(CADE's POV)
The smell of blood hit me before I stepped into the clearing.
Two bodies. Ripped open. Limbs twisted at unnatural angles. The third was barely clinging to life, breathing in ragged wheezes as the medic tried to keep pressure on the wound.
"Rogues again?" I asked.
Riven nodded, jaw clenched. "Same claw patterns. Same north ridge. No scent trail, though. Like they're masking themselves."
I knelt beside the younger wolf. Jonas. Eighteen. Barely out of training.
His eyes found mine. "Alpha…"
"Save your strength," I said quietly.
He smiled. Smiled, gods damn him. "You should've seen the way I blocked that first hit…"
His chest shuddered, then stilled.
I stood, blood soaking into my boots, and something inside me twisted. Not with shock. Not even anger.
With exhaustion.
How many more young wolves do I have to lose for this to be over?
Later, I sat in my office with a glass of whiskey I wasn't even drinking and a map littered with red pins.
The pack was fraying.
We were losing lives every week, patrols sent out and not returning.
My people were starting to whisper, starting to wonder if I was strong enough to hold this together.
Maybe they were right.
I wasn't built for this. Not like my father— who was ruthless, decisive, terrifying. I'd spent too long pretending to be untouchable, back when I thought power meant pushing others down.
Back when I thought making Ayla's life hell was… harmless.
I squeezed the glass tighter.
"Alpha?"
Nora, the elder, poked her head in. Her gray braid was damp from rain, her tone as calm as ever.
"What is it?" I asked.
"Ayla Rowan is coming back. She'll arrive tonight."
The words hit like a blow I didn't see coming.
I blinked. "What?"
"She was contacted about Mae's death. Said she'd return for the burial."
Mae. The old she-wolf who had more heart than half the damn pack combined. Of course Ayla would come back—for her.
My fingers curled around the edge of the desk.
"Thank you," I said flatly. "You can go."
Once the door shut, I sat back and let the silence breathe.
Ayla.
Seven years gone, and the second I heard her name, every buried memory clawed its way back.
Her eyes—wide and wary. The way her voice cracked when she spoke, like she was never sure she'd be heard. The tremble in her hands during training… and the way I mocked it.
I'd been cruel. Not just once. Over and over, until she vanished without a word.
And I never looked for her.
I told myself she wasn't important. That omegas like her didn't matter. That she was weak. Forgettable.
But I remembered. Gods help me, I remembered everything.
And now she was coming back.
As if the goddess wasn't already punishing me enough.
Perhaps this wasn't a punishment after all. Perhaps the universe was giving me a chance to make things right.
~~~~~
I waited at the east gate alone.
The forest was dark, quiet, but the tension under my skin buzzed like electricity. My wolf paced behind my ribs, restless. Anxious. I hadn't felt him this alert in months.
Then I saw her.
Walking out of the trees, hood pulled low, bag slung over one shoulder.
I froze.
Her scent hit me first—pine and honey and something wild. My breath caught. My body locked up like I'd been punched in the chest.
She hadn't seen me yet.
But I saw her.
And she looked… different. Older. Stronger. Shoulders straighter. Eyes harder. But still Ayla. Still the girl I drove away.
Her gaze landed on me.
She stopped walking.
"Ayla," I said, stepping forward.
Her lips tightened. "Where should I leave the flowers? Or do you want to make me earn the right to mourn too?"
"Ayla, wait—"
"I'm not here for small talk. I'm here for Mae." She moved to walk past me.
"Let me say what I should've said a long time ago."
She paused. Just enough.
I took a breath. "I'm sorry."
She turned, slow and sharp. "You're sorry?"
"Yes."
"For what, exactly? For humiliating me? For making me feel like trash? For chasing me out of my own home?"
"All of it." My voice didn't shake—but gods, my insides did.
For a moment, she just stared. The rain started falling, soft and steady. Her hair frizzed at the edges, her cheeks flushed.
"I don't need your guilt," she said.
"No," I said. "But I need to give it."
She looked at me—really looked—and something shifted.
Her breath caught.
Mine did too.
And then it hit.
Like lightning under our skin. Like fire and ice clashing in our chests.
The mate bond.
I staggered back half a step.
Ayla's eyes went wide. "No."
I opened my mouth. Nothing came out.
Her hands trembled.
And suddenly, the world tilted. The scent between us thickened, that unmistakable pull thrumming through every nerve.
"No," she whispered again, like she could undo it just by saying it out loud.
I didn't move.
Neither did she.
We just stood there.
Two people with too much history. One bond too powerful to ignore.
And one single truth spiraling between us—
"Mate…" my wolf growled out before I could stop him.