CHAPTER 2

Mavis Thornefield POV

"Mavis! Move your tail and get over here! Deliver this pack order to Crowell Pack Estate right now!"

The harsh voice of Alwyn Pritchard barked across the counter of The Bracken Cup Café, shattering the early morning quiet.

Mavis Crowell pulled her dark apron tight around her waist, adjusting her practical ponytail as she stepped forward with a calm, composed expression. "Alwyn, my name is Mavis Thornefield now. It has been five years."

Alwyn barely glanced up from his register, shoving a carrier holding four sealed mugs of freshly brewed herbal dark coffee into her hands. "I do not care what name you put on your legal pack papers, girl. Just get this order delivered without ruining the batch. Here are the keys to the delivery bike. If you wipe out on the trail, try not to smash the engine."

Mavis grabbed the heavy metal keys, her fingers wrapping around the cold iron ring. "I will bring back the receipt."

"Just bring back my bike in one piece," Alwyn muttered, turning his back to wipe down the counter.

Mavis walked out the front glass doors into the crisp morning breeze of Briarfen City. For five long years, she had worked extra shifts at this small human-bordering café, surviving quietly after losing everything. Yet no matter how many times she corrected him, the old manager refused to stop using her former pack name.

She opened the storage trunk on the back of the vintage motorcycle, carefully balancing the drink carrier inside before securing the latch. A cool draft swept through the trees, carrying the familiar scent of pine, rain, and damp earth.

Crowell Pack Estate.

The name alone sent a cold, phantom ache straight through her lower abdomen, right where her surgical scars remained buried under her clothes. Five years ago, she had lived inside those gated grounds as Alpha Benedict Crowell's bonded Luna. She had walked those pristine stone paths, believed in his soft promises, and dreamed of raising their unborn pup behind those secured oak gates.

Now, she was heading back toward that very same territory wearing a stained canvas jacket, riding a rattling sixty-cc delivery bike with faded paint.

Mavis kicked the starter pedal, listening to the engine splutter to life with a loud, mechanical growl. She guided the bike through the outer residential roads of Briarfen City, keeping her speed steady as the gravel turned into smooth, paved private roads bordered by thick pine trees.

When she finally pulled up to the target boundary, her fingers froze on the handlebars.

The GPS coordinate on her phone matched the exact address carved into the silver plaque on the tall wrought-iron gates: Villa Seven.

It was the very house she and Benedict had shared during their three years of marriage.

The pure white stone architecture rose against the deep green forest canopy, looking as grand and untouchable as the day she was exiled from the pack. The manicured lawn was spotless, the silver pack banners fluttered from the upper balconies, and the large glass bay windows reflected the bright morning light.

Mavis cut the ignition. The heavy silence of the estate instantly swallowed the hum of the engine.

Her palms grew slick against the leather grips. If she had known this specific order came from Villa Seven, she would have called in sick or dumped the assignment on one of the junior staff members at the café.

According to every pack news report broadcast across Briarfen City over the last week, Benedict Crowell and Ottilie Brackenbury were set to complete their formal mate bonding ceremony at the end of the month. Their grand union was only seven days away.

Ottilie’s five-year patience had finally paid off. She was about to officially step into the position of Luna, standing side by side with the Alpha, raising the child that should have been Mavis's.

A sharp, stabbing pain twisted deep inside Mavis's chest, taking her breath away. Her fingers tightened around the delivery bag until her knuckles turned ghostly white. Her wolf, silent for years, stirred with a faint, miserable whimper inside the dark corners of her mind.

"I cannot do this," Mavis whispered to the empty air, her voice trembling.

She turned around, unlatched the back trunk, grabbed the plastic carrier, and marched straight over to the heavy iron trash receptacle near the estate gates. Without missing a beat, she tossed all four cups directly into the bin. The lid snapped shut with a dull, metallic clang.

She was not going to walk up those steps. She was not going to play the pathetic ex-Luna delivering coffee to her replacement.

Mavis turned on her heel and walked back to her motorbike, slinging her leg over the seat to stamp down on the kickstart pedal.

A blood-curdling scream pierced the air.

The sudden, frantic screech echoed off the stone walls of the main villa. Mavis gasped, her foot slipping off the pedal as the weight of the heavy motorcycle buckled beneath her. The metal frame slammed hard against the pavement, trapping her left leg underneath the hot engine pipe.

