Chapter 25
Elara's POV
"Oh? Why is that, dear?" His voice came out strangled.
I forced myself to meet his glare head-on, even as my palms started sweating. The instinct to look down, to apologize, to make myself smaller—that was all Elara's muscle memory trying to take over. I shoved it down hard.
"Uncle Derrick." I kept my voice steady, though my throat felt tight. "The reason Blackwood Pack is being hostile—it's not random. That forest land you want to develop? It's a buffer zone for their traditional hunting grounds."
I watched Martha's coffee cup pause halfway to her lips. Her eyes widened just a fraction before she schooled her expression back to bored disdain.
Got you. You didn't know that part, did you?
"If Dad tries to smooth things over with them now," I continued, "Blackwood won't see it as a favor between old friends. They'll see it as an exiled wolf trying to leverage outside influence to get back into pack politics."
"That'll make everything worse for everyone involved."
The words came out clinical, detached. Inside, my stomach was churning. I could feel Dad's shock radiating from across the table—he was staring at me like I'd just sprouted a second head.
Where did his quiet, timid daughter learn about pack territorial politics?
If only he knew.
Martha set her cup down with deliberate precision. The smile that curved her lips was all teeth, no warmth.
"Well, well. Don't you sound informed." She tilted her head, studying me like I was an interesting insect. "Tell me, Elara, did you pick all this up from reading a few werewolf history books? Because that's adorable, really, but—"
A snort of laughter cut her off. Vivian didn't even bother looking up from her phone, her thumbs flying across the screen.
My eyes caught fragments of her typing: "My useless cousin is playing expert now lmaooo"
The urge to reach across the table and snap that phone in half was so strong my fingers actually twitched.
Breathe. Save it for later.
I dug my nails into my palm under the table, using the sharp pain to center myself.
"I'm not trying to sound like an expert, Aunt Martha." The words came out flat. "I'm just pointing out that using Dad this way will backfire on everyone."
Derrick's chair scraped against the floor as he leaned forward. The movement was aggressive, meant to intimidate.
"You think I don't know what I'm doing?" His voice had dropped to something dangerous. "I've been doing business with packs for twenty years while you were—what? Learning your ABCs?"
"Then you already know," I said quietly, "that what you're asking Dad to do won't work. And you're asking anyway."
The implication hung in the air like smoke.
Derrick's jaw clenched so hard I could see the muscle jumping.
"Watch your tone, girl."
"I'm just trying to help." I made myself sound reasonable, even as my heart hammered. "If you really want to develop that land, there's a better way."
I felt Ethan's gaze snap to me. Dad had gone very still.
"Instead of fighting with Blackwood," I continued, forcing the words out before I could second-guess them, "what if you approached them about a partnership?"
Derrick's eyebrows shot up. For a second, just a second, I saw the calculation flash across his face—he was actually considering it.
I pressed the advantage. "Think about it. A high-end resort facility that close to protected hunting grounds? Blackwood could invest as a silent partner. They get a cut of the profits, you get their cooperation instead of their opposition."
I paused, then added the kicker: "The entire Northwest region is short on this kind of infrastructure. You'd have customers lined up for years."
Martha's fingers had stilled on her coffee cup. Vivian had actually stopped typing.
Derrick sat back, his expression unreadable.
For one wild moment, I thought maybe—maybe—this would actually work. That I could redirect this whole mess without anyone getting hurt.
Then Derrick laughed.
It wasn't a nice sound.
"Well," he said, still chuckling. "That's a real creative solution, Elara. Very entrepreneurial of you."
He leaned forward again, and this time his smile was sharp enough to cut.
"But here's the thing, sweetheart. I don't need a partnership. I don't need a 'better way.'"
My stomach dropped.
"All I need," Derrick continued, his voice going cold, "is for Marcus to make one phone call. Just have a friendly chat with the old Beta, remind him of the good old days. Make sure Blackwood's people don't interfere with my construction crews."
Oh god. He's not even trying to be legal about this.
"That's it," he spread his hands like it was the simplest thing in the world. "Nothing complicated. Nothing that requires your little business degree."
Beside me, I felt Dad's whole body tense.
Martha jumped in right on cue, her voice dripping with false sweetness. "And Marcus, we wouldn't ask you to do this for free. Once the resort is up and running, we'll find you a proper position. Something with a title, you know? Better than..."
Her gaze flicked dismissively toward Dad's oil-stained work shirt.
"Better than whatever it is you're doing now."
The condescension in her voice made my teeth grind together.
It wasn't a favor. It was charity wrapped in barbed wire.
I watched Dad's shoulders hunch, saw him shrinking in on himself. That familiar shame was creeping back into his posture—the shame of being the family failure, the exiled wolf who couldn't provide for his family the way a "real" Alpha should.
No. No, I'm not watching this again.
"Dad's job might be hard," I heard myself say, "but at least he doesn't have to compromise his principles to do it."
Three heads swiveled toward me.
I kept going, even though my voice wanted to shake. "If Uncle Derrick goes ahead with illegal construction on protected hunting grounds, Blackwood will report it to the Council. The project will get shut down, and your family's reputation in the pack will—"
"How DARE you—" Vivian's chair screeched back.
"I'm not cursing anyone," I cut her off, my voice harder than I'd intended. "I'm stating facts. The Council has been cracking down on human-werewolf land disputes. Uncle Derrick, you know this better than I do."
I watched the color drain from Derrick's face, then flood back in an angry rush.
Bingo. He knew exactly what kind of legal minefield he was walking into.
"That's enough." Derrick's palm slammed against the table hard enough to make the silverware jump. "I don't need a lecture from a goddamn Omega who can't even shift!"
The words hit like a slap. I felt the familiar sting—the automatic shame that came with being reminded of my weakness.
But underneath it, something else was burning.
"Marcus." Derrick's attention shifted, his voice turning poisonous. "This is what you've taught your daughter? Disrespect? Ingratitude?"
He stood up, and suddenly he seemed to fill the whole room. "After everything we've done for you—paying for her fancy private school, helping you get that pathetic job at the garage—this is how your family repays us?"
I felt Dad start to crumble beside me. Felt him preparing to apologize, to backtrack, to agree to whatever Derrick wanted.
Just like he always did.
Just like the pack had trained him to do.
"Derrick."
Dad's voice was so quiet I almost didn't hear it.
But there was something in it—something I'd never heard before. A thread of steel under the exhaustion.
"When I got exiled," Dad said slowly, not looking up from the table, "you told me 'pack law is pack law.' You said the rules couldn't be bent, not even for family."
His hands were shaking where they rested on the tablecloth.
"Now you're asking me to break those same rules to bail you out of a mess you created."
I stopped breathing.
"Elara's right." Dad finally lifted his head, and his eyes were wet but steady. "I can't help you with this. And I shouldn't."
The silence that followed was deafening.
Martha's face had gone sheet-white. Vivian looked between her parents like she couldn't believe what she was hearing.
Derrick's expression cycled through shock, disbelief, and finally settled on pure fury.
"I see." His voice could have frozen water. "So that's how it is. Since you're all too proud to accept family help—"
"It's not help," Ethan spoke up for the first time, his voice shaking with barely controlled rage. "It's blackmail. You're holding our futures hostage and calling it a favor."
"Ethan—" Mom's hand reached for his arm.
"No, Mom." Ethan stood up too, and I saw Dad's face in his—that same stubborn set to the jaw. "I'm not sitting here listening to them tear you down anymore."
Martha rose to her feet, her chair scraping harshly against the floor. "Well. I can see where your children learned their manners, Marcus."