Chapter 8
The sea was never truly silent to wolves. Beneath its skin, I felt the moon’s pull, the restless churn of ancient things. Only the waves against the Alpha’s yacht and Marga’s hollow laughter cut through the night. I stared at my phone, her name, Stella, burning like a curse. Her signature was steady, unshaken, the final stroke of a severed bond heavier than any Elder’s decree. “She’ll crawl back,” I muttered to the night air, letting my own voice carry into the waves.
“Just wait.”
But even I heard it, the pause, that betraying crack in the Alpha’s tone, the hesitation where doubt seeped through like a cold draft through broken stone. Wolves were not supposed to falter, but the moon bears witness to every weakness we try to bury.
I drained another mouthful of whiskey, the burn bitter and unworthy of numbing me, before sinking into one of the padded deck chairs. My legs stretched long beneath the silver glow, body loose but mind clawing at itself. I had survived worse trials than this. Betrayals. Pack raids that left me bloodied in the snow. Failed hunts that nearly cost me my throne. Stella leaving me? That was not how my story ended. That was not the script carved into fate.
And yet…
The memories rose, unbidden, as they always did when her name scraped against my thoughts. We were nobodies once. Just two young wolves bound by mate-bond and fire, foolish enough to believe that love alone could hold back the hunger of the world. No territory. No allies. No silver to barter. She worked until her paws bled, scrubbing dens, tending human laundries, and selling human food samples in markets that no longer exist. Her belly swollen with Mark, she still labored beneath the weight of the world, her spirit unbending.
And me? I was nothing but the dreamer, the wolf chasing visions of power and legacy, teeth sunk into ambition without the strength to hold it. She carried us when I could not. She bore the burden of keeping the roof over our heads while I howled promises into the night.
Wealth does not come because a wolf is clever. It comes because someone else breaks their back to keep the fire alive while you fail five hundred times.
The first allied pack I ever stood before did not hear my words because they were wise, but because I wore the suit Stella pressed at dawn after her night shift. We rose because she never said no, even when I deserved to be left to rot.
I can still see her, sitting cross-legged on the floor of our crumbling home, takeout cartons between us, humming softly to the unborn life inside her. She spoke to Mark as though he was already there, and in those moments, I believed we were unshakable.
And then…
That night.
Mark was six, weak with fever, his small chest struggling against air that would not come. I remember the scent of sickness clinging to the walls. My bag was already packed. My flight to the northern packs was waiting. Marga was already in the car. It was not a meeting; it was survival, the promise of alliance with an Asian wolf Pack that would mean millions for our pack’s coffers.
Chapter 7
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Stella stood by the sink, clutching a dish towel as though it could anchor her to the earth. Her eyes, wet and fierce, pierced me.
“I’m scared, Alpha Shawn,” she whispered, voice trembling. “He’s burning. He cannot breathe.”
And what did I do?
I told her to take him to the healers. I did not hold him. I did not stay. I walked out into the night, chasing power while my pup fought for breath.
Before I left, Stella’s eyes cut into mine, tears running unchecked as she hissed, “If you do not change, then mark my words, twenty-four years from now, on my forty-eighth birthday, I will leave you. I will sever the bond. I will swear before the moon and tear this mate-mark from my skin, Alpha Shawn.”
I had laughed. I had shrugged it off, calling her dramatic.
Thirty years. She waited thirty damn years..
And now the divorce papers sit real and undeniable in my hand. Stella is not weeping in the kitchen this time. She is gone, and the bond frays like old rope beneath the strain of her rejection.
Inside, Marga shouted again, impatient. I didn’t need to see her face to know boredom was written in every line.
“Alpha Shawn! Come on, let’s run the jet-skis. Lydia’s already dressed, and Mark’s getting the twins into the boat.”
Ken and Kurt, their chaos rattled against the deck as they howled like pups untrained, loud and cruel in the way children become when no one teaches them respect.
“Let’s bring this rag to Grandma Stella!” one of them jeered, holding up a filthy towel as though it were some relic of conquest.
The other cackled, “Yeah, maybe she can use it to scrub the pack house floor!”
Their laughter rang sharp, echoing like claws against stone.
For one wild moment, the Alpha in me rose, ready to silence them, ready to command them to keep Stella’s name from their tongues. But I said nothing. I swallowed it.
Then the phone rang.
Carl. My Beta. My ally when it suited him. Also, my lawyer.
I answered with a growl. “Speak.”
He chuckled softly, but there was no mirth in it. “She filed. For real this time. Full petition. Her mark is there. She is not bluffing, Alpha Shawn.”
The glass sweated in my hand as silence stretched between us.
“Okay,” I said at last. “Okay.”
Felix hesitated. “Are you steady?”
“She’ll crawl back,” I replied, forcing the words out like smoke from burning timber. “She always does. Just wait.”
But my voice betrayed me. Felix heard it. I heard it..
Chartere
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He didn’t argue. “Sure. Talk soon.”
I hung up.
Later, fresh from the sea spray of the jet-skis, my shirt open, hair slick with saltwater, Marga insisted on another photo. “Smile like you own the tides themselves,” she purred.
So I grinned, draped my arm around her waist, and let the camera flash. Posted it with some empty caption- “Legacy in motion. Fifty and free.” Hashtags meant for show, bait for wolves and humans alike. Stella would see it. She always saw it. She was the kind who pretended to walk away, but she lingered like a wolf pacing the border of enemy territory. She would not last two weeks without me. Without my name. Without the Alpha’s claim.
But then Mark came stumbling toward me, his phone clutched in his hand, eyes wide with something raw.
Dad! Look at this. Look what just dropped.”
He shoved the device at me, breathless. I almost barked at him for interrupting, but then I read he headline.
The Vale Pack Reclaims Its Lost Daughter. Bloodline Awakens. The Hidden Face Revealed. The Moon Calls-Gathering Imminent.”
The words struck like a fang to the throat.
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Lucia Morh is a passionate storyteller who brings emotions to life through her words. When she’s not writing, she finds peace nurturing her garden.