The weekend, Anya sat at her desk with her textbooks spread out neatly, sunlight filtering through the curtains in pale strips across the pages. She had planned to use the time to revise, to stay ahead, to keep her mind occupied while Alaric was away.
Margaret had already left for work that morning.
She stood by the door, coat half on, keys clenched in her hand, eyes lingering on Anya longer than necessary. There were faint shadows under her eyes, exhaustion she tried hard to hide, and a worry she never quite managed to silence.
"Are you sure you'll be alright today?" Margaret asked softly. "I might be late. They called me at the last minute."
Anya looked up from her textbooks and smiled, the kind of smile she had learned to perfect over the years. Gentle. Reassuring. Meant to put other people at ease.
"I'm fine, Mom," she said. "I'll just study. You don't have to rush back."
Margaret hesitated, fingers tightening around the strap of her bag. Her gaze flicked briefly toward the living room, where empty bottles from the night before still sat untouched.
"If… if he starts," Margaret said quietly, lowering her voice, "call me. Or go somewhere safe. Promise me."
Anya nodded immediately. "I promise."
Margaret reached out and brushed Anya's hair behind her ear. "I'll try to bring dinner home," she said. "Something warm."
"Alright," Anya replied gently. "Take care of yourself."
For a moment, Margaret looked like she wanted to say more. Or promise things she wasn't sure she could keep.
In the end, she only smiled, tired and loving all at once.
"Study hard," she said. "I'm proud of you."
Then she left.
The door closed softly behind her, and the apartment fell into a familiar, uneasy quiet.
Anya exhaled slowly and returned her attention to her books, telling herself it was just another day. Just another weekend. She tried to focus on the words in front of her, to drown out the thoughts she didn't want to face.
For a while, everything was still.
Then the sound came.
A sharp crash from the living room, glass shattering against the floor.
Anya flinched.
Her fingers tightened around her pen. She closed her eyes and took a slow breath, just as she had learned to do over the years.
It's nothing, she told herself. It could be just an accident.
She lowered her gaze back to her textbook and tried to focus, forcing her breathing to steady. The words blurred slightly, but she kept reading, kept pretending the sound had not shaken her.
Then her bedroom door slammed open. The noise made her jump to her feet.
The smell hit her immediately. It smelled bitter and alcohol.
Her father stood in the doorway, unsteady on his feet, his eyes bloodshot and unfocused. A half-empty bottle hung loosely from his hand.
"What are you doing just sitting there?" he shouted. "Go out and buy more beer."
Anya said nothing.
She stared at her book, as if he wasn't there at all.
That silence only made him angrier.
"I'm talking to you!" he barked, stumbling forward. "Did you go deaf?"
Still, she didn't respond.
His hand shot out, fingers tangling painfully in her hair. He yanked her back, forcing her to look at him.
"You think you're too good to answer me now?" he sneered.
Pain sparked across her scalp, but Anya didn't cry out. She looked at him steadily, her expression empty, distant.
That was when his hand came down.
The slap rang loudly in the small room.
Her head snapped to the side, her cheek burning, her ears ringing. For a moment, everything went quiet.
Anya didn't scream or argue.
She simply reached for her bag.
With shaking hands, she stuffed a few books inside, her movements quick and practiced. She walked past him without another word, her steps firm despite the tremor running through her body.
He shouted something after her, slurred and furious, but she didn't stop.
The door closed behind her with a sharp click.
The cold air outside hit her like a wave. Anya stood on the pavement for a moment, her chest tight and her breath shallow. She pressed a hand to her cheek, grounding herself.
She had nowhere to go.
Then she thought of Alaric.
His house wasn't far. He had given her a spare key once, pressing it into her palm like it was the most natural thing in the world.
"In case you ever need it," he had said.
She started walking.Each step away from her home loosened the knot in her chest just a little.
When she reached Alaric's house, she hesitated at the door.
She held the key in her hand, staring at the lock. A dozen thoughts raced through her mind. He wasn't there. Would he mind? Was she crossing a line? Should she message him first?
She took out her phone, her thumb hovering over his name.
If I text him, he'll worry.
And she didn't want that.
With a small breath, Anya unlocked the door and stepped inside.
The house was silent, but it felt different from her own. It was safe and familiar. His scent lingered faintly in the air, and something in her chest finally loosened.
She closed the door behind her and leaned against it, her eyes stinging.
Only then did she allow herself to feel how much she had been holding back. Anya slid down the door slowly until she was sitting on the floor, her knees drawn to her chest. Anya pressed her forehead against her knees, her breath shaky.
Anya slipped quietly into Alaric's bedroom and closed the door behind her.
The room was exactly as he had left it.
Clean, orderly, faintly sunlit through half-drawn curtains. His jacket hung over the back of the chair, his books stacked neatly on the desk, the bed made but unmistakably his.
And then there was the scent.