"Damn it!" Mavis grunted, the sharp pressure grinding against her knee as she struggled to push the frame off her body.

Before she could lift the iron weight, a horrific, heavy thud shattered the quiet morning.

The impact rattled the pavement beneath her palms.

Less than three feet away from her front tire, a body lay sprawling across the white marble entryway steps. Thick, dark blood pooled immediately across the pale stone tiles, spreading rapidly toward the tires of her fallen bike.

Mavis stopped breathing, her eyes wide with shock as she stared at the broken figure lying in the crimson liquid.

"Ottilie?" Mavis choked out, her voice barely a thread as her mind struggled to process the gruesome sight.

Ottilie Brackenbury lay contorted on her back, her pale eyes wide and unblinking as dark fluid streamed from her nose and mouth. Her chest gave one violent, desperate heave as if she were trying to speak, but no sound came out. Her hand twitched once against the bloodstained marble, and then her entire body went completely still.

The silence returned, heavier and colder than before.

Mavis's heart hammered frantically against her ribs like a trapped bird. Instinctively, she jerked her head upward, scanning the third-floor balcony directly above the entry steps where the stone railing stood empty.

A dark, hooded shadow moved near the glass doors of the master suite, stepping back into the darkness of the room before disappearing entirely.

Mavis gasped, her vision swimming with violent streaks of black and gray as her lungs burned for air. The sickening smell of raw pack blood overwhelmed her senses, triggering a wave of intense nausea that made her head spin.

Her limbs grew heavy, her strength draining into the cold pavement beneath her as the world tilted sideways.

Her head hit the asphalt, and total blackness consumed her.

"Wake up! Get her up right now!"

A violent hand slammed into Mavis's shoulder, shoving her upright against a cold wooden chair.

Mavis gasped, her eyes snapping open as pain shot straight through her stiff neck. The metallic smell of blood still hung heavy in the air, mixed with the overpowering, suffocating scent of pure Alpha dominance.

She wasn't on the driveway anymore. She was sitting inside the private study of Villa Seven, her wrists bound tight behind her back with heavy silver-laced rope that burned her skin on contact.

Standing directly in front of her was Benedict Crowell.

His broad chest heaved beneath a dark, rumpled dress shirt, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows to reveal the tense muscles of his forearms. His icy amber eyes were blown wide with wild, predatory rage, his wolf hovering right beneath the surface of his skin.

"Where is she, Mavis?" Benedict roared, his voice carrying an Alpha command that rattled the glass windows of the study.

Mavis winced, her throat raw as she pulled against the silver restraints. "Benedict... what are you talking about? She fell... she jumped from the upper balcony..."

"Do not lie to me!" Benedict snarled, stepping forward to grab her jaw in a bruising grip, forcing her head up to meet his furious glare. "Ottilie's body is gone from the driveway! The guard found you unconscious next to a pool of her blood with no body in sight!"

Mavis stared at him in complete horror, her heart dropping straight into her stomach. "What? That's impossible! I saw her die on the tiles! She wasn't breathing!"

"Then who moved her?!" Benedict demanded, his fingers digging harder into her skin. "Who cleared the scene before the pack guards reached the front gates?"

Before Mavis could answer, the heavy double doors of the study burst open.

Leighton Voss stepped into the room, his face pale and his hands shaking as he held out a clear plastic evidence bag.

"Alpha Benedict," Leighton said, his voice tight with alarm. "We searched the perimeter of the driveway where the incident occurred. We didn't find Ottilie's body, but we found this sitting right beside Luna Mavis's fallen motorcycle."

Benedict released Mavis's jaw with a rough shove, turning his cold gaze toward Leighton. "What is it?"

Leighton held up the bag. Inside lay a heavily stained silver pocket watch, its glass casing shattered, revealing a bloodied lock of blonde hair wrapped tightly around the internal gears.

Mavis's breath hitched in her throat as her eyes locked onto the object. It was the ancestral family watch belonging to her father—a unique heirloom from the Thornefield Family that had gone missing five years ago on the night of her forced exile.

Benedict snatched the plastic bag from Leighton's hands, staring down at the bloody watch before slowly turning his gaze back to Mavis. His eyes turned entirely black as his Alpha aura flared, heavy and lethal enough to crush the air right out of her lungs.

"This belongs to your family line, Mavis," Benedict whispered, his voice dropping into a deadly, murderous register. "Explain to me why your father's heirloom is covered in Ottilie's blood."