it was exhaustion. Maybe it was Brielle's words working their way under my skin. 

I groaned and answered the call. "What do you want?"

"Kira! Oh, honey, thank God you picked up!" Mom's voice came through the other end of the line, tumbling over itself in her rush to speak. "I was so worried you'd never—I mean, I know I don't deserve—but I'm so glad you answered. So, so glad."

"You have two minutes." I kept my voice flat, emotionless. "Start talking."

"Right. Yes. Okay." I heard her take a shaky breath. "I know you don't believe me. I know I've said this before, but Kira, I'm different now. I've been clean for over a year. Eighteen months, actually. I went through rehab—real rehab, not just a weekend program. I have a sponsor. I go to meetings. I'm... I'm trying, baby. I'm really trying."

I said nothing. Let the silence stretch between us like a test.

"I'm married now," she continued, her voice softening. "To a good man. A really good man who helped me see that I could be better. We have a real home, Kira. Not a trailer. A real house with a yard and everything. And I just... I want you to see it. See me. See that I'm not that person anymore."

My fingers gripped the phone so tight my knuckles went white. "Why now? Why after three years?"

"Because I was ashamed." Her voice cracked. "Because I needed to actually be better before I could face you. I couldn't just promise I'd change. I had to do it first. And I have, sweetheart. I really have."

There was something in her voice I'd never heard before—a vulnerability, a rawness that sounded almost... genuine. 

Almost.

"I'm having a family dinner tomorrow evening," she rushed on. "Please come. Just once. If you hate it, if you don't believe me, you never have to see me again. But please, Kira. Please give me one chance."

I closed my eyes. Every instinct screamed at me to say no, to hang up, to block this number too. But that small, pathetic part of me that had always wanted a real mother—the part I'd tried to kill but never quite could—whispered maybe.

"What time?" The words were out before I could stop them.

"Seven! Seven tomorrow evening. I'll text you the address. Oh, honey, thank you. Thank you so much. You won't regret this, I promise. I'm so excited for you to meet my husband and—"

"I'm not promising anything," I cut her off. "I'll come to dinner. That's it."

"That's enough. That's more than enough." I could hear the tears in her voice. "I'll see you tomorrow, baby. I love you so much."

I hung up without saying it back.

Brielle waited until I set the phone down. "So?"

"I'm apparently having dinner with my mother tomorrow." I scrubbed my hands over my face. "She's probably married to another addict and this is going to be a fucking disaster."

"Maybe. But at least you'll know for sure." Brielle checked her watch and yelped. "Shit! The gala! We need to start getting ready or we're going to be late."

Right. The company's annual gala. I'd almost forgotten in the chaos of Mom's call. "Give me twenty minutes."

****

The venue for the gala was obscenely luxurious—all marble columns and crystal chandeliers that probably cost more than I'd make in five years. 

My simple black dress, the nicest thing I owned, suddenly felt like a costume. Everyone around me dripped in designer labels and inherited wealth, their laughter easy and careless in the way that only came from never having to worry about rent.

I'd barely made it through the entrance when a figure stepped directly into my path, blocking me with the precision of someone who'd been waiting.

Sienna Cross. Of course.

"Well, well." Her smile was all venom. "Look what the cat dragged in. Kira Bennett, ladies and gentlemen. Still shopping at discount stores, I see?"

Her eyes raked over my dress with obvious disdain, lingering on every perceived flaw. She wore red—a designer gown that probably cost more than my car, if I'd had one—and she knew it.

"Some of us have to work for our money, Sienna." I kept my voice level despite the anger simmering in my chest. "We can't all have Daddy's credit card to fall back on."

Her smile sharpened. "At least I have a daddy, sweetie. Where's yours again? Oh right—nobody knows because your mother was too busy spreading her legs for half the pack to keep track."

My temper flared white-hot. "You know what? You can spend all the money you want on expensive clothes and designer bags, but no amount of fabric can cover up how ugly you are. And I'm not talking about your face—though that nose job was definitely a mistake. I'm talking about what's inside. You're rotten, Sienna. All the way through."

She raised her hand as if to slap me and I stepped forward instead of back, getting right in her face. 

"If you dare lay one finger on me," I said, my voice low and dangerous, "I will claw your eyes out and feed them to Mr. Harrison's hounds. And trust me, they're always hungry."

Something flickered in Sienna's eyes—uncertainty, maybe even fear and her hand dropped to her side. I brushed past her, my shoulder deliberately bumping hers hard enough to make her stumble in her ridiculous heels.

I made my way toward the bar, trying to shake off the encounter. My hands were trembling slightly—adrenaline and anger mixing into something volatile. 

Sienna had been the thorn in my side since I started working at Dex’s company, and I have no idea what I ever did to her to deserve being a subject of her torment.

I was still deep in thought when someone tapped my shoulders and I turned to see a beautiful waitress handing me a glass of champagne.

"Champagne, miss?" She smiled politely, professionally.

"God, yes. Thank you." I took the glass and downed half of it in one go, welcoming the sharp bubbles and the promise of something to steady my nerves.

The waitress moved on. I finished the rest of the champagne and set the empty glass on a passing tray.

Then the room started to tilt.

It was subtle at first—just the chandeliers above seeming to sway slightly, their crystals blurring into streaks of light. I blinked, trying to clear my vision, but it only got worse. The conversations around me became muffled and distant, like I was underwater. My mouth felt dry, my tongue too thick.

No. No, no, no.

Someone had drugged me.

Panic shot through my system like ice water. I tried to move toward the exit, tried to call for Brielle, but my legs wouldn't cooperate. They felt like they belonged to someone else, heavy and unresponsive. The floor seemed to shift beneath my feet.

I was going to fall. I was going to collapse right here in front of everyone, and—

A strong hand caught my waist, steadying me against a solid chest. The touch sent a strange jolt through my system, something electric and wrong and right all at once.

"Easy there, little wolf." The voice was deep, familiar in a way that made my drugged mind spin even harder. "I've got you."

Little wolf. Nobody had called me that in years. Not since…

No. 

It couldn't be.

I tried to look up, tried to see who was holding me, but my vision was swimming. 

All I could register was cedar—the sharp, clean scent of it filling my lungs—and something else. Something distinctly masculine that made my wolf stir restlessly beneath my skin, whining with recognition even as my mind struggled to catch up.

"You're safe," the voice murmured against my ear, and I was being lifted effortlessly into strong arms. "I promise. You're safe with me."

That was the last thing I heard before everything turned black.