It wrapped around her the moment she stepped fully inside. It was warm, familiar and comforting.
Her shoulders finally dropped.
"I'm sorry," she whispered softly into the quiet room, unsure who she was apologizing to. "I just… needed somewhere safe."
She moved to the bed and sat down slowly, fingers brushing over the sheets. She lay back, curling slightly on her side.
She closed her eyes and her breathing finally evened out.
She told herself she would only rest for a moment. Just until the tightness in her chest faded. Just until the noise in her head quieted.
But exhaustion, long buried and rarely acknowledged, finally caught up with her.
Her eyelids grew heavy.
*****
Alaric stood outside his parents' study, breathing slowly before knocking.
"Come in," Marcus Stone said.
Alaric stepped inside. Marcus was reviewing documents by the window, while Evelyn sat nearby, her sharp eyes lifting the moment she sensed her son's intent.
"I'm ready," Alaric said.
Both of them turned fully toward him.
"Ready for?" Evelyn asked gently, though she already knew.
"To return to Westbridge," Alaric answered without hesitation. "I can control it now. My wolf and my instincts."
Marcus studied him carefully, the way an Alpha always assessed strength and stability. After a long pause, he nodded.
"You stabilized faster than anyone we've ever seen," Marcus said. "Most don't gain this level of control until at least a year after their first shift. Some never fully do."
Evelyn smiled softly. "You surprised the entire pack, Alaric. Your wolf listens to you. That alone speaks volumes."
"I won't lose control," Alaric said firmly. "Not around her."
Marcus exchanged a glance with Evelyn, then spoke. "We trust you. You've proven yourself."
Evelyn added, "Your father and I will remain in Central City. The pack needs its Alpha fully present. We will not return to Westbridge with you."
Alaric exhaled, relief loosening the tension in his chest. "Alright."
"Go," Marcus said. "And don't forget who you are."
And that very morning, Alaric left Central City. The road stretched endlessly ahead of him, the scenery blurring as Alaric drove.
Then his chest tightened. The sensation came without warning, sharp and unmistakable. It wasn't a thought or a memory. It was a feeling that did not belong entirely to him.
A quiet, aching distress that brushed against his senses like a tremor beneath the skin.
Alaric's hands tightened on the steering wheel.
"Anya…" he murmured under his breath.
His wolf stirred restlessly, reacting before logic could catch up. The instinct was immediate and protective, pushing against his control, urging him to go faster.
What happened?
His wolf stirred, restless, alert.
Alaric slowed his breathing, forcing calm.
Focus.
He pressed his foot down harder on the accelerator, eyes fixed on the road ahead.
The moment he drove into Westbridge, his wolf surged.
Her scent.
It was faint at first, woven into the air like a memory. Then it grew stronger with every block he passed, unmistakable and achingly familiar.
Alaric slowed the car, pulse racing.
His instincts took over, guiding him without conscious thought. He turned down a familiar street. Passed houses he had known since childhood. The pull grew stronger, more insistent, until realization struck him hard.
The scent was coming from his house.
Alaric parked abruptly and stepped out of the car. The night air was cool, but his skin burned with restrained energy. His wolf pushed forward, eager and restless, but he forced it down with practiced control.
The door opened.
Her scent flooded him fully now, wrapping around him, sinking deep into his chest. His wolf pushed hard, demanding, possessive.
Mine.
Alaric closed his eyes briefly, forcing control.
Not yet. Easy.
He moved upstairs, each step quieter than the last, and stopped outside his bedroom door.
When he opened it, the sight stole what little breath he had left.
Anya was asleep on his bed.
Curled slightly on her side. Hair spread across his pillow. Wearing clothes that were not his, but carrying his scent now all the same.
She's safe and alive.
His wolf calmed instantly at the sight of her.
Alaric stepped closer and sat at the edge of the bed, careful not to wake her. He lifted a hand and brushed her hair back from her face, fingertips feather-light.
She stirred but didn't wake.
He leaned down, breathing her in slowly, grounding himself.
Patience, he reminded his wolf.
Only when he was certain he was fully in control did he lie down beside her, pulling her gently into his arms. She fit against him as if she had always belonged there.
He pressed his nose lightly against the curve of her neck, inhaled once, then placed a soft, reverent kiss against her skin.
Anya stirred, then froze as the familiar warmth and scent wrapped around her. Her eyes fluttered open.
"Alaric…?" she whispered.
He was there, whole and solid, breathing steadily next to her.
Her tears welled instantly.
"You're back," she said, voice breaking.
"I'm back," he murmured.
She turned fully and buried herself against his chest, arms tight around him as if afraid he might disappear again. Her tears soaked into his shirt, and he held her without restraint, one hand cradling the back of her head.
"I missed you so much," she whispered.
"Me too," he said softly, pressing his lips to her hair. "I'm here now."
