Waves crashed against the pier in a rhythmic, endless lull, their whispers filling the thick silence of the night. The quarter-full moon hung lazily among the clouds, veiled in wisps of darkness, while stars shimmered like scattered diamonds in the sky. A salty breeze rolled in from the ocean, carrying the scent of brine and damp wood, a stark contrast to the stuffy, suffocating tension of the council chamber I had just escaped from.
I rolled my shoulders, rubbing at the stiff muscles in my neck. Hours of sitting through their endless drivel had left me wound tight, frustration simmering beneath my skin. A total waste of time. Just a bunch of self-righteous old assholes preaching about duty, honor, and all the ways I had supposedly failed them. As if I owed them anything.
"That was exhausting," Orion grumbled, his presence a low hum in the back of my mind. "They just wouldn't shut the fuck up."
I snorted. "What do you expect? They'd rather chew off their tongues than admit they were wrong."
The soft creak of wooden planks underfoot pulled me from my thoughts. I turned my head slightly, already knowing who it was before she even stepped into my periphery.
Mom.
She approached with measured steps, the Enforcer lingering near the entrance of the pier, posture stiff, expression unreadable. The guy took his job way too seriously, standing guard like I was some criminal about to make a break for it. Not like I could, anyway—not with the enchanted bracelets clamped around my wrists, suppressing my runes and locking away my abilities.
"Mother," I muttered, the word coming out rougher than intended. I wasn't in the mood for another lecture, and if she was here, it meant my father had sent her to talk some so-called sense into me.
Her brows pinched together in disapproval as she settled onto the bench beside me. "Don't take that tone with me, young man. I'm still your mother." She swept her long blonde hair over her shoulder and gave me a soft smile, one that made my stomach twist uncomfortably. "And for the record, your father didn't send me. I came on my own."
I eyed her warily. "Then why are you here?"
She sighed, clasping her hands together in her lap. "Does a mother need a reason to want to spend time with her child?" Her fingers twisted the wedding ring on her finger, her nails tapping lightly against the metal. "Caleb... I know I haven't been the mother you needed me to be. I should have been there for you."
I exhaled through my nose, barely suppressing the sharp retort bubbling up my throat. "Then why didn't you stop him? Why didn't you stop Dad when he and the council threw me into that place?"
Her face crumpled, grief flashing through her eyes before she quickly masked it. "I didn't know what he was planning. By the time I found out, you were already gone." Her voice wavered, thick with something dangerously close to regret. "He wouldn't even let me visit you. He told me you didn't want to see anyone... and I believed him." A single tear slipped down her cheek, catching the moonlight as she swiped it away. "I was so angry at him, Caleb. I couldn't even look at him for months."
I dragged a hand down my face, my frustration colliding with something raw and aching in my chest. "Why does he hate me so much?" I asked the question that had mulled in my brain for years.
Mom flinched like I'd physically struck her. She reached for my shoulder, but I stiffened, and she hesitated before resting her hand lightly against my arm. "He doesn't hate you," she whispered. "Your father loves you, Caleb."
I let out a sharp, humorless laugh. "Yeah, right. That permanent scowl on his face? Screams love."
Her lips pressed into a thin line. "Honey, he does love you... He just doesn't know how to handle you."
I arched a brow. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"
She sighed, rubbing her temples as if trying to find the right words. "Your father is a man who puts the pack above all else. He was raised to believe that duty comes first, and that respect and obedience are the foundation of a strong leader. Your brothers and sister—" she hesitated, glancing at me carefully, "—they never questioned him. They followed his lead without resistance. But you... you challenge him. You push back."
I scoffed. "So, what? He wants me to shut up and fall in line like a good little soldier?"
She shook her head. "No. He wants you to trust him. To trust that the choices he makes are for the good of the pack and his family."
I clenched my jaw, anger bubbling under my skin like a live wire. "That's a load of shit." I stood abruptly, my movements jerky with frustration. "Sorry, Mom, but he threw me away like I was nothing. He forced me into a situation I never wanted, and now he expects me to be grateful?" I laughed bitterly, shaking my head. "Not happening. I'll never forgive him for that."
