The Return

The noise of the rotors was deafening, a rhythmic thumping that vibrated through the metal floor of the helicopter and traveled up into the soles of my boots.

I sat strapped into the bucket seat of the royal transport, my hands resting loosely on my knees. To anyone watching, I looked calm. I looked like General Elara, the right hand of the king, en route to another routine extermination mission. I was wearing my field uniform: black cargo pants tucked into combat boots, a fitted charcoal tactical shirt, and a heavy utility belt filled with silver-laced knives and flashbangs.

But beneath the calm exterior, my heart was hammering against my ribs like a trapped bird.

I looked out the small circular window. Below us, the landscape was a blur of white and green. We were flying over the Northern Mountains, descending into the valley where the Borderlands lay.

Even from two thousand feet in the air, I recognized the shape of the river. I recognized the dense cluster of pine trees that marked the edge of the Forbidden Forest.

Silver Creek.

I had not set foot on this soil in five years. The last time I was here, I was bleeding, freezing, and praying for death. I was a child running away from a nightmare.

Now, I was returning in a thirty-million-dollar war machine, flanked by the deadliest killers in the kingdom.

"We are five minutes out, Your Highness," the pilot’s voice crackled over the headset. "The landing zone is secured. The locals have cleared the Alpha’s training field for us."

"Copy that," I replied. My voice was steady. It did not betray the nausea churning in my stomach.

Across from me, Commander Drax was sharpening a long, jagged dagger. He paused and looked up. His steel grey eyes studied my face. He knew exactly what this place meant to me. He was the one who had scraped me off the forest floor, after all.

"You do not have to do this," Drax said. His voice was low, cutting under the noise of the engine. "We can turn around. I can send a subordinate squad to handle the rogues. You can command from the Capital."

I turned away from the window and looked at him. I gave him a small, icy smile.

"And miss the look on his face?" I asked. "Not a chance."

Drax chuckled, shaking his head. "Just remember the mission, Elara. We are here to save them, not to slaughter them. As tempting as that may be."

"I will be a perfect diplomat," I promised. "As long as they remember their place."

The helicopter banked sharply. The stomach-dropping sensation of the descent hit me.

"Touchdown in thirty seconds!" the pilot announced.

I reached up and unbuckled my harness. I grabbed my sunglasses from the dashboard and slid them onto my face. They were dark, hiding my eyes completely. They were my armor. As long as I wore them, I was unreadable.

The helicopter flared, the nose lifting as we hovered over the landing zone. Dust and snow kicked up in a massive cloud outside the windows. The landing gear hit the frozen ground with a heavy thud.

The engine began to wind down, the rotors slowing to a lazy spin.

"Showtime," Drax said. He stood up and kicked the release lever for the rear ramp.

The heavy metal door hissed and slowly lowered, revealing the grey afternoon light of Silver Creek.

Cold air rushed into the cabin. It smelled of pine needles and woodsmoke. It smelled of memories I had tried to burn.

"Squad A, secure the perimeter!" Drax barked.

Six members of the Royal Elite Guard stormed down the ramp. They were clad in full black body armor, their faces covered by tactical masks, carrying assault rifles loaded with silver bullets. They moved with terrifying precision, fanning out to form a protective semicircle around the aircraft.

I waited a beat. I wanted the anticipation to build.

I stood up and smoothed the front of my shirt. I checked the knife at my hip.

Then, I walked to the edge of the ramp.

The scene before me was almost pathetic compared to the grandeur of Onyx City. The training field was muddy and uneven. The packhouse in the distance looked smaller than I remembered, the paint peeling on the wrap-around porch. The warriors gathered to greet us looked tired. Their uniforms were mismatched, their weapons old. They looked like a pack that had been fighting a losing war for a long time.

And there, standing at the front of the group, was Ashren Thalric.

My breath hitched in my throat.

He had changed.

The boy who had rejected me was gone. In his place stood a man who looked like he carried the weight of the world on his shoulders. He was taller and broader. His black hair was longer, tied back in a messy knot at the base of his neck. He wore a heavy fur-lined coat over a flannel shirt and jeans. He looked rugged. He looked exhausted.

There were dark circles under his golden eyes. A new scar ran through his left eyebrow, a souvenir from the war he was losing.

But he was still breathtaking. The pull of the mate bond, dormant for five years, gave a sudden, violent tug in my chest. It wasn't the sweet pull of love anymore. It was a sharp, jagged hook.

"He is still ours," my wolf whispered. He is still the one.

"Shut up," I told her viciously. He is the mission. Nothing more.

I walked down the ramp. My boots crunched on the gravel.

Ashren stepped forward. He was flanked by his Beta and his Gamma. They all looked wary, eyeing the armed guards with unease. They had requested help, but they clearly hadn't expected a military invasion.

I stopped ten feet away from him. Drax stepped up beside me, crossing his massive arms over his chest, looking every bit the menacing bodyguard.

Ashren looked at Drax first, assuming the large male was the leader. But then his eyes slid to me.

He didn't recognize me.

