Chapter 24
Elara's POV
I stared at my reflection in the bathroom mirror, tugging the navy blue dress straight. The fabric was soft from too many washes, faded at the seams. This was the nicest thing in Elara's closet.
Focus. Derrick. Information gathering. That's all this is.
I shoved thoughts of this morning—Kael's cold dismissal, his words cutting deeper than they should've—into a mental box and locked it. I had bigger problems.
A soft knock. "Honey? You almost ready?"
I opened the door. Emily stood there in a cream blouse and brown slacks, both worn but carefully pressed. Her hands twisted together.
"I'm ready."
She reached up, adjusting my collar with gentle fingers. The motherly gesture made something tighten in my chest.
"You look beautiful." Her smile wobbled. "Just remember what your father said, okay? No matter what your uncle—"
"Don't talk back. I know."
Emily's hands stilled. Her brown eyes searched my face, worry deepening the lines around them. "If this is too much, you can stay home. Your father would understand—"
"No." I caught her hand. My fingers were ice cold. "I want to go. We're family, right?"
Even if I'm really gathering intel on what Pack connections they still have.
Emily squeezed my hand. "You're such a good girl."
The words hit like a fist to the gut. If you knew what I really was...
I pulled away gently. "We should go."
---
The Honda's engine rattled. I sat in back next to Emily, watching forest blur past. Ethan was up front, jaw tight, fingers drumming his knee in an agitated rhythm.
Nobody spoke.
At a red light, Marcus glanced at us in the rearview. His amber eyes—so much like mine—met mine briefly before shifting to Ethan.
"Listen." His voice was rough. "When we get there, no matter what your uncle says... don't talk back. Just let me handle it."
Ethan's drumming stopped. "Dad—"
"I mean it, Ethan." Marcus's tone hardened. "We owe them."
"We don't owe them shit!" Ethan twisted in his seat, face flushed. "They turned their backs when the Pack exiled you. Uncle Derrick wouldn't even loan you money when Mom was sick! And now he suddenly wants happy family?"
Emily's hand found mine, squeezing tight. She was trembling.
Marcus's shoulders sagged. "He has his reasons. The Pack has rules you don't understand—"
"Then explain them!" Ethan's voice cracked. "Because he's an asshole who only calls when he wants something!"
"Ethan." Emily's voice was soft but firm. "Enough."
Green light. Marcus drove forward, jaw working.
I stared at the back of his head, at the gray threading his dark hair. Elara's memories showed fragments—loan sharks, double shifts, the shame in his eyes when he couldn't afford things.
My hands curled into fists.
"Maybe we should hear what Uncle Derrick has to say." The words left my mouth before I could stop them. "He's still family, right?"
Three heads turned.
Ethan looked at me like I'd grown a second head. "Are you serious?"
"I just think—" I made my voice uncertain. Timid. "Maybe he wants to help? Maybe things are different?"
I need to see what leverage he has. What connections.
Marcus's eyes met mine in the mirror. Something painful flickered there. Hope.
My stomach twisted.
"Your sister's right," Marcus said quietly. "He's family. We should give him a chance."
Ethan made a disgusted sound and faced forward. "This is bullshit."
Emily's grip tightened until it hurt. She just stared out the window, defeated.
The rest of the drive was silent.
---
Pine Grove Restaurant was all floor-to-ceiling windows and rustic-chic decor. The Honda looked pathetic next to the gleaming luxury cars.
"Remember," Marcus said, killing the engine. "Be polite. Don't cause trouble."
Ethan grabbed the door handle hard enough I heard plastic creak.
We walked like we were heading to execution. Emily straightened her worn blouse. Marcus tugged his collar. Even Ethan looked uncomfortable in his button-down.
The hostess led us through the main dining room—three couples turned to stare—to a private room in back.
The door opened.
Derrick sat at the head in a charcoal suit that probably cost more than Marcus made in a month. Slicked-back hair, practiced smile. He looked like Marcus but polished. Successful.