Her face fell, and for a split second, I saw the heartbreak in her expression. But I couldn't bring myself to care. Not when the wounds were still raw, not when the memories still clawed at me every time I closed my eyes.
She called my name as I turned and stalked away, but I didn't stop.
I couldn't.
**********
I shoved the back patio doors open, striding into the living room with a force that sent them rattling in their frames. The familiar scent of home—pinewood, worn leather, and the lingering aroma of someone's midnight snack—wrapped around me, but it did little to soothe my frayed nerves.
The living room was the heart of the packhouse, a sprawling space designed for gatherings, yet I rarely felt at ease there. Three polished pool tables dominated the center of the room, their surfaces gleaming under the dim, recessed lighting. The unmistakable click of pool balls colliding echoed through the space, mixing with the soft hum of music playing from the sound system. Seven long couches curved along the walls, their plush cushions molded by years of bodies flopping onto them. Mounted to the far side of the room, a massive flat-screen TV flickered with some late-night action movie, though no one seemed to be paying much attention.
Heads turned as I entered—curious, wary gazes flicking toward me like moths drawn to a flame. The younger pack members—mostly teenagers—were still awake, lounging around, playing pool, or scrolling through their phones. Their conversations dipped into hushed murmurs, their attention shifting toward me as if waiting for some kind of spectacle.
"We have an audience, it seems," Orion muttered dryly.
I rolled my eyes, keeping my stride purposeful as I cut through the room. The teenagers always acted weird around me—staring too long, whispering when they thought I couldn't hear, but never daring to speak directly to me. It was unsettling, like walking through a den of skittish prey animals unsure whether I was a threat or not. I ignored them, pushing past their scrutiny without slowing.
The kitchen was my destination. Hunger gnawed at my stomach, a sharp reminder that I hadn't eaten dinner earlier. Right now, food was the only thing I gave a damn about.
I reached the kitchen soon enough, stepping into a space that could rival any high-end restaurant. Stainless steel appliances gleamed under the fluorescent lights, reflecting off sleek black marble countertops. The air carried the faint scent of spices, lingering warmth from someone else's late-night cooking.
The fridge hummed softly as I yanked it open, rummaging through neatly stacked containers until I found something worth eating—lasagna. Jackpot. I grabbed the container, kicked the door shut with my heel, and headed to one of the kitchen aisles.
Perched on a breakfast stool, I popped the lid open, the rich scent of cheese, sauce, and pasta hitting me instantly. I reached for the silver holder filled with forks, grabbed one, and wasted no time digging in. The first bite melted in my mouth, and I was determined to finish before someone came along to ruin my night.
But fate had other ideas.
"Eating alone?" a voice called from behind me.
Mid-chew, I twisted around with a fork still in my mouth, to find my brother Luke standing at the fridge. He had his two-year-old son perched on one hip while his mate rummaged through a nearby cupboard for glasses.
I swallowed before replying, "It's better this way. I don't want to lose my appetite."
Luke let out a dramatic gasp, clutching his chest. "Ouch! Is it that bad being back?"
I stabbed another forkful of lasagna and muttered, "I never wanted to set foot in this place again, so yeah—it's horrible."
Luke stepped into my field of vision, settling onto the stool across from me while bouncing his son on his knee. I hated to admit it, but the kid was adorable—round, puffy cheeks, a head full of light brown curls, and those damn big, blue puppy-dog eyes that made it impossible to stay annoyed at him.
His mate, Ashton, took the seat beside him, setting down a container of orange juice and two glasses. He poured one for Luke, who quickly grabbed it before his son could swipe at it with tiny, grabby hands.
"Hi, I'm Ashton," the brunette introduced himself, offering a small smile. "Sorry, we couldn't meet under better circumstances."
I eyed him for a second before reaching across the island, extending my tattooed hand for a shake. "Caleb," I said smoothly, gripping his hand firmly. "The rebellious, good-for-nothing-except-being-a-breeding-tool omega, at your service."
"Really, Caleb?"
The sharp voice made my head snap toward the doorway.
Lillian. My younger sister stood there, arms crossed, looking unimpressed. But my gaze flicked past her to the man standing beside her—tall, broad, unfamiliar.
Oh, fucking marvelous.