Chapter 22
Elara's POV
The alarm didn't get a chance to ring. My eyes snapped open at 5:28 AM, two minutes before it was set to go off.
I sat up slowly, testing my body's limits. Every muscle screamed in protest from yesterday's fight with Sophia. The rune bracer had given me the edge I needed, but the backlash was brutal. My arms felt like dead weight, my core burned with each breath, and there was a persistent ache in my ribs from a glancing blow from Sophia.
Worth it, though.
But lying here wouldn't solve the real problem—this body was pathetically weak. Yesterday had proven that. Without the runes, without Cole's weapons, I was just a sick Omega who couldn't even climb onto a garage roof.
I needed to change that. Fast.
I changed into worn gray sweatpants and a faded PE shirt, then started stretching. Careful. Controlled. Three seconds in, two seconds out. The breathing technique from my past life had to work for lungs that couldn't handle what I was used to.
My hamstrings screamed as I folded forward. Elara had been so focused on making herself invisible that she'd forgotten her body was meant to move.
I pushed deeper into the stretch, welcoming the pain. Pain meant progress.
At 5:47, I grabbed my phone and inhaler. The inhaler went into my pocket—non-negotiable.
I crept downstairs, avoiding the spots that creaked. Skills from a lifetime of stealth, now used to sneak out for a morning jog. The irony wasn't lost on me.
Outside, Misty Creek was still asleep, wrapped in mist. I started jogging, forcing myself to go slow. Every instinct screamed to run faster, push harder, but this body wasn't ready.
Three seconds in, two seconds out. Find the rhythm.
The first five minutes were easy. Then reality hit.
My chest tightened. Not the sharp panic of an asthma attack, but the creeping awareness that my lungs were struggling. My throat started to itch.
I slowed down. Four seconds in, three seconds out.
Sweat beaded on my forehead despite the cool air. My thighs burned. This was humiliating—in my past life, I could run for hours. I'd chased prey across frozen tundra, hunted enemies through blizzards.
Now I was struggling to jog three kilometers through a quiet town.
"Pain is the body evolving," I muttered. "Quitting is the real death."
I kept going. Past shuttered shops. Past the coffee shop. Past the church.
My lungs were on fire. My legs shook. But I didn't stop.
The town center park emerged from the mist. Three kilometers total, and I felt like I'd run a marathon.
I collapsed onto a bench, gasping. Not an asthma attack—I'd avoided that—but my body was at its limit. I used the inhaler anyway, just to be safe.
This was going to take months. Time I might not have if Fenrir showed up early.
But I'd work with what I had.
I was about to stand when I saw him.
Even through the mist, Kael Harrington was impossible to miss. That tall frame, the predatory grace, the aura of power—it was like watching an apex predator stroll through a petting zoo.
What the hell was he doing here?
I should leave. Immediately. But I didn't move.
Kael walked toward the far edge of the park, where an old brick building sat apart from the rest. The arts building. Barely used anymore.
I should leave.
Forcing my protesting legs to move, I followed, keeping to the tree line. Old habits.
Kael reached the building and stopped, his shoulders tense. Bracing himself.
Then the door opened.
Victoria Harrington stepped out. I knew her from Elara's memories—the art teacher at St. George's, always kind, always smiling.
She wasn't smiling now.
"I told you not to come here." Her voice cut across the quiet morning. "Didn't I make myself clear last time?"
I pressed against a tree trunk. I shouldn't be hearing this.
"We need to talk." Kael's voice was different—raw, almost vulnerable.
"We have nothing to talk about." Victoria's face twisted. "You're not my son. You'll never be my son."
The words hit like physical blows. Kael didn't move, but I saw his hands curl into fists.
"I know you blame me," he said quietly. "But I didn't ask to be born."
"No, but you exist anyway." Victoria stepped forward, voice rising. "You exist, and my real son is dead. Dead because of your father, because of that goddamn Pack—"
"I'm not him. I'm not my father."
"You're exactly like him! You have his eyes, his face, his predator's instincts. Every time I look at you, I see the monster who destroyed my life!"
I should leave. But my feet wouldn't move. I recognized something in Kael's stillness—the stance of someone who'd learned resistance only made things worse.
"Today is my son's birthday," Victoria continued, tears streaming. "My real son. He would have been eighteen today. He should be applying to colleges. But he's dead. And you're still here. Why? Why do you get to live when he's gone?"
"I'm sorry." Kael's voice barely whispered. "I'm sorry for—"
"Sorry doesn't bring him back! You want to know what you can do? Leave. Leave this town and never come back."
She took another step, face contorted. "And don't think I don't know about your games at school. Seducing those innocent girls. You're just like your father—using people, destroying them."
That did it.
I stepped out from behind the tree. "That's not fair."
Both whipped around. Victoria's eyes widened. Kael's expression was unreadable, but something flickered in those amber eyes.
I should shut up. But watching this woman tear into her own son—something in me snapped.
"Ms. Harrington," I kept my voice steady. "I know you've lost someone. But blaming him for existing—that's not fair. He didn't choose his father or the Pack or any of it."
Victoria's face flushed. "Who do you think you are? Another one of his conquests?"
"I'm nobody's conquest. And for the record, he didn't seduce anyone. Yesterday he stopped a fight. That's all."
"You're just a child. You have no idea—"
"Maybe not. But I know your other son wouldn't want you to destroy yourself like this. He wouldn't want you to hate someone just for being alive."
Silence. Victoria stared like I'd slapped her. Kael was frozen.
"How dare you speak about my son," Victoria's voice broke. "You didn't know him."
"You're right. But I know grief can make us cruel. And hating Kael won't bring your son back."
Victoria's face crumpled. She drew herself up, wiping her eyes.
"Stay away from him," she said, shaking. "You don't understand what you're getting involved in."
She turned and walked back inside, slamming the door.
And then it was just me and Kael, standing in the morning mist.