Why would he? He was looking for a scrawny, malnourished girl in a ragged dress. He was looking for a frightened child.

He was not looking for a woman who stood five feet nine in combat boots, with muscles honed by Royal training and skin glowing with health. He was not looking for someone who radiated the aura of an Alpha.

Ashren cleared his throat. He bowed his head slightly, a sign of respect, but not submission.

"I am Alpha Ashren Thalric of the Silver Creek Pack," he said. His voice was deeper than I remembered, raspy from the cold air. "Welcome to our territory. We are grateful the King answered our call."

He looked at me, waiting for a response. He was waiting for me to introduce myself.

I let the silence stretch. I let it become uncomfortable. The wind whistled between us.

I saw Ashren shift his weight. He was getting annoyed. He was used to being the authority figure here. He didn't like being made to wait by a stranger in sunglasses.

"We were told a General would be leading the delegation," Ashren said, a hint of impatience creeping into his tone. "Is he still on the aircraft?"

Drax let out a snort of laughter.

I tilted my head to the side.

"The General is standing right in front of you, Alpha," I said.

Ashren froze.

My voice.

It had matured, become lower and more confident, but the timbre was the same. I saw his eyes widen. I saw a flicker of confusion cross his face. He knew that voice. He just couldn't place it. It belonged to a ghost.

He took a step closer, squinting at me. He inhaled deeply, trying to catch my scent.

But I was wearing a scent blocker, a standard issue Royal protocol for diplomatic missions. To him, I smelled like nothing but ozone and mint.

"Do I know you?" he asked. The arrogance was gone, replaced by a strange uncertainty.

I reached up and grabbed the frames of my sunglasses.

"You should," I said.

I pulled the glasses off and hooked them into the neckline of my shirt.

I looked him dead in the eye. My hazel eyes, flecked with the violet light of my lineage, bore into his stunned gold ones.

The recognition hit him like a physical blow.

His face went pale. All the color drained from his skin, leaving him looking sickly grey. His mouth opened, but no sound came out. He staggered back a step, as if I had pushed him.

"Elara?"

He whispered the name. It was a sound of pure disbelief.

"General Elara," I corrected him coldly. "Or Your Highness, if we are being formal."

The warriors behind him gasped. Whispers erupted through the crowd like wildfire.

"Elara? The runt?"

"The wolfless girl?"

"She's alive?"

"Look at her... she looks like a Queen."

Ashren didn't hear them. He was locked on me. He looked from my boots to my face, trying to reconcile the memory of the girl he destroyed with the woman standing before him.

"This is impossible," he stammered. "You... I banished you. You were wolf-less. You died in the forest."

"Reports of my death were greatly exaggerated," I said dryly. "And as for being wolfless..."

I let a tiny fraction of my aura slip. Just a leak.

The pressure in the air dropped instantly. The sheer weight of my Lycan power rolled over the clearing like a tsunami. The pack warriors behind Ashren whimpered and dropped to their knees, their wolves forcing them into submission instinctively.

Ashren stayed standing, but he swayed. He had to plant his feet to resist the urge to kneel. His eyes were wide with terror and awe.

"I found a better pack," I said, pulling my aura back. "One that knows the difference between a runt and a Royal."

Ashren swallowed hard. His Adam's apple bobbed in his throat. He looked absolutely wrecked.

Then, his nose flared. The wind shifted, blowing from me to him. The scent blocker was fading slightly with the release of my power.

He smelled it.

Vanilla. Rain. Mate.

The realization crashed into him. I saw the gold in his eyes burn brighter. I saw the regret, the shock, and the longing collide in a chaotic mess on his face.

"Elara," he said again, his voice cracking. He took a step toward me, his hand reaching out unconsciously. "Mate..."

Drax stepped between us instantly. His hand went to the hilt of his blade. He was a wall of muscle, blocking Ashren’s path.

"Step back, Alpha," Drax growled. "Do not address the General without permission. And do not think of touching her."

Ashren looked at Drax, then back at me. He looked like a man who had just woken up to find his house on fire.

"You are the delegate?" Ashren asked, his voice hollow. "You are the one sent to save us?"

"I am," I said. "I am here to clean up your mess, Ashren. Because apparently, you are incapable of protecting your own lands."

I walked past him.

I didn't wait for his response. I signaled to my guards.

"Secure the perimeter," I ordered, my voice ringing out across the field. "Set up the command center in the main hall. I want a full tactical briefing in twenty minutes."

I marched toward the packhouse, my boots slamming against the ground with authority. I could feel Ashren staring at my back. I could feel his gaze burning a hole between my shoulder blades.

I kept my head high. I didn't look back.

But inside, my hands were shaking.

Seeing him again was harder than I thought. The hate was there, yes. But the pain was there too. Seeing him tired, seeing him broken... it didn't feel like victory yet. It felt like a tragedy.

I reached the porch of the Alpha house, the house I had been forbidden to enter as a child because I was 'unclean.'

I kicked the front door open and walked in like I owned the place.

Because starting today, I effectively did.