Tears spilled over as she buried her face against his chest, holding him tightly. Alaric wrapped both arms around her, anchoring her to him, his own chest aching with everything he could not yet say.
He rested his chin against her hair, eyes closing.
And this time, he was not leaving her behind alone anymore.
After Anya finally calmed down, her breathing slowly evening out against his chest, Alaric lifted her chin gently with his fingers and looked at her face more closely. That was when he noticed it.
One cheek was slightly swollen, faintly red beneath the soft light of the room.
His expression changed instantly.
"Anya," he said quietly, his thumb brushing near her cheek without touching it. "What happened to your face?"
Her body stiffened. She lowered her eyes, her fingers tightening in his shirt.
"It's nothing," she said at first, then shook her head. "I mean… it's embarrassing."
Alaric did not push, but his hand remained warm and steady against her jaw, silently telling her he was listening.
After a moment, she spoke again, her voice softer.
"My dad was drunk this morning," she admitted. "He got angry over nothing. It happens sometimes."
Alaric felt something dark twist in his chest.
"I didn't want to come here like this," she continued. "I didn't want you to see."
She gave a small, bitter smile. "I always envied you, you know. You have parents who care. A home that feels safe. I never really had that. Not with him."
Her voice trembled despite her effort to keep it steady.
"Except for my mum," she added quietly. "She's the only one who ever made me feel like I mattered."
Alaric's hand curled slowly into a fist at his side as he listened. He forced his voice to remain calm when he spoke.
"Anya," he said, meeting her eyes, "the family you are born into does not decide the happiness you deserve."
She looked up at him, surprised.
"One day," he continued, his tone gentle but certain, "you will have a life that belongs entirely to you. A place where you are loved and protected. I promise you that."
Her eyes softened, though doubt still lingered.
She studied him for a moment, then spoke again, changing the subject as if afraid to linger too long on her pain.
"You seem different lately," she said. "Not in a bad way. Just… calmer. Like you grew up overnight."
Alaric smiled faintly.
"I've been thinking a lot about the future," he admitted. "About what kind of person I want to become."
He hesitated, then asked, "What about you? Have you thought about what you want to do later?"
She blinked, clearly caught off guard.
"I haven't really," she said honestly. "I just try to get through each day."
Alaric realized then how little he had ever asked her about herself, about her dreams beyond simply staying by his side. The thought sat heavy in his chest.
Anya reached out and lightly touched his chest with her fingertip, right over his heart. Her lips curved into a teasing smile.
"You really did come back stronger," she said. "My mum said you would."
He chuckled softly.
"That's because I need to be," he replied. "I have people I want to protect."
Her hand stilled.
Slowly, she withdrew it and looked away, her gaze drifting toward the window.
For a brief moment, a quiet sadness crossed her face. She turned her body back to face him fully.
Alaric noticed it immediately.
The way her shoulders tensed.
The way her eyes flickered with something she was trying to hide.
"Anya?" he asked gently. "What is it?"
She hesitated, her fingers curling into the fabric of the blanket beneath them. For a moment, it looked as though she might brush it off with a joke, but then she exhaled quietly.
"It's nothing," she said, though her voice betrayed her. "I was just thinking."
He did not believe her, and she knew it.
"Thinking about what?" he asked, his tone soft, careful not to corner her.
Her gaze dropped to his chest again, then slowly lifted to meet his eyes.
"You said you came back stronger to protect the people you care about," she said. "I was wondering… who that person will be in the future."
The words were calm, but something fragile hid beneath them.
Alaric felt his chest tighten.
She offered a small smile, one that did not quite reach her eyes.
"Whoever she is," Anya continued, pretending with ease she did not feel, "she'll be very lucky."
Alaric stared at her, realizing too late what she had been thinking. He reached out instinctively, resting his hand over hers, grounding her before the distance between them could grow any wider.
"Anya," he said quietly, "don't decide your place in my future for me."
Her breath caught. Alaric tightened his grip slightly, not enough to trap her, just enough to make sure she felt him there.
Anya's phone began to vibrate against the bedside table, the sudden sound breaking the quiet tension between them. She glanced at the screen and immediately recognized her mother's name.
"I need to take this," she said softly, already rising to her feet. "It's my mum."
Alaric nodded, releasing her hand without hesitation, though his eyes followed her every movement.
Anya answered the call, listening for a moment before replying quietly, reassuring her mother that she was safe and would be home soon. When she ended the call, she turned back to Alaric, a hint of reluctance in her expression.
"I should go," she said. "My mum's waiting for me."
He stood as well, walking her to the door in silence. For a brief moment, neither of them spoke, as if both were unwilling to be the first to let the moment end.
"I'll see you tomorrow at school," Anya added, forcing a small smile as she reached for the door.
Alaric returned the smile, gentle and steady. "Tomorrow," he replied. "I'll walk you."
Her heart skipped, but she only nodded, slipping outside before she could overthink it.