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Three years later

Elsa’s POV

Three years. Sometimes it feels like only yesterday I slipped out of that gilded prison with nothing but my sons in my arms, my heart pounding like a war drum as I prayed Riguel’s wolves wouldn’t smell my fear. Other times, it feels like an entire lifetime has passed, one I hardly recognize as mine.

The woman I was back then… she doesn’t exist anymore. The Luna who bowed her head and swallowed her voice, who believed her worth was tied to obedience and breeding male heirs, is dead. In her place stands someone harder, sharper, and maybe a little broken. But alive. And free.

Well, free enough.

I tug my coat tighter as I hurry into the law office, juggling a satchel full of case files, a thermos of cheap coffee, and the weight of three little lives on my shoulders. The firm’s lobby smells like old paper, lemon polish, and burnt printer ink. It’s not glamorous, but it’s mine. Here, I’m not just a runaway Luna, I’m Elsa Marin, junior associate at Morris & Lane Human Rights. Defender of the defenseless. Advocate for those whose voices have been stripped away.

I breathe a little easier every time I step through these doors. Maybe because here, I have a purpose that isn’t tied to Riguel’s throne. Here, I fight back in ways he’ll never understand.

But freedom isn’t without its price.

Every morning, I drop the boys at daycare under false names. Every night, I lock the doors twice, draw the curtains, and listen for footsteps that never come but always could. My paychecks vanish into rent, legal textbooks, toddler shoes, and endless snacks because my boys eat like wolves even when they’re in human skin. Some nights, exhaustion crushes me so badly I cry quietly into my pillow so they won’t hear.

And still, I wouldn’t trade it for anything.

Because my sons… gods, they are my everything.

Luca, the oldest by two minutes, already has the solemn eyes of a little Alpha. He watches everything, guards his brothers with a seriousness that sometimes chills me. Mateo, the middle one, is pure chaos and laughter, his howl slipped out once when he was giggling too hard, and I nearly fainted from panic trying to cover it up. And Noah… sweet, quiet Noah. He feels everything more deeply than the others. When I’m sad, he crawls into my lap without a word, pressing his tiny hand to my cheek like he’s trying to absorb my pain.

They’re only toddlers, but I already see their inheritance shimmering beneath their skin. Too strong. Too fast. Too perceptive. I’ve started teaching them little “games” to help them hide their strength when they’re around humans. “Soft hands,” I whisper when Luca grips too hard. “Quiet feet,” when Mateo’s play makes the ground shake. “Inside voices,” when Noah’s hum carries like a wolf’s call.

They don’t understand why. Not yet. But they trust me. And that has to be enough.

Still, I know the day will come when their nature refuses to be hidden. And when it does… Riguel will smell it, no matter how many states I cross or names I change.

He hasn’t stopped hunting.

I see the whispers in the supernatural forums I check in secret late at night. Missing children from werewolf communities. Mothers vanishing with their pups. Some say it’s rogue. Others whisper about shadow packs collecting power for a new king. But I know the truth. Riguel doesn’t forgive betrayal. And he doesn’t lose. At least, not in his mind.

He wants them back. My boys. His “property.”

The thought alone makes bile burn my throat. They are not his. Not anymore.

So I will prepare. Quietly. Patiently. I save scraps of money for emergencies. I memorize escape routes in every city street. I practice my arguments in the mirror, not just for court, but for the inevitable moment when Riguel finds me. This time, I won’t bow. This time, I won’t beg.

This time, he will learn I am no longer his prey.

“Elsa?” Marjorie’s voice snaps me out of my spiral. She’s the senior partner at the firm, her gray curls wild around her head, her glasses always sliding down her nose. “You with us?”

I blink and realize I’ve been standing in the lobby, clutching my satchel like a shield. “Yes, sorry. Long night.”

She softens. “The boys?”

“Yes the boys,” I confirm with a weary smile.

She doesn’t know half of it, but she doesn’t need to. She thinks I’m just another overworked single mom juggling daycare and deadlines. And in a way, she’s right. She’s become family, though she doesn’t realize it. A different kind of pack, one bound by choice, not blood.

I make it through the morning drafting motions, answering calls, and sorting through the endless chaos of human suffering we try to mend piece by piece. Domestic abuse cases. Wrongful evictions. Refugees begging for asylum. I pour myself into the work until my hands ache and my eyes burn, because helping them somehow stitches up the ripped edges of my own soul.

But no matter how busy I get, I never fully shake the tension at the base of my spine, the awareness that the shadows of my old life stretch long.

At lunch, I slip away to call the daycare. My heart stops until I hear their voices in the background, Luca lecturing the others about blocks, Mateo demanding more crackers, Noah humming to himself. Alive and safe. For now.

I let myself breathe. Just for a second.

The afternoon crawls by, and when I’m finally packing up to leave, the doorbell chimes. I glance up.

A man stands in the doorway. Broad shoulders, sharp suit, eyes that glint too knowingly. Something prickles across my skin, not dangerous exactly, but not human either. My wolf stirs inside me, growling a low warning.

“Can I help you?” Marjorie asks from behind the desk.

The man smiles, slow and deliberate. “I’m here to speak with… Elsa Marin.” His gaze slides over the room until it pins me where I stand. “I believe she’ll want to hear what I have to say.”

My heart drops into my stomach.

Because in that instant, I know. My carefully built world is about to crack open.