Chapter 11
Elara's POV
I stood there frozen in Ethan's arms, every muscle in my body locked up.
His grip was tight, almost desperate. I could feel his heart hammering against my shoulder, too fast, too hard. The scent of motor oil and soap clung to his work shirt.
When was the last time someone held me like this?
Never. The answer was never.
In my past life, touch meant combat. Grappling. Claws and teeth. Even my pack kept their distance unless I summoned them—fear didn't exactly inspire hugs.
But this? I had no idea what to do with this.
"Ethan," I managed, voice coming out rough. "Can't breathe."
He jerked back immediately, hands moving to grip my shoulders instead. His eyes scanned my face in the dim light, taking in the dirt smudged across my cheek, the leaves tangled in my hair, my torn clothes.
"Where the hell were you?" The words came out harsh. "Chloe said you disappeared. Said you collapsed at school, went to the nurse, and then just vanished. Your phone's been off for hours—"
His voice cracked on the last word.
I opened my mouth, but he wasn't done.
"And why are you climbing the side of the house?" His fingers dug into my shoulders. "Did something happen? Are you in trouble again?"
Again.
The word hit me hard. Fragments of Elara's memories surfaced—times she'd come home late, clothes torn, face bruised. Times Ethan had covered for her. Times he'd stood between her and the people who hurt her.
He'd always been there.
My throat went tight.
"I just..." I dropped my gaze, forcing my voice softer. "I went for a walk. Needed air. My phone died."
"Air." His tone was flat. "At eleven-thirty at night? Looking like you crawled through a war zone?"
Shit. He wasn't buying it.
I glanced up. The concern in his eyes was raw, real. Not the calculated assessment of a pack member. Not fear.
Just worry for his little sister.
"Ethan—"
"Chloe said you passed out today," he cut in, voice dropping lower. "That they carried you to the nurse. What's going on?"
I wanted to tell him. Part of me actually wanted to tell him everything.
About the soul transfer. About Lynette. About the Wild Hunt contract and the mercenary wolves who'd be here in less than a week to slaughter everyone in this house.
But how could I explain that his sister was dead? That I was just wearing her face?
And even if I told him about the Wild Hunt... what could he do? They'd all be dead before they understood what was happening.
No. I had to handle this alone.
Before I could answer, the front door swung open.
"Ethan?" A woman's voice, high and anxious. "Is that Elara? Did you find her?"
My heart kicked hard.
I turned, and there she was—backlit by warm light from inside, a silhouette in the doorway. I couldn't see her face clearly, but I didn't need to. Elara's memories filled in the gaps.
Emily Grey. My mother. This body's mother.
She hurried down the steps, and the porch light caught her features. Mid-forties, with fine lines around her eyes. Dark hair streaked with gray, pulled back loose. Faded cardigan over pajamas.
"Oh thank God." She rushed over, hands finding mine, squeezing. "Where were you? Are you hurt? Look at you, covered in dirt—"
Her fingers traced my palms and I barely held back a wince. The cuts from digging were still raw.
"What happened to your hands?" Her voice climbed higher. "Elara, sweetheart, talk to me—"
"I'm fine, Mom." The word felt foreign. Mom. "I just went for a walk. Lost track of time."
Emily's eyes searched my face. She turned to Ethan, expression shifting sharper. "You said you were going to find her. That you knew where she was."
Oh shit.
I looked at Ethan, waiting for him to throw me under the bus. To tell her the truth—that he'd found me sneaking around like a criminal.
But he didn't.
"It's my fault, Mom." His voice was steady, casual. "I asked Elara to return some books to the library for me. She got caught in that rain shower on the way back. Had to wait it out. That's why she's dirty. She slipped in the mud."
I stared at him.
Rain shower? There hadn't been any rain. The lie was smooth, natural.
Emily frowned. "Rain? I didn't hear—"
"Just a quick storm," Ethan cut in, draping an arm around my shoulders. "Barely ten minutes. Came and went while you were making dinner. Right, Elara?"
He looked at me. Silent message in his eyes.
Play along.
I swallowed. Nodded. "Yeah. Came out of nowhere."
Emily didn't look convinced, but Ethan was already steering me toward the door. "Come on, it's cold. Let's get inside."
As he guided me forward, another memory flashed. Sharp and clear.
Ethan in this exact spot, blocking the doorway. Emily asking where Elara was. "She's at Chloe's, Mom. Studying. I'll pick her up."
But Elara hadn't been at Chloe's. She'd been hiding in the park, sobbing because Sophia had told the whole school she was worthless.
Ethan had found her an hour later, soaked and shaking. Wrapped his jacket around her. Drove her home in silence. Never asked what happened.
My chest tightened.
This wasn't the first time. How many times had he lied to protect her? How many nights had he gone looking when she disappeared?
I stepped through the door and warmth hit me.
The living room was small. Fifteen feet across, maybe. Worn couch against one wall. Coffee table with magazines. Handmade cushions. Plastic flowers in a vase. Family photos on the walls—Marcus and Emily holding baby Elara, young Ethan grinning with a missing tooth.
The air smelled like cleaning solution and cinnamon.
Everything was neat. Organized. Loved.
I'd never been in a place like this.
The pack house in the Northern Territories had been a fortress. Cold stone. High ceilings. Rooms for strategy and weapons, not family dinners and photo albums.
This was a home.
And I had no idea how to exist in one.
"Sit down, sweetheart." Emily guided me to the couch. "Let me get you something to eat. I can heat up stew, or make a sandwich—"
"I'm not hungry."
Too flat. Too dismissive.
Emily's face fell.
Guilt twisted in my gut.
"I mean..." I tried again, softer. "I'm okay, Mom. Really. Just need to rest."
She hovered, hand reaching to touch my forehead. "You're so pale. And your breathing—are you wheezing? Do you need your inhaler?"
"Already used it." I met her eyes. "I'm fine."
Ethan cleared his throat from the doorway. "Mom."
Just one word, but Emily pulled back. Her hands twisted together. "All right. But if you feel worse, tell me immediately. Promise?"
"Promise."
She nodded and stepped back.
I glanced around again, cataloging details. Worn carpet. Crack in the ceiling. Furniture arranged to make the small space feel bigger.
Then I noticed what was missing.
"Where's Dad?"
Ethan answered. "Still at the shop. Some trucker broke down—needs his rig fixed by morning or he loses the contract. Dad's pulling an all-nighter."
I absorbed that, cross-referencing with Elara's memories.
Marcus worked at Rusty Anchor Auto Repair. The owner knew he'd been exiled but hired him anyway because Marcus was good with engines.
But paid him less than the others. Made him work the worst shifts. Kept him on as a favor.
Marcus never complained. Just kept his head down and did the work.
Because that's what you did when you were disgraced, trying to keep your family fed.
My hands curled into fists.
These people had been scraping by for years. Working shit jobs. Living in a falling-apart house. Enduring contempt from wolves who should have been their equals.
And now I'd brought the Wild Hunt down on them.