Martha sat to his right, dripping jewelry. Perfect hair, flawless makeup. She looked at us like we were a stain.
Vivian barely glanced up from her phone. Designer outfit, manicured nails. When she finally looked at me, her lip curled.
The table was set with expensive dishes—salmon, roasted vegetables, fancy pasta. But only three place settings had full silverware and crystal.
Ours were afterthoughts.
"Marcus! Emily!" Derrick stood, arms spread. "So good to see you!"
Liar.
Marcus shook his brother's hand stiffly. "Thanks for inviting us."
"Family should stick together, shouldn't we?" All teeth. "Please, sit. We ordered already—hope you don't mind."
We sat. The chairs were expensive. The table massive. I felt smaller than facing Sophia.
Martha's gaze swept over Emily's worn purse. Her nose wrinkled. "Emily, dear, still working at that little diner?"
"Yes. Steady work."
"How wonderful." The tone said otherwise. "Not everyone can take risks like Derrick with his business ventures."
Judgment hung in the air.
Vivian put down her phone. "So Elara, I heard about your incident? Fainting?"
False concern dripped from every word.
"I'm fine."
"Good." Sharp smile. "Must be hard being so delicate. I can't imagine not shifting. What do you even do during full moons?"
Ethan's hand clenched his fork. I kicked him under the table.
"Vivian." Derrick's warning held amusement. "Don't be rude to our guests."
Guests. Not family.
---
The meal crawled. Martha made pointed comments about Emily's "quaint" lifestyle. Vivian scrolled, making snide observations. Derrick asked questions designed to highlight our poverty.
Each one a small cut.
Marcus hunched further. Emily's smile strained. Ethan's jaw tightened.
I catalogued everything. Derrick's Rolex. Martha's casual mention of their Aspen home. Vivian complaining about her Mercedes.
Money. Connections. Pack access.
Finally, Derrick set down his fork.
"So, Marcus." Businesslike now. "I'm sure you're wondering why I invited you."
Silence.
Marcus straightened slightly. "I figured you'd get to it."
"Always direct." Derrick pulled out his phone, swiping. "I'm expanding the lumber business. Got land outside town—perfect for resort development."
He showed architectural renderings of a massive lodge.
"Problem is, the land borders Blackwood Pack hunting territory. Their Beta isn't cooperative."
My stomach dropped.
"I remember you had good relationship with the old Blackwood Alpha," Derrick said. "Before your exile."
Marcus went pale. "Derrick—"
"I just need an introduction. Smooth things over. You still have connections."
He wants Marcus to risk going back to the Pack that exiled him.
"I can't. You know I can't. My status—"
"You're exiled, not dead." Dismissive wave. "All I'm asking is you use your relationships. For family."
Martha leaned forward, poisonous-sweet. "Marcus, think about the children. Ethan's having trouble finding work without Pack support. And poor Elara..."
Her gaze slid to me, full of pity.
"An Omega who can't shift. What future does she have? But if you help Derrick, he has influence. He could put in a good word. Maybe get your exile reconsidered."
Marcus's hand tightened on his knife until knuckles went white.
Extortion.
"I'll see what I can do," Marcus whispered.
Ethan's chair scraped. "Are you fucking kidding?"
"Ethan—" Emily started.
"No!" He pointed at Derrick. "He abandoned us. Wouldn't loan Dad money when you were sick, Mom. Now he wants Dad to risk everything for his resort?"
Derrick's smile didn't waver. "Your father can make his own decisions."
"Because you're holding our futures hostage!"
"Ethan, sit down." Marcus sounded broken.
Watching him—this man who should've been an Alpha, reduced to begging—something inside me snapped.
I set down my fork. Metal on porcelain rang loud.
"Uncle Derrick," I said quietly, "I don't think this is a good idea."
Every head turned.
Derrick's eyebrows rose. "Oh? Why is that, dear?"