CHAPTER 2: THE CONFUSION

CELINE

Silence swallowed the line. One second. Two. Three.

I stood at the gate with my heart in my throat, bracing for it. You made your choice.

“Come home, Elin.”

Three words, and I fell apart. My knees gave out. I slid down the cold wall with the phone pressed to my ear, sobbing too hard to answer.

“Elin. Listen to me.” His voice was low and steady, the same voice that used to talk me down from nightmares when I was seven. “Are you safe?”

“I left.” I wiped my face. “A boy came into my room. I hit him with a lamp. I don’t know if he’s okay.”

The line went hard and cold. “Did he touch you?”

“He tried.”

“Then you did exactly what you had to. You are not in trouble with me. Not now, not ever.”

I pressed my fist to my mouth to keep from sobbing out loud.

“I’ll send money and the address,” he said, softer. “Try to wait until morning before you travel, sweetheart. It’s safer.”

“I’ll try.”

“You won’t.” I could almost hear him smile. “That’s my girl. I’ll be waiting.”

The money came first, more than I’d expected. Then the address, one line. Savage Moon Pack. I stared at it for exactly three seconds, then booked the first flight out.

At the airport desk, the woman scanned my ticket, glanced at the screen, and her smile changed.

“Savage Moon? First time?”

“I’m visiting family. My father.”

She studied me, and something in her face shifted. It wasn't a suspicion. It was closer to respect. “Then you’re expected,” she said, and handed back my pass.

Expected? Nobody knew I was coming. I decided I was too tired to think about it.

On the plane I pressed my forehead to the window and watched the city shrink into scattered lights. No more Muize. No more Doland. No more swallowing insults and calling it survival.

I thought about my mother, and whether she would even ask if I was okay. Probably not. I thought of Muize in my doorway, telling me not to come out, and the strange look in his eyes, as if he’d known.

I shoved the thought away and slept.

Dawn was breaking when I landed at Savage Moon Pack. The air was cleaner here, heavy with pine and something wilder underneath. I took a breath so deep my ribs ached.

I was pulling out my phone when I heard the engine.

A car came straight at me, far too fast. It clipped my hip and sent me spinning, and my ankle cracked against the pavement. Pain exploded up my leg like fire.

“Are you out of your mind?” I snapped, curled around my foot. “Do you not have eyes—”

“Don’t move.”

A man was already crouching in front of me, and every insult died in my throat. He was huge. Dark hair falling over his forehead, a jaw sharp enough to cut glass, and silver eyes, clear and intense as a winter morning, with something warm flickering underneath.

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly. “I looked down for one second. There’s no excuse.”

He had just apologised. A man who looked like that, in a car like that, had admitted he was wrong without a single excuse. The anger drained out of me so fast it was embarrassing.

He took my ankle in both hands, impossibly gentle for someone his size. His scent reached me, dark wood and rain, and something pulled low in my chest. Faint, but unmistakable. It’s the pain, I told myself.

“You can’t heal?” he asked, frowning.

I looked away. Any wolf could shrug off a sprain in minutes. Mine was getting worse, and it told its own embarrassing story. “I’m slow.”

He studied my face, and for one terrible second I thought he knew everything. About the wolf I didn’t have. About the girl who had run. But all he said was, “Then we’ll get you to a doctor.”

“I don’t need—”

He lifted me before I could finish. I went rigid, every instinct from two years of unwanted hands snapping to alert. But his hold was firm and careful, like he was afraid of hurting me.

I couldn’t remember the last time someone had held me like I was worth being careful with.

Slowly, I stopped fighting.

“You’re very bossy for a man who just ran me over,” I muttered as he set me in the passenger seat.

His mouth twitched. “I know”

“Where were you headed?” he asked on the drive.

“My father’s house. I haven’t seen him in two years. I wasn’t sure he’d want to see me.”

He was quiet for a moment. “Fathers usually do,” he said gently. “Even when they’ve been hurt.”

My throat closed. I didn’t answer.

Then the iron gates swung open, and I forgot my ankle entirely. The mansion was a palace, all towers and pale stone rising out of the pines, with servants lined along the steps.

“Is this where you live?”

“It’s the pack house. You get used to it.”

He carried me inside, and the staff stopped moving.

“Greetings, Alpha Zithan.”

I went rigid in his arms. Alpha? He had apologised on the roadside. He had carried me like I was worth protecting. I didn’t know what to do with that, so I buried my face against his chest and pretended I hadn’t heard.

He laid me in a quiet room and left without a word. A doctor came, rubbed cold ointment on my ankle, and went.

I grabbed my bag. ‘You didn’t come here to be rescued by a handsome stranger. You came for your father.’ I limped into the corridor, and halfway to the stairs a shoulder crashed into mine. I caught the railing.

“Excuse me?” I snapped, spinning around.

It was Alpha Zithan. I smiled, because honestly, I was relieved. I owed him a thank-you.

“Alpha—”

“Are you blind, or something?”

His eyes swept me from head to toe, slowly, as if I were a stain on his floor.

I was speechless and just stared. Same face. Same dark hair. Same jaw.

Wait. His eyes. They weren’t silver. They were ice blue, cold and flat, as though my standing on those stairs were a personal inconvenience.

He turned and walked away.

That could not be the same man who had apologised on the roadside and asked in the softest voice whether I could heal. I gripped the railing and stared after him.

Either Alpha Zithan had a serious personality disorder, or something far stranger was going on in this house.

What the hell was that